RESCUED: CHAPTER 7

The three men in the wagon were the oddest looking group they'd ever seen. Nathan Burke elbowed Wilbur Jonas, and they just stood on the boardwalk staring.

"Can't be drovers. Farmers don't wear hats like that." Jonas was right on top of it.

"Got hats like cowboys, but cowboys ride horses." Burke added.

As the wagon pulled closer, two cowboys who'd overheard them added to the sleuthing.

"Lookit the pelts, boys! They got 'em a whole wagon load a' pelts there!"

"They ain't wolfers."

Burke solved the mystery. "Wool! That's wool piled in the wagon, that's not pelts!" He stepped into the street to get their attention.

"Hey there! You men want to sell that wool?"

The wagon ground to a halt, and while the other men eyed the strange group, Burke had visions of profits in his head. Wool was always in demand, but it all had to be shipped in from great distances, typically from the mountains in Wyoming or Montana. The few sheep around Dodge were kept for slaughter in barnyards.

"Maybe. Need to find the doctor's office first."

That was enough for all of them. To a man, each stepped well out of harm's way on the boardwalk, including Burke, who pointed at Doc's office.

"Second floor, Doctor Adams."

"Obliged." The disheveled driver tipped his hat and the wagon lumbered down the street to its destination. They all watched from their safe distance as all three of the strangers climbed the stairs and disappeared into the office.

"How can we help you?" Doc greeted them.

"Two docs." One of the men spoke to the other as he noticed Joseph on the other side of the room. "Two docs in this cow town and ain't got a one in Ashland."

"Doctor Phillips from Wichita visits Ashland once a week, Mister." Doc corrected him. "The Santa Fe sees to that. You from Ashland?"

"Homesteading north of there. Look, can we see one of you docs?"

"Name's Doc Adams, Mister. At your service. And you are . . ."

"Abel Poltrans."

"We got sores all over our arms." Abel took his heavy coat off and rolled up his sleeves. He truly did have battered arms, and one of his hands was affected, too. He sported a concoction of red patches, open sores, cuts and lesions up to his elbows, and then smooth upper arms.

"Anywhere else on your body?"

"Nah. Just hands and arms."

"You're a farmer, are you?" Doc continued.

"We raise sheep. Got a whole wagon load of prime wool downstairs to sell."

"Shearing is pretty tough business. How careful are you with your shears?"

"Listen, Doc. Me and my boys been shearin' sheep for near on 25 years. We know what we're doin'. All this here stuff on our arms only come on when we claimed our Kansas homestead land."

Young Joseph Brooker couldn't contain himself any longer. He walked up to the man, politely as if he was talking to a banker, and said "I'm Doctor Brooker, sir. May I please look at your arms?"

He took the man by the hand, his first impression being that of touching incredibly soft skin, no doubt from the constant handling of wool with all its lanolin. But as he rotated the arm, the man's complaint was apparent. He looked at Doc, then at the other two men.

"Will you please show us your arms as well, gentlemen?" They were only too eager to comply, especially for a doctor who showed them so much respect. For Joseph's part, the tactic had worked almost every time on the prairie, and it was becoming a habit that broke the ice with his new clientele. While he carefully examined each arm presented to him, Doc continued with his line of questioning, more likely out of curiosity than anything else.

"Where you from?"

"Missouri. That's how come we got to haul our animals on the Santa Fe to get here. All them empty cattle cars headin' back to Dodge is just beggin' for freight."

"Well why in thunder would you think Kansas would have good grazing?"

"It's got FREE grazing! The railroad was advertisin' free homestead land and free's somethin' we got plenty of. We had us decent land back east, but the French in Missouri, they got money. They buy up all the good land near the river. We got us five hundred acres homestead and another five hundred bonus from the railroad. That's a lot a' land for sheep, but what we got in Kansas is worthless. Ain't no bottom land nowhere, just a lot a' nothin'. From the look on that guy's face outside, we got a market for wool anyhow, so we're sellin' out and gettin' out."

"Galen," Joseph said softly so only his partner could hear him. "I saw this back east. It's Anthrax. The workers in the mills called it 'wool sorter's disease.' We can treat this . . ." Before he even finished his sentence, Doc Adams was digging through the large drawers alongside his big oak desk. It wasn't long before he pulled several journals from his archives, with a grin on his face like a miner who'd just struck gold.

"Lister! Right here! 'The Lancet'." He thumbed through the first three, then hit the motherlode on the third one, letting his finger glide over the text looking for validation.

"Here, Joseph!" He handed the journal to the young doctor.

"Carbolic as I recall," Joseph reported proudly without glancing at the journal. "A very mild solution of carbolic, eh?"

Doc rubbed his mustache thoughtfully, then smiled. Anything he didn't have in his medical library was right there in the head of his recently graduated colleague. Joseph deferred to his boss, who made the announcement to the patients.

"You and your men have contracted Anthrax from handling that wool. We can wash you up with a soap that will get rid of it."

"Can we sell our wool?"

"I'm afraid not. If you do, other people could get the sores, and if the wool got rubbed on someone's face, he could get very sick."

"But you touched our arms, ain't you gonna get it?"

Joseph jumped right into the conversation. "No. The only way Doctor Adams or I can get it is by handling the animal or their wool. We can't get it from you."

"So you're sayin' our sheep got it."

"I believe they do. How long have these sheep been in Ford County?"

"Is that here?"

"Yes, Abel. We're in Ford County."

"Couple a' months."

"I'd like to test one of your animals. How about I buy one?"

