The longer Sturdevant laid in bed, awake, the more he thought about the last several months, leading up to the past few days and what had happened to him on this blasted trip.
Overall, he was very displeased with the whole turnout. On the one hand, he really wished he hadn't come. But on the other, he had tried to save The Virginian's life. Perhaps that man would be dead if he hadn't been around. If someone else had been sent instead, maybe he would have gone along with Jacques' plans, allowed The Virginian to be killed, and let Louis be captured.
It helped to try to find some purpose in this calamity, anyway.
His employers would be expecting him to send an answer via telegraph or to ride back to St. Louis within days. They were probably already anxious, feeling that communication was overdue.
And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he did not know what had happened to the $10,000 that had been entrusted to him by his employers.
He cringed at the realization. Even if he had been duped, the money had still been placed in his care. And if it had gone missing, he would be blamed. Maybe they would even think he had stolen it.
"Mr. Sturdevant?"
He looked up at Suzanne's voice. She was standing in the doorway, regarding him in concern.
"Good morning," he greeted, trying to smile in spite of his pain and his worries.
"I hate to see you go without food," Suzanne remarked as she came in. "If you're hungry, there must be something we can do to get you settled enough to eat."
"Thank you," he said, his smile becoming a bit more genuine. "I don't know if there is a good way. But tell me, do you know what happened to the money I was carrying?"
Her eyes flickered. "I'm sorry, I don't," she said. "I know Jacques stole it, but the last I saw of it was when Louis took it from him. I don't know if Louis carried it with him across the lake or not."
"Lake?!"
"Yes. He . . . he decided to go back to the revolution after all." Suzanne looked away. "He felt he had to do it."
"But he didn't want to accept the money," Sturdevant said in surprise. "He was so sure I and my employers had an ulterior motive."
"Maybe he thought that with you dead . . . oh, I don't know." Suzanne shook her head, overwhelmed. "Maybe he didn't take it, but I certainly didn't see him set it down anywhere."
Sturdevant groaned, bringing a hand to his head. "So I'll have to say that Jacques took the money from me and I can't account for it after that. I don't know if my employers will buy that story."
"Well, they'll have to believe someone attacked you," Suzanne exclaimed. "It should be logical for them to also believe that person took the money." She stopped at his bedside. "Why did they choose you to deliver the money and their proposal, anyway?"
Sturdevant sighed. "I don't know anymore whether it was because of my integrity or because they thought I was utterly naive." He sank deeper into the pillows. "If Mr. Boissevain was right about what they really wanted, then he was certainly not the fool I thought he was. It was I for falling for that story they gave me about wanting to help the revolutionaries."
Suzanne smiled sadly, understandingly. "Con artists can be very convincing."
He looked at her in surprise. "You sound as though you're speaking from experience."
She averted her gaze. "I am."
"I'm sorry," Sturdevant said in earnest. "I didn't mean to pry."
"You aren't," she assured him. "I'll bring you some breakfast and we'll see what we can work out for you to eat it. Alright?"
"We can try," Sturdevant said, reluctantly. "Thank you."
Suzanne hurried into the kitchen, pulling her shawl closer around her in the morning chill. She had admitted her past occupation to The Virginian during one of their conversations, but she didn't feel comfortable telling Sturdevant, at least not yet. She had never even told Louis, terrified that he would not want her if he knew how she had cheated people.
She had started to tell him, she remembered wistfully, just before he left. But he had told her that there was no need, and that no matter what it was, it would not make him stop loving her.
She smiled a bit, sadly again. She believed him.
"Well, hello."
She started to attention. The Virginian was at the table, finishing breakfast. His plate was mostly empty.
"Hello," she said, certain that she sounded occupied.
"How's Sturdevant? Still awake?"
She nodded. "I'm going to see if I can get him to eat something." Going to the stove, she started to fill a plate with some of the food.
"Let me know if I can help," he said.
"Hmm? Oh. Yes, I will. We probably will need your help." She glanced over her shoulder at him.
"You seem like you've got a lot on your mind right now," he observed.
"You seemed the same, when you came out to eat," she remarked.
He nodded. "That's true," he said. "Seems like talking to Sturdevant gets the mind rolling. What I'm not sure of is whether that's good or bad."
She paused. "I'm not sure, either," she said, quietly.
xxxx
It was a relief to finally ride into Pinetree Hill, and close to Sam's estimation of a couple hours, too. After leaving the mercenaries' horses and their own at the livery stable, and reporting the incident to the Sheriff, they were finally on their way to the town doctor's office.
"I'm not sure the Sheriff believed you about that other Sheriff trying to kill you in the flood," Trampas remarked.
