Spoilers: Still no real spoilers. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Emergency, but I do live in a town with western history - including a downtown pharmacy whose building was once the stable for the hotel down the street.

A/N: I wanted to give a very big shout-out to my fabulous beta, LaramyLady51, AKA Darth Mom. Once again, as far as I am concerned, she is the best beta in this galaxy and in any other. She was kind enough to put up with all of my questions about the Old West and Old West/Civil War Era medicine, many of which started, "Hey, do you know if they…?" If I couldn't find it online, she could usually lead me in the right direction. She was an immense help and encouragement, as she always is. :)

Important Note

In this chapter, and the following chapters, the issue of racial discrimination will play a role in the storyline. Such discrimination was unfortunately widespread in that period, with animosity and hatred directed towards groups like the Mexicans, the Irish, African Americans, and Native Americans, among others. I have always loved the fact that that Emergency has such a wonderfully diverse cast of characters, and since I'm including as many of them as I can in this story, I felt it would be unrealistic to try to ignore the issue in any way. Racial discrimination is not the main thrust of the story, but it will be part of what shapes events, and so I just wanted to state that whatever negative views certain original characters may have, they are not in any way reflective of my own views in regards to race.

To my anonymous reviewers (since I couldn't answer you via PM):

To Guest 1 (July 9):

Thank you so much, I'm so glad that you're enjoying it! And I'm so glad you noticed the references to Brackett's words in the pilot. I had a lot of fun including references to the actual dialogue when I could. :D I also had a lot of fun putting Brackett in a western setting, given Robert Fuller's long career as a western actor. I'm happy to hear that it made it easy to picture! I hope you enjoy this next chapter just as much as you did the first. :)

Guest 2 (July 9):

Thank you! I really am so glad to hear that. :)

As always, I thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I would be utterly lost without him.

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think!

Frontier Medicine

Chapter 2: What the Doctor Ordered

Brackett hadn't been exaggerating. It wasn't easy.

Roy had always done well in school, but the weighty medical tomes Brackett wanted him to study were far beyond the lessons he'd received in a one-room, Pennsylvania schoolhouse. Oftentimes, it was like learning an entirely new language. In fact, Roy supposed, he was learning three new languages, since many of Brackett's texts were filled with Greek or Latin.

He couldn't deny feeling more than a little overwhelmed at first, his mind swimming with facts, figures, and procedures that he was expected to memorize, and he wondered if he would ever truly make sense of it all. But, gradually, he began to grasp the new concepts, and the imposing textbooks became a little less daunting.

He did, at least, finally see why Dixie had told him that it would take a month to teach someone else half of what he "already knew." He might not have had formal medical training, but his experiences during the war did give him an advantage. He had seen what the human body looked like when it was broken into individual pieces, and while those images still haunted him, it also meant that he had a fairly solid understanding of how those pieces were meant to fit together. He only needed to learn about the intricate mechanisms behind them, and memorize the medical terminology to describe their functions.

When he wasn't studying, he was traveling with Brackett while the doctor went about his work. He was under strict orders from Brackett to observe only, though the doctor did allow him help in a non-medical capacity if needed - lifting or fetching things, mostly. Roy understood why it was necessary, but the more he learned, the more frustrated he became with the limitations that had been placed on him. That was especially true now that Roy had seen the sorts of issues Brackett was facing.

On one occasion, Brackett had been called to treat a woman who had been thrown from her horse. She'd been fortunate, and the worst of her injuries proved to be a badly sprained ankle. But, as they'd learned upon returning to the clinic, while Brackett was tending to that ankle, a man on a distant farm had been cleaning his rifle and accidentally shot himself in the chest. Dixie had managed to find someone to escort her to the man's house, but by the time she got there, it was too late.

There was no doubt in Roy's mind - Dixie was right. She and Brackett did need the sort of help that a trained hand could provide, and after four weeks, Roy was starting to believe that he could actually do that job. Yet, nothing was set in stone. If Brackett wasn't satisfied with his progress, then he might never be allowed to use his hard-earned skills.

