Roy had never denied the fact that he was an ageing man, but never in all his years had he felt so old. After the Paul had made sure Joe was resting, he and left the youngster in the care of Molly Thatch, the towns midwife. The two made their way to Walter's ranch to see about the old man, only to find him dead.
"Poor Joe," Paul had mumbled as he put a blanket over Walter. "He tried everything a small boy could, and I even a few things that a boy wouldn't think of," the doctor said as he looked around the room at the wet rag and half eaten dishes, "and all for a dead man. He raced all that way for nothing. Walter was dead before he even left."
The thought of the little boy caring for a corpse sent shivers down Roy's spin. The two had made their way back in grim silence with the body in tow. The death toll was now nine and that was a number that weighed on the two elderly men. The mood didn't improve when they arrived back at the doctor's office ether.
"He's very sick Dr. Martin," Molly informed upon their entrance, "He started to vomit a little while after you left. He's thrown up everything he has and everything I've given him. He can't even hold water, poor lamb. And as if that isn't enough, his fever's gotten worse and he has chills."
Paul hurried into his examination room where Joe lay to check him over. H returned to the others a few minutes later with a tired and somber look to his face. "Roy, I need you to telegraph Ben and the boys. That little son of a gun in there doesn't have much of a fight left…The Cartwrights are the only ones I want to see come into this town. It's the only thing I can think of to save that boy."