"He probably didn't," Sam shrugged. "Law enforcement tends to stick together. But as long as he believes us about being attacked, we're not doing too bad."
Trampas suddenly shot him a suspicious look. "You don't have any warrants out on you, do you?"
"Not that I know of," Sam replied. "Of course, I could be wrong. And if this Sturdevant character you need help for really looks like me, I guess sometime someone could make a mistake and go after the wrong man when they really want me."
"Let's hope not," Trampas said. "We have enough trouble right now."
The Sheriff had told them that the regular doctor was not available; he had gone to a medical conference. But a friend of his had come to fill in and should be there that day, on the normal business hours. And it was a relief to see that the office looked open when they walked up to the window.
Trampas hastened to the door and opened it. "Doctor Travers?"
The doctor was a younger man—or at least, young compared to what Trampas had envisioned. Instead of silver or white hair, glasses, and a mustache, Dr. Travers' hair was still dark and he was clean-shaven. When he looked up in surprise at the urgent voice, he appeared only, perhaps, ten years older than The Virginian.
"What is it?" he asked in concern.
Trampas hurried to the desk, placing his hands on it as he leaned forward. Sam stayed near the door, silent, waiting.
"Doctor, we've been traveling through a blizzard to get to you," Trampas explained. "There's a man back at The Inn of the Weary Traveler who needs help in a bad way. He was stabbed. Worse, everyone thought he was dead and he was laying out in the woods for hours before we found he was alive."
Dr. Travers immediately threw down his pen and got up. "Is he suffering from the cold, too?" he demanded in concern.
"I don't know," Trampas admitted with a frown. "It wasn't snowing when we brought him in, but it was cold. I left pretty soon to find the doctor in the town closest to the inn. I was told the closest doctor was here."
"I'll come right now," Dr. Travers asserted. He grabbed his hat, cloak, and medical bag, glancing out the window at the slowly falling flakes. "The storm could pick up again at any time."
"You've got that right," Trampas said as he turned, heading for the door. "And we'd better already be at the inn when it does."
Travers chased after him, only pausing briefly to look Sam up and down. "Are you with him?"
Sam nodded.
Trampas looked over his shoulder. "He doesn't talk much," he said apologetically.
"Well, nevermind." Travers stepped out onto the wooden walkway. "Let's go."
Regarding the doctor in approval at his no-nonsense manner, Sam kept pace with him and Trampas on their way to the livery stable.
"I have to warn you, we might run into some trouble on the way back," Trampas said. "There's some greedy people out to take Sam in, thinking they'll get a reward for it."
Travers stiffened and frowned. "Is he a wanted man?"
"He doesn't think so," Trampas said. "He's just got some bitter enemies."
Travers nodded, looking tired. "They can be relentless."
Sam studied him for a moment. He was speaking from experience. His tone made that obvious.
Sam remained silent as they reached the stable and retrieved their horses. But as Travers briefly left them to get his, Sam glanced to Trampas and spoke. "You know, it might be safer for you and the doctor if I don't go back with you."
"Maybe," Trampas said noncommittally as he set about putting the blanket and the saddle on his horse.
"But you're not worried," Sam pointed out.
"Maybe I should be," Trampas said. "Maybe I am, a bit. But if you're who you say you are, then you need to come back with us. The Virginian will want to see you and know you're alright."
Sam finally nodded. He was impressed by Trampas's determination in the face of what could be a very serious problem in their situation. He wasn't certain it was the right decision, to let Sam come along, but he wasn't sure it was the wrong one, either.
"I guess it's still possible someone could come after you for your money," he mused.
Trampas nodded. "And having you along might shorten the time we'd have to deal with them."
"I'll come," Sam said. "But something could go wrong if we're attacked. The doctor could even end up hurt or dead."
"We'll just have to hope nothing like that happens," Trampas said. He didn't want to put the doctor in danger, of course. Nor did he want to risk anything going wrong and being unable to help Sturdevant.
But he also didn't want to trade one life for another. Sam needed help too. And he had proven himself capable of handling himself during their trek here. In the end, even with the danger to his life, they might be safer traveling with him.
Maybe, though, underneath all of those rationalizations, the real reason why he wanted to bring Sam along was to reunite The Virginian with a friend whom he had believed dead. He knew how badly The Virginian had felt about it. And he knew how badly he himself had felt about the deaths of some of his friends. He wanted to give The Virginian something that very few people received—the miraculous joy of a life restored. Trampas wasn't sure if there was anything he wouldn't give to find that one of his supposedly deceased friends was alive and well.