Still, Roy knew that Brackett had his reasons - good reasons - for being so cautious. The last thing Roy wanted to do was accidentally hurt someone because he'd been overconfident in his untested abilities. He was learning, yes, but he wasn't a doctor, and he wouldn't pretend to be one. Compared to Brackett, he was still a greenhorn - and he would be for a long, long time. Not that he ever expected to reach Brackett's level of expertise.*

One thing was certain - even if his frustration was growing, so too was his regard for the doctor. He now knew why Brackett had a reputation as a harsh taskmaster who didn't tolerate mistakes. But, he'd also come to see that Brackett always held himself to the same high standards that he demanded from others, and he couldn't help but be impressed by Brackett's dedication to his profession. Very rarely did Brackett actually need to look something up in his library. When he gave Roy a new book to study, he would rattle off a summary of the contents as though he'd memorized the text long ago. It wouldn't have surprised Roy if he had.

Beyond that - beyond everything that made him an exceptional doctor - Roy was slowly learning that Brackett was also a man with a surprisingly good sense of humor, a man of compassion, a man who cared not just about medicine, but about people. Roy could even say that he was beginning to consider Brackett a friend, and he thought that the doctor might just say the same about him. He'd stopped calling him "Mr. DeSoto" early on, and Roy had slipped into calling him "Doc," the way the townspeople did, without even realizing that he'd done it. These days, Brackett was more likely to greet Roy with a smile than not, and even though it was clear that he still had his doubts about this "little experiment," as he'd called it, Roy got the impression that, at the very least, Brackett didn't doubt Roy's own dedication to the job at hand.

And speaking of the job at hand, Roy thought wryly, this afternoon found him in the clinic with Bracket and Dixie. Despite the fact that the clinic was supposed to be Brackett's main office, actually spending any time there was something of a novelty for Roy. Like Brackett had told him, most of his time really was spent "on that blasted wagon."

Now, however, they all stood in the clinic's exam room. A wooden exam table served as the room's centerpiece, while Brackett's desk and a coat rack sat in the corner, near the door, and a small grouping of wooden chairs sat against the wall adjacent to that. The far wall held a large cabinet filled with medicines, along with a chest of drawers that held Brackett's instruments. Beside that, a tall-case clock kept steady time, the pendulum glinting faintly, catching the sunlight as it shone through the window that looked out onto the street.

The atmosphere might almost have been peaceful if it weren't for the man currently occupying that exam table.

"I'm telling' ya, I ain't hurt none!"

"Mr. Ames, you have a broken right leg," Brackett told him.

"Well, I sure don't feel it!"

"I'll bet," Dixie muttered under her breath.

Roy glanced over at her and snorted softly.

The man in question, a Mr. Bo Ames, was wiry with a dark mustache, short gray hair, and brown eyes. He hadn't been in town long, but he was already becoming somewhat notorious for his love of a strong drink. Today, he had finished most of a bottle of whiskey at the saloon, then tried to head back up to his room on the second floor of the boardinghouse. But drunkenness and a narrow staircase didn't mix, and he'd tumbled right back down those stairs a few minutes later. The owner of the boardinghouse, Mrs. Hilliard, had sent for Brackett immediately, and together, he and Roy had gotten Ames into the wagon and driven him to the clinic. Ames, however, had spent the entire ride insisting that he was just fine, thank you very much, and his protests had only grown louder when they'd carried him into the exam room.

Brackett sighed, clearly reaching the limit of his patience. "Believe me, Mr. Ames, you'll be feeling it later."

Ames muttered something about know-it-all-doctors and started to push himself up from the exam table. Brackett immediately stopped him, and Roy hurried forward to help, holding onto the drunken man's shoulders while Brackett and Dixie both tried to coax him into staying put. Ames had been fortunate - it was a simple fracture, and it wouldn't need to be set. Still, he could do some serious damage to his leg just by walking on it now.

They had almost succeeded in getting him to cooperate when they heard the sound of horses' hooves pounding down the street, though the noise was almost overshadowed by the clattering of a wagon.