Abel grinned. "Everything I got's for sale Doc. Just sold five of my best ewes to some guy on the way in here."

"What's his name, Abel?" Doc asked. "Where's he live?"

Abel scratched his head, trying to recollect a transaction long put out of his mind. He'd sold the sheep, had enough money in his pocket to buy some whiskey and supplies. Recalling the man's name didn't matter a bit.

"Uhhh, it was 'Ownie' somethin. Has a place oh, maybe a couple miles south of here on the wagon road. Din't have no sheep though. Just hogs."

"Ownie" and "hogs" were keywords for a man who'd spent fifteen years in Dodge. He looked up at Joseph with a big smile and snapped his fingers. "Ownie Tucker!"

It didn't take long for the doctors to make up the carbolic solution and wash their patients. Joseph sold them a quart bottle of it, with instructions to wash their arms with it twice a week until it was gone. He cautioned them not to handle the flock until after he'd done his test, which likely fell on deaf ears. Sale of the sheep were their only ticket out of Kansas. He had the sinking feeling he was about to take that away.

"Don't bring any more of these sheep up to Dodge, Abel." Doc said with authority. "The marshal will seize them on my order."

As soon as the door had closed behind the herdsmen, Doc rummaged around in a desk drawer, counted out his cash, and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Joseph, Festus Haggen knows where Ownie Tucker lives. I'll go find him and tell him to buy all those sheep and drive them up here. Meet me at the pens in an hour."

XOXOXO

"I'm supposed ta' be a-marshalin' while Matthew's gone, Doc. An' you got me runnin' all over creation herdin' sheep of all thangs. What's this here all about?"

"Festus, just this once shut your mouth and listen to me. These sheep have a nasty disease and we can't let them in the pens. You and Ruth hold them right up against the fence and don't ask any more questions."

Quicker than Festus could argue, he watched while Doc and Joseph drew pistols and killed four of the ewes. The fifth bolted in sheep-like fear, so Festus went after her and shot her before she could gather another thought.

"Thank you, Festus. Now we need to burn these carcasses before cowboys start asking questions. Put your gloves on and drag them into a pile."

"Just a second, Galen," Joseph said. "Let me get a sample."

Festus wasn't one to cringe, but he watched wide-eyed while Joseph slit one of the sheep's throats and collected a tube of blood. He corked it and slid the tube inconspicuously into his pocket, then went to work right alongside the other two men to drag the carcasses on top of one another, soak them with kerosene, and burn them to oblivion. The hill man had done everything asked of him and more, so Joseph thanked him the best way he knew how.

"Festus, come up to the office when you get your mule put up. We'll explain this whole thing to you."

"Right as rain, Doctor!" He grinned, relishing the respect he always craved for his skills.

The two doctors were taking turns at a microscope when Festus entered the office, pegged his hat, and stood quietly, listening to them speak in some doctor language, waiting his turn.

"The color is so bright and vivid! I could never have seen that with my microscope!"

Joseph smiled as Doc went back for another look.

"You see the rod bodies?"

"I do! This is amazing!"

"It's the Abbe scope, Galen. They taught us about Louis Pasteur in Philadelphia. He postulated the rod bodies. I thought he was a genius. That's why I asked for this microscope when mother offered a graduation gift. We've got a big discovery here, Galen, I mean BIG! Right here in Kansas! I need to take these slides to the dean at Philadelphia College so he can see that we've got Anthrax spores way out here!"

The old physician backed off from the astonishing sight he'd been looking at under the Abbe scope, scrubbed his mustache, and fixed steel-cold eyes on Joseph Brooker.

"You just wait a minute!" He scolded. "You work in Kansas now, young man! Philadelphia College be damned, you signed on to serve these people right here in Dodge. This is a crossroads for you, Joseph, and I know it's a difficult choice. I can't spare you for a trip to Philadelphia. Advances in medicine are exciting right now and prairie medicine is routine as hell. You need to commit to your path and follow it one hundred percent. Turn left, turn right, but follow that path!"

Complete silence replaced excitement in the room while Doc waited for Joseph to react. Not even Festus dared move. He'd had a few ass-whippins in his day, and Doc had just delivered a good one.

"I'm here to work for you, Galen. Right here on the prairie." Joseph offered softly. "One hundred percent."

"Good!" Doc placed a gentle hand on the young doctor's arm.

"Perhaps I could write the dean?"

"Of course you can! And you can pack up a slide and send it along with the letter. You'll get full credit for the discovery."

Festus had been so quiet during the whole ordeal that Doc had almost forgotten he was in the room. He looked up while Joseph busied himself cleaning up the work area.

"Festus, sit down here at my desk" he gestured toward the chair next to his. "I'll explain this to you. Some homesteaders brought these sheep into Ford County from a long way out east of Kansas. They have a disease that cattle can catch if they're in the same pens. So, if it spreads to cattle when they're brought here, we'll have a first-class panic on our hands. Doctor Brooker figured out a way to prove the sheep have it. All we'll have to do next season is build a separate holding pen for sheep. He and I can test an animal from each flock and then you lawmen can deal with any problems."

"Don't you fret none, Doc. Me an' Matthew an' Frank, we'd look after our cowboys a'fore anyone else!

"That's why we burned the evidence, Deputy." Doc had a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Nobody needs to know as long our pens are only full of cattle. Make sense?"

"Oh, I'm gonna be Quieter n' a gagged gopher. Need them saloons full an' them cowboys happy!"

"You and Ruth did a great job this afternoon. We appreciate it."

"Fiddle, Doc. All in th' line a' work 'fer a man with a good mule."

tbc