At that moment Travers returned with his horse. "How far away is the inn?" he queried.
"The nearest town is twelve miles from here," Trampas said. "The inn is several more miles from that."
"Then there's no time to lose." Travers got on his horse and started out of the stable.
Trampas and Sam exchanged a look before following suit. Travers meant business. And hopefully that would help to narrow the gap between life and death for Sturdevant.
"I wonder how far he's come," Trampas mused. "The Sheriff said he isn't the regular doctor. And he still came up to help, just for a friend. It's a pretty big journey for someone who doesn't live in the area."
Sam grunted. It was a pretty big journey even for those who did.
"Okay, keep your thoughts to yourself," Trampas said in frustration. "I just wondered if you'd ever heard of him."
"Maybe," Sam said at last. "There's probably more than one Dr. Travers."
"That's true," Trampas acknowledged.
"I did hear something unusual about a doctor once, though," Sam mused. "His name could have been Travers; I didn't pay enough attention to know for sure.
"The story was that he had been an outlaw who burned down a town and took their money. But while he was in prison he started working in the hospital part and that started to work on him. By the time he was out, he'd changed his name and went to work as a country doctor. I guess he didn't have an actual license, but in some of those out-of-the-way places—like here—he was all they had. And I guess he did pretty good work."
Trampas stiffened. "And you're saying that could be the Dr. Travers we've got with us."
"Could be. Like I said, I don't remember the name. Seems like it was something like Travers, but maybe that's just me thinking wrong."
"A doctor without a license," Trampas mused. "And a former outlaw at that. That sounds about how our luck goes sometimes."
He looked to Travers, who was still moving ahead at the quickest pace his horse could go. He certainly seemed legitimate, determined to get to the patient as fast as conceivably possible. Trampas himself hadn't ever been a pillar of virtue, but he was still uneasy at the thought of this doctor's possible backstory.
"If you're so worried about it, you should ask him," Sam said.
"Maybe I will," Trampas replied.
He rode up next to Travers. "Hey, I need to ask you something."
Travers glanced over. "What is it?"
Trampas, in his usual way, went right on with what was on his mind. "I heard about a doctor who used to be an outlaw. His name might be Travers. Is that you?"
Something unrecognizable flickered across Travers' face. "So word is still going around."
"Something like that usually does. And you don't really have a license, either?"
"No, but I learned about medicine for thirteen years," Travers said.
Trampas frowned. "You're going to have to do," he said. "There's no one else we can get. But you'd better be good."
"I always try my best."
Trampas could tell that this was a variation on a conversation that had taken place many times. He fell back to talk to Sam again. "So I'm coming back through a blizzard with a hired gun and an unlicensed doctor. I'm not sure I like that."
Sam shrugged, as though to say, You'll have to deal with it anyway.
Trampas rolled his eyes. "I know, I know."
Suddenly he paused. "Now look what you're doing," he scolded. "You've got me figuring out what you're saying when you're not even talking."
Sam outright smirked.
"I don't know how The Virginian puts up with you," Trampas said. "But oh, that's right. You actually talk more around him."
Sam just looked at him in a matter-of-fact way.
Trampas shook his head. Sam was back to his usual mode. And Travers seemed as though he also didn't want to talk any more than was necessary.
"This is going to be a long ride," Trampas proclaimed.
xxxx
"Are you sure that's all you want to eat?"
Sturdevant leaned back into the bed with a tired nod. "Yes, thank you. It's delicious, but it's very difficult to enjoy eating in the midst of being in pain."
Suzanne nodded in sympathy and set the bowl on the nightstand. "We can try again later," she determined. "At this point, I'm just relieved that you ate anything at all."
"I'm surprised by that myself." Sturdevant closed his eyes, but then just as suddenly opened them again. "Oh . . . I just realized. Do you think your husband would be alright with my being here?"
Suzanne looked down. "He isn't my husband," she said quietly, regretfully.
"I'm sorry. That's right, he's your fiancé. I remember him mentioning your engagement."
Suzanne nodded. "But it isn't likely to happen now," she said. "There was a confrontation with Jacques that ended with his death. And as I said, Louis decided to go back to the revolution."
"I see." Sturdevant frowned, deeply. "That's going to be difficult on you, especially if you stay here all alone."
"I'll manage." Suzanne crossed to the window, her arms folded. "I was going to close the inn and move back to Fargo. I don't intend to stay around just waiting for him when I know he might not . . ." She trailed off. "He wouldn't want me to, either," she finished instead. "We decided to part as though it would be for always."
"My being here will delay your plans of leaving," Sturdevant realized. "I'm sorry for that, as well as for his departure. I wasn't aware of your presence when I set out from St. Louis with the money."