Roy had been working with Brackett long enough to recognize what that meant, and he wasn't surprised when a moment later, there was a frantic, feminine cry of, "Doc! Doc Brackett!" right outside the clinic's door.

Brackett glanced over at Dixie. "Think you can handle him, Dix?" he asked.

He looked pointedly at Ames who, for the moment at least, seemed a little less likely to try to get up and run off.

Dixie nodded. "I'll be alright for a few minutes, Kel. Go."

Brackett immediately turned and ran the short distance to the door, and Roy was right behind him.

As soon as they were out on the boardwalk, Roy recognized the woman at the reins of the wagon. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties at the latest, with long, brown hair and brown eyes, and she wore a simple blue dress. They had visited her and her mother a few days earlier - her mother had, in her daughter's words, "been feeling poorly lately." Brackett had examined the older woman, and he hadn't found anything truly concerning, but he'd told the girl to keep a close eye on her just the same.

That certainly seemed prudent now.

"What's wrong, Essie?" Brackett asked, though, judging by his expression, like Roy, he could already guess.

"It's Ma! She'd having chest pains. Real bad ones."

"Why didn't you bring her with you?" Brackett demanded.

"You know how stubborn Ma is! She wouldn't go."

Brackett made a frustrated noise, but he didn't waste time arguing. "Let me grab my bag, and you can take me to her."

Essie nodded anxiously, her hands curling a little tighter around the reins she held.

Brackett spun on his heel and hurried back into the clinic, headed straight for the medical bag that sat on his desk. Roy followed behind him.

"Do you want me to come with you, Doc?" he asked.

Brackett glanced over at the exam table where Ames sat. Dixie's charm must have finally worked its magic, because the man was a lot more relaxed. His earlier protests apparently forgotten, he'd even started singing a slurred, off-key version of "Old Dan Tucker." That seemed like a good sign, but Roy could read the hesitation in Brackett's eyes. So far, Ames been a surly drunk, not a violent one, but Roy knew that could change. He certainly wouldn't have wanted to leave Joanne alone with him, if he'd been in the doctor's place.

"No," Brackett said at last. "Right now, I think I'd rather you stay here with Dixie."

Roy nodded in understanding, and a moment later, Brackett was out the door and climbing up into the wagon beside Essie. Essie gave a sharp whistle, flicking the reins, and the wagon took off down the street as fast as it had come.

There was a minute of unbroken silence, and then:

"Ol' Dan Tucker wassa fine ol' man…Wast his face wif a fryin' pan…"

It was the third time Ames had repeated that verse.

Roy looked over at Dixie who was watching the now-cheerful drunk with a wry expression.

"Well, Roy," she said, "at least we don't have to worry about hurting him while we splint his leg."

As it turned out, Dixie was right, and Roy was honestly grateful for it. It made the process of treating him a lot easier.

Ames had ripped his pants at the knee when he'd fallen, and since it was simpler than trying to take his trousers off, Dixie finished what he'd started, using a knife to slit the pants leg from his knee down to his ankle. Roy took the man's boots off, as well as the sock on his injured leg, though he left the other in place. Once that was through, Dixie gave him the job of holding Ames's lower leg while she put wooden boards on either side. The leg was already swollen and bruised, the skin turning black and blue all along the shin. Brackett was right - Ames would definitely be feeling it once he sobered up. When Dixie was satisfied with the way the boards were positioned, she started wrapping strips of linen around the boards and the leg both, bracing the injured limb and keeping it immobile.

Ames had finally quieted, watching the whole procedure with a bleary sort of interest, and when the wrapping was finished, Roy and Dixie managed to get Ames over to a bed in the next room without letting him put any weight on that leg.

They both breathed a sigh of relief when Ames's head hit the pillow and his eyes drifted shut.

Roy grabbed another pillow to elevate Ames's leg, while Dixie covered him with a light blanket and retrieved a basin, setting it beside his bed. Given how much he'd had to drink, he would probably be needing it later.

Afterwards, Roy followed Dixie back into the exam room where he helped her to roll up and put away the unused linen, and then Dixie did a quick inventory of the medicine cabinet. She took the opportunity to test him, asking him the names and uses of each medication before she put the bottle back in its place. Roy was pleased to find that he knew them all, though it had taken him a moment to remember the more obscure uses for some of them. He made a note look those up again.

He watched as Dixie locked the cabinet, but as his gaze drifted to the floor, he realized that they'd tracked in some dirt earlier while helping Ames. Roy started for the broom closet, planning to sweep it up. He had almost reached it when the sound of pounding horses' hooves came for the second time that day, and he stilled, listening. There was no wagon this time, but there could be no doubt that whoever the rider was, they were headed for the clinic.

Dixie must have realized it at the same time he did, because she was already halfway out the door. Roy followed behind her, stepping out onto the boardwalk once again. He stared in surprise for a moment when he realized the size of the of the rider who was galloping towards them.

It was a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes. He couldn't have been older than eight, and Roy felt his heart give a jolt as he was almost painfully reminded of his own son. The little boy wore no hat, so it was easy to make out his expression - he was frantic. He stopped his horse in front of the clinic and hopped off, taking a few, big, desperate gulps of air before rapid-fire words tumbled from his lips.

"Nurse Dixie! Pa needs Doc Brackett! He's hurt real bad! He was choppin' wood and the ax head came off! He's bleeding somethin' awful!"

Roy longed to reach out to him, but he'd never met this boy, and he wasn't sure he'd welcome a stranger's comfort, so Roy held his peace. He knew he'd made the right choice when Dixie bent down so that she was at the boy's level and put her hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

"Jacob, just calm down a minute. Where did the ax head hit your pa?"

"In the leg, above his ankle!"

"Was he awake when you left to get help?"

"Yes! He told me to go, so I saddled Stormy real fast and came straight here!"

Dixie nodded. "Okay, Jacob. You did a good job, and now I need you to listen to me. Doc Brackett isn't here right now, but we're still gonna get your pa the help he needs, alright?"

Tears shown in his eyes, but he nodded.

"Go take Stormy around the back, and get him settled in the corral. I'll come to fetch you in a minute."

The little boy nodded again, biting his lip, but he did as he'd been told.

Dixie straightened up as soon as he'd left, already shaking her head. When she looked at Roy, her eyes were troubled.

"Roy, I can't leave Ames now. If he wakes up and tries to walk…"

Roy grimaced. It didn't seem right that a drunk got Dixie's attention while an injured father didn't, but frustrating as it was, he didn't wish Ames ill, and if the man did try to use that leg now, he could very well wind up with a limp for the rest of his life.

Dixie sighed. "You'll have to head out to the Miller farm alone. You'll need to bind the wound and bring him back here for treatment. As far as I'm concerned, you're more than qualified for that, and if Kel has a problem with it, he can take it up with me later."

Roy nodded. "What about the boy?"

"I'll keep him here with me. Mrs. Miller passed away last year, so he has no one else besides his pa."

Roy heard what she wasn't saying - it was impossible to know how much time had actually passed since the accident, and depending on where the ax had hit his lower leg, Mr. Miller might have bled out already. If that was the case, it was the last thing his son needed to see. He'd seen too much already.

Nonetheless, Roy hated the idea of leaving Dixie with Ames, even if the man was currently unconscious. Brackett had, after all, wanted him to stay behind for a reason.

Dixie must have sensed his reluctance because she offered him a small smile. "I don't think Ames will be any trouble," she added. "But if he is, I'll send Jacob for the sheriff. I'll be alright, Roy. Really."

Satisfied at last, Roy agreed, and Dixie went around back to talk to Jacob while Roy hurried inside the clinic to pack some supplies. He grabbed a saddle bag, filling it with several rolls of bandages, a rag and some chloroform should Mr. Miller still be conscious and in pain, and a small bundle of light blankets to keep the patient warm. After a moment of consideration, he also grabbed a canteen filled with water, and another set of wooden boards for a splint.