"Would that have made a difference to you, if you had known?" Suzanne returned.
"I don't know," Sturdevant admitted. "I imagine I still would have performed my duties."
"I'm sure you would have." Suzanne paused. "I thought Louis was right about you at first."
"That I was deliberately playing some con game?" Suzanne nodded. "But you're indicating you changed your mind."
"I believe what you told me earlier," Suzanne told him. "Anyway, you don't seem like a con artist."
"You feel that you can recognize them and point them out?"
"Sometimes." Suzanne took up the bowl. "I should let you rest. I know it's difficult to talk when you're in pain, too."
Sturdevant winced, leaning farther into the pillows. "I am exhausted," he admitted. "But I've enjoyed talking with you. Perhaps after I rest we can talk some more."
"I'll look forward to it," Suzanne smiled. "And to you feeling better." She headed for the door and stepped out of the room, pulling it half-shut behind her.
The Virginian was up now, pacing the floor. Suzanne paused and watched him, a bit surprised. "What is it?" she asked.
He started and looked over. "Oh . . . I guess it's a lot of things," he admitted.
"Still what Mr. Sturdevant said to you?"
"Some of that," he nodded. "But some other things, too." He glanced to the window. "Snow's starting to come down heavier again. It'll probably be another blizzard before we know it."
Suzanne's eyes flickered with worry. "And we don't even know if Trampas got to the town safely," she said quietly.
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. But she knew the same thing was on The Virginian's mind.
He sighed and nodded, turning away. "Or if he'll make it back here safely, even if he found the doctor," he added.
It seemed ironic, really—if Trampas was lost to the snow, The Virginian would lose two friends to bad weather conditions.
Or would he? He was still disturbed by the thoughts that had come into his mind about Sam's death following his conversation with Sturdevant. The flood could have been used as a cover for a murder. Sam might not have had to die.
The Virginian had been trying to remember if anything unusual had been said in Sam's last letter, but he couldn't remember anything offhand. Sam had mentioned the town, of course. And he had said something about considering a temporary job there. That had been about it.
". . . Would you like to talk about what Mr. Sturdevant said?" Suzanne ventured.
The Virginian paused. He doubted that she was really interested. She did not seem the type to pry in general, especially with a near stranger. Most likely, she was just hoping to get her mind on something other than Trampas and Louis and the storm. But the other topic was also grim, and he doubted it would give her any peace to hear it.
"No, not especially," he said. "We just got talking about a friend of mine and what might have happened to him. It's just possible that it's different than what I've thought all along."
Suzanne nodded. "It would be hard, to suddenly have your entire view on something change," she said. "I had that somewhat, with Louis. I had no idea that he had been the leader of the revolution in Canada. He was trying to put all that behind him and start a new life."
"And then Jacques showed up to change all that," The Virginian mused. "Sturdevant too."
"With such different reasons." Suzanne gazed out the window at the swiftly falling snow. "Jacques, to gain power for himself. Mr. Sturdevant . . . to honestly try to help."
"That's what he told you?"
"Yes. And I believe him."
The Virginian nodded in approval. "Somehow I can't picture him telling a knowing lie," he said.
"I should probably check in on him again and see if he's asleep," Suzanne realized. "Oh, and I should have asked—is your shoulder any better?"
"I haven't even thought about it for a while myself," The Virginian declared. "It's alright. Still a mite sore from that scuffle I had with Sturdevant last night, but it'll heal up fast."
"I hope so," Suzanne said firmly.
She crossed the room and peered into the bedroom. Sturdevant seemed to be asleep. He was still lying on his side, looking uncomfortable but weakly gripping at the pillow. And he seemed more flushed than Suzanne remembered.
She hurried into the room and reached out, placing her hand on his forehead. It was definitely warmer than before.
"Any trouble?"
She looked up at The Virginian's concerned voice. He was in the doorway, watching.
"His fever is going up again," she said, worried. "Maybe he exerted himself too much."
"Or maybe it would have happened anyway." The Virginian glanced at the window again. "Maybe we've just been fooling ourselves into thinking he wasn't as bad off as we thought in the first place."
Suzanne dipped a cloth in the bowl of water still on the nightstand. "Maybe," she said, her voice soft as she started to run it across Sturdevant's face and neck. "And maybe he'll still die."
Something tells me that Trampas isn't going to have much time left, if he has any at all.
The Virginian kept that thought to himself as he stood by. There had been some miracles in the last couple of days, but now the grim reality of their situation was setting in once more.
He just hoped God wasn't fresh out of miracles for them.