A hand-drawn map of the town and surrounding area was the last thing to join the supplies in his bag. Brackett had made it for him a few weeks ago, and it was one of the many things Roy was expected to memorize. He'd studied it enough that he felt comfortable making his way around without it, but he would feel better having it along just the same. He checked it before he put it in his pack, and spotted the Miller farm up near the top, a relatively short ride from town.

When he was satisfied that he had everything he might need, Roy slung the saddle bag and canteen over his shoulder, put on his hat, and reached for the rifle he kept beside Brackett's desk. He'd brought two rifles out West with him, and here in Mud Springs, he kept one inside the bunkhouse, and the other - the one in his hand now - he carried with him when he traveled with the doctor.

He sincerely hoped that he would never need to use it - he'd seen enough of killing during the war to last him a lifetime. But he understood the necessity, and he was reminded of it every time he'd watched Brackett arm himself before he left to see to his patients.

Animals were a concern, for one. The foothills were home to mountain lions, wolves, and snakes, all of which could be dangerous enough to warrant the extra protection. There were human predators to consider as well. The area was usually peaceful, the doctor had told him, but outlaws weren't unheard of, and a man traveling in the middle of nowhere had best be prepared to defend himself.*

"I don't like it," Brackett had said. "I came here to put people back together, not to blow holes in them. But if I have to, I'll protect myself, my patients, and everyone I care about."

Brackett was certainly prepared to do just that. He had invited Roy to join him for target practice one day, and Roy had been surprised to learn that the doctor was an excellent shot.* Though, he supposed, if the doctor had practiced shooting with the same, single-minded intensity that he practiced medicine, then it really shouldn't have been such a shock.

Roy left the clinic through the back door, walking directly to the buckboard that was beside the corral. Dixie had already hitched up the horses, and Jacob stood a short distance away with the nurse behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. Jacob looked like he wanted to cry, though he was trying not to, his chin held high even as his lips trembled with suppressed tears.

"You're gonna go get my pa, Mr. DeSoto?" he asked.

"Yes, I am, son." Knowing there wasn't a second to lose, Roy put the saddle bag and canteen into the buckboard and positioned his rifle so that it would be within easy reach. Then he pulled himself up into the seat and took the reins in hand. "Where was your pa when he was hurt?"

"Behind the barn, close to the woodshed."

Roy nodded. "I'll take good care of him, and I'll bring him back here as soon as I can," he promised.

Then, with a flick of his wrist and a click of his tongue, he spurred the horses into motion, urging them forward until the buckboard was moving as fast as he dared.

The landscape rushed past him in a blur as buildings gave way to groves of trees and brush-covered hills, but finally, he reached the boundary of the Miller farm. The house was far more humble than the one Dixie and Brackett had bought, just a simple building made of weathered wood, but the owner had obviously taken pains to care for it. The house was in good repair, and the yard was neat, everything in its place.

Roy drove up to the house and stopped his wagon in front of it, then hopped out, grabbing his saddle bag and canteen as he went. Knowing that he would need to keep his hands free to treat Mr. Miller, he left the rifle behind.

He caught sight of the barn and immediately started in that direction. He debated for a moment about calling out, but he didn't want to startle the man if he was still conscious, and to be honest, if Miller was conscious, he wasn't quite sure how Miller would react to his arrival. Would he welcome the help, or would he be uncomfortable with the fact that Roy wasn't a doctor? So, far, most of the townspeople had leaned towards the latter. They just didn't seem to know what to make of his presence.

Dixie and Brackett had begun telling the public about their plans to train an assistant as soon as Roy had agreed to join them. So, most of the townspeople hadn't needed an explanation when Brackett had started making the rounds with him, but Roy still felt their uncertain - and sometimes scathing - stares. It might have been easier if he was actually a doctor, since, in that case, Brackett could have introduced him as a colleague. But because he wasn't a doctor, though not quite a layman either, it made it hard for most people to put him into a familiar category. He was something other, something that the public didn't have a name for yet. He hoped that the situation would change for the better with time, especially when - if - Brackett finally allowed him to care for patients on his own, but for now, he was still very much an unknown quantity.

He prayed that wouldn't be a problem in this case. He would do everything he could to help regardless, but trying to assure Mr. Miller of his skills would waste time the injured man didn't have.

Roy finally came around the back of the barn, and the woodshed Jacob had described was visible immediately. There, just as the boy had said, was his father. Mr. Miller was unconscious, laying prone on the ground near an old stump, the broken ax's handle and the loose ax head sitting close by. But to Roy's surprise, he wasn't alone. Another man was bent over him, wrapping something carefully around his right leg.

He was a lean man, though Roy guessed that the tan, leather jacket he wore hid hard, wiry muscle beneath it, given the way that the fabric stretched over his narrow shoulders. Dark, wavy hair fell around his neck, though most of it was hidden by a brown Stetson with an elaborate hat band. Roy was too far away to see the detail in it, but he thought he saw small silver, red, and turquoise cabochons worked into the design. Two eagle feathers were tucked into that band on the right side, and Roy realized, there was some sort of beaded armband tied around the upper part of the jacket's right sleeve. The man was crouching in the dirt beside Mr. Miller, so Roy couldn't see much of his face, but he had on brown trousers and soft-looking, brown, knee-high boots with the laces crossing back and forth over his shins.

Figuring that he had stared long enough, and not wanting to alarm the good Samaritan who might very well have saved Mr. Miller's life, Roy stepped out from behind the barn and cleared his throat.

"Uh, 'scuse me."

The man glanced up from his work, and he looked a little wary, but not particularly surprised to have company. He was young with high, prominent cheekbones, a long nose that was just the faintest bit crooked from having been broken at some point in the past, and dark, piercing, brown eyes. Those eyes narrowed at him now, taking on a challenging glint, as though he was expecting Roy to question his presence, or to tell him to leave.

Roy realized suddenly why he might be inclined to expect such a thing - Indians weren't often looked on kindly in these parts*, and this man seemed to be at least half Indian, judging by the manner of his dress and the rich undertone of his skin.

His mind raced as he tried to find a way to assure the man that he didn't want him gone. Just the opposite - he was glad to have his help.

"My name is Roy DeSoto," he began, "and I work for Doc Brackett. Mr. Miller's son, Jacob, came to the clinic to get help for his pa."

"And where is Doc Brackett?" the other man asked.

"With another patient. Nurse Dixie, too."

To his surprise, the other man snorted faintly, though there was no malice in it, just a wry, almost sad amusement. "Bad day to get hurt in Mud Springs, I guess."

Roy's lips quirked. "You could say that. Can I ask your name?"

The other man studied him for a moment, as if he was trying to decide whether or not he actually wanted to answer that.

"John Gage," he said at last.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Gage, though I wish it were under better circumstances." He waved a hand at Mr. Miller's prone form. "I brought some supplies with me. Do you mind if I take a look at him along with you?"

Mr. Gage's eyebrows rose faintly at that, but he shrugged after a moment, and Roy stepped closer, also crouching down beside the injured man.

Mr. Miller had a stout build with a head of reddish-brown hair and a beard to match. He wore a simple green shirt and brown pants, though Gage had ripped the right leg of those pants up to the knee in order to get better access to the wound. Miller had indeed bled pretty badly, judging by his pallor and the tell-tale red tint now infusing the soil around the injured limb, but Gage had a large, blue bandana tied around wound, and the bleeding had slowed significantly. Roy reached up to take the man's pulse and check his breathing. Both were fast, likely from the blood loss, but they were steady, and overall, his condition was much better than Roy had expected it to be. It was still serious, but he was stable enough that time was no longer as much of a concern. He glanced at the leg again and caught a glimpse of something green sticking out from beneath the makeshift-bandage.

"What did you use to treat this?" Roy asked.

Gage eyed him again, but apparently hearing nothing but honest curiosity in his voice, Gage answered, "Yarrow.* He's lucky - I was riding back home after picking a fresh batch when I found him. I broke it into pieces and spread it over the wound, then kept pressure on it until the bleeding slowed. I had just finished bandaging it when you came by."

Roy nodded. "I've read about yarrow. The Doc has a book about natural remedies in his library."

"Natural Remedies of the Western Frontier*," Gage recited.

Now, it was Roy's turn to look at him in surprise.

Gage smirked. "I've got a copy. Cost me a pretty penny, but it's come in handy a few times."

Roy could believe that it had.

He looked over the leg again. The bandana was large and covered the wound, but Roy was worried that it wouldn't be enough to hold the wound closed when they got Mr. Miller to the wagon. He reached into the saddle bag he was carrying and pulled out some fresh roles of linen.

Gage seemed to know what he was planning without needing to ask, because he carefully lifted Mr. Miller's leg off the ground so that Roy could wrap the extra bandaging around it. When the first layer was in place, he pulled out the boards he'd brought with him for a splint and put them along each side of Mr. Miller's leg, honestly grateful that he'd watched Dixie do the same thing just a short while before. Yet again, Gage understood his intent, and took to holding the boards while Roy started on another layer of bandages to anchor the splint in place.

When they were done, Roy leaned back to examine their work, and once he was satisfied, he reached into the saddle bag again and found the rag he'd originally brought for the Chloroform. He held that out to Gage along with the canteen.

"So you can wash you hands," he offered.

Gage looked down at his hands which were bright red with drying blood, and he accepted the rag and the canteen gratefully.

Roy's own hands were much cleaner, since the bulk of the bandaging had already been done before he arrived, so he pushed himself up from the ground and motioned in the direction of the house.

"I have a buckboard out front. If you give me a minute, I'll pull it around, and then we can get him up into the bed."

Gage nodded, and Roy hurried to get the wagon.

Gage was finished cleaning up by the time he returned, and together, they lifted Mr. Miller into the wagon bed, Roy taking his shoulders and Gage holding his feet. Miller moaned lowly at the change in position, but he didn't wake. Once they had him settled, Roy reached into the saddle bag again, retrieving the light blankets he'd brought. He draped them over Miller carefully, tucking them around his body while being especially careful of his leg.

When that was done, Roy shut up the back of the wagon, latching the board in place, then turned to Gage, who returned the canteen. Roy accepted it, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"Thank you for your help," Roy told him. "I don't think he would have made it without you, and you made my job a lot easier. I'm sure the doc and Dixie will both agree."

"I was just doin' what's right," Gage said with a shrug. "Tell 'em that for me, would you?"

"You're not coming back to the clinic with me?" Roy asked in surprise.

Gage shook his head. "I doubt that Miller will want me around."

"Why?" Roy asked, honestly baffled. "You probably saved his life!"

Gage smiled sadly. "My homestead's not too far from here, and I know Miller. The only reason I was able to treat him is because he's unconscious. If he'd been awake, chances are that he wouldn't have let me anywhere near him."

"But that doesn't make any sense!"

"Well, it sure makes sense to a lot of folks around here," Gage returned darkly.

Roy's fists clenched at his sides, and he looked away, feeling something like bitterness rising up in his own chest…indignation on behalf of this man who'd gone out of his way to help someone who apparently hated him.

"I'm sorry," he said, though the words felt hollow on his tongue.

Gage sighed, taking off his hat briefly to run his hand through his hair. He replaced the hat a moment later, straightening it with a quick pull of the brim. "Not your fault. You don't seem to agree with them."

"I don't," Roy assured.

Gage smiled at that, then turned on his heel, heading for a tree that was a short distance away. Roy realized that he'd had been so focused on his patient that he hadn't noticed the dapple gray horse waiting beside that tree, its reins hooked over a low branch. It wore no saddle, only a simple blanket, but it had a beautifully woven bridle, and small beads were woven into a few stands of its mane. Near its feet, at the base of the tree, Roy caught sight of a coil of rope and a gunny sack that was stuffed with yellow yarrow flowers.

Gage freed the reins from the branch, then reached down to pick up the rope and the sack, using the rope to fasten the sack in place around his horse, just behind its shoulders. His deft movements suggested he'd done something similar many times before. After giving the rope a few, quick tugs to ensure that it would hold, he led the horse a few feet away from the tree and swung himself up onto its back with a light, effortless jump that would have made him the envy of many a horseman.

Seeing that the man intended to leave, Roy tipped his hat in farewell.

"It was nice to meet you, Mr. Gage."

Gage smiled again, tipping his own hat in response. "You know," he said, turning his horse around with a gentle tug of his reins, "most of my friends call me Johnny."

Then, with a nudge of his heels, he sent his horse into an easy canter. The horse's long strides carried him quickly across the Miller farm and back out into the open prairie, and Roy watched him, deep in thought, until his silhouette was no longer visible on the horizon.

TBC

Historical and Content Notes

"Brackett's level of expertise" - How Doctors were trained in the Old West: In the Old West, there were "three methods in which a person could become a doctor," and these included, "[Attending] medical school, [apprenticing] under a knowledgeable doctor, or [purchasing] a diploma from a diploma mill." The latter, especially, could lead to "doctors" who did more harm than good, though a number of qualified physicians were trained under the apprenticeship method. The concept of training doctors through medical schools, however, gained popularity over time. For instance, "In 1850, there were approximately forty medical schools in the United States. That number swelled to more than sixty by 1876." (Source: hhhistory (d o t) c o m, "Becoming A Doctor In the Old West.")

"Prepared to defend himself": As I mentioned in my previous notes, San Dimas, California - once Mud Springs - is located near San Dimas canyon, and, "For many years, it was commonly accepted that the name "San Dimas" was given to the canyon by Don Ignacio Palomares because of the practice of horse thieves hiding their booty there. It was said that, in exasperation, the Don made reference to St. Dismas, the crucified, repentant thief on the Cross, and wished that the horse thieves would also repent and stop the depredations of his livestock." This is no longer believed to the case, as it now appears that Palomares named the canyon after his old hometown, San Dimas, Mexico. (Source: sandimaschamber (d o t) c o m, "Points of Interest.") However, horse thieves were nonetheless a problem throughout the Old West, so it wasn't unreasonable for a man to be cautious about them, since "being left afoot could be fatal." (Source: truewestmagazine (d o t) c o m, "Was horse theft a capital offense during the Old West era?")

"An excellent shot": As you probably know, Robert Fuller, who of course played Dr. Brackett, starred in many westerns, and has a deep love for the Old West and Western culture. Especially in his younger days, he was in fact an excellent shot and a quick draw, so I couldn't resist incorporating that into Brackett's character here. I also think it would be a logical choice for Brackett, since - if he ever would need to use his weapon to defend himself - a good shot is far less likely to do serious damage to an opponent, while an amateur would have less control over where and how they shot someone.

Native Americans in California during the Civil War period: Native Americans suffered greatly in California - as they did, sadly, elsewhere in the U.S. - facing terrible discrimination and abuse from both the government and from private citizens. The period between the Mexican-American War and the Civil War was particularly tumultuous. (Source: nps (d o t) g o v, "A History of American Indians in California: 1849-1879.")

Yarrow: Yarrow is a "highly effective blood-stopping agent," and it was used by both physicians and Native Americans during the Civil War era. (Source: heirloom gardener (d o t) c o m, "Medicines of the Civil War.")

Natural Remedies of the Western Frontier: As far as I am aware, there wasn't actually a book by this title, but there was extensive interest in medical remedies derived from plants during the Civil War period, particularly in the South, where medicines were harder to manufacture than in the North, though the North also did research into natural remedies. (Source: civilwarscholars (d o t) c o m, "North-South Medicine Compared – George Wunderlich.")

A/N: Again, the next chapter should be up in a few days. :)

Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!

Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)