CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

After Myra's return from St Louis, things seemed to go back to normal for a time at least in the saloon, although there were plenty of changes in Colorado Springs.

A fair amount of new families moved to town and houses and businesses began springing up all over. It suited Hank well enough because most of the men spent plenty of evenings drinking his whiskey, losing their money to him at poker and spending what they had left on the girls.

Lissy finally had enough of the saloon and left one Christmas, having refused a particularly unsavoury customer and earned a second slap from Hank. She reminded him what she said the first time he hit her, then packed her bags and walked out the door. Hank didn't bother chasing after her; he had noticed her contract was close to ending and didn't want to make a fuss about it and alert Myra to the fact that hers should have been coming to an end, but in fact wasn't even close. Things were pretty good between them mostly, although she hadn't been quite the same after she'd been to Suzannah's wedding. Myra often had a sort of wistful look about her and Hank wondered off and on if she was hoping for something more from her life. He never asked her however, reluctant to hear her speak of hopes and dreams away from the saloon; away from him.

Loren's beloved daughter, Abigail, had married the Indian-loving miner, Sully who had turned up in Colorado Springs, much to Loren's horror and the old man spent many nights in the saloon, drinking and moaning to Hank and Jake. He never let up on the subject. He'd wanted Abigail to go off to a fine school and marry someone rich like Suzannah had, but she wasn't having any of it and fell for Sully hook, line and sinker. She was as stubborn as Loren himself and her father's protests about her choice of suitor had simply pushed her further into the man's arms. However, worse was to come when she died in childbirth along with their baby girl. Both Sully and Loren were devastated, only Loren dowsed himself in whiskey to blot out the pain and Sully ran off to join the army, following which it was heard that he had deserted and gone to live with the Indians. Loren was relieved that for a time at least he didn't have to look upon the man that took his daughter away from him and was indirectly responsible for her death.

The Cooper family had swelled by two – a girl and a boy – and then Ethan Cooper, whose mine was failing, stole his wife's money and ran off leaving her penniless, with three children. It was only the thriving business of the boarding house which kept them from starving, and the help of a few generous townsfolk whose children Charlotte had helped bring into the world.

Then towards the end of the summer of 1867, the Reverend announced that the town was to get a doctor after years of struggling without one or waiting for one to come from Manitou or occasionally Denver when needed. Apparently one Michael Quinn from Boston was crazy enough to want to set up his practise on the frontier. Most people bet the city man wouldn't last through the first winter, but were eager to welcome him with open arms none the less. He arrived eventually on the stagecoach and the minute the saloon opened, Loren and Jake stampeded in with the news.

"It's a woman!" Jake exclaimed.

"Huh?" Hank yawned, not long out of bed.

"The new doctor," Loren said. "Some mistake with the telegram apparently, Horace didn't write the name down properly."

"Figures," grunted Hank. He had no liking for the telegraph operator at all; poor excuse for a man he was, all lanky and lop-sided looking, frightened of his own shadow and had probably never so much as kissed a woman, even though he was in his late twenties. He didn't drink, smoke or chase women and therefore never set foot in the saloon and seem convinced that the oath he had taken to protect folks' mail and telegram messages was the most important thing in his life.

"Fact is, the Reverend thought we were gettin' a doctor called Michael Quinn, but it's Michaela. A woman," continued Loren.

Hank chortled now. "Whoever heard of a woman doctor? What's she look like?"

"See for yerself," Jake said, indicating the window. Outside, a pretty woman of similar age to Hank and Jake could be seen hurrying along with the Reverend in the direction of Charlotte Cooper's boarding house, her fancy lavender costume splattered heavily with mud.

"Looks like she took a spill already," Loren sniggered.

Hank cocked one eyebrow and smirked. "Fancy havin' her fix you up, Loren?"

Loren shuddered. "I'm stickin' with Jake; I ain't havin' a woman pokin' at me. I'm guessin' most of the folks 'round here'll feel the same."

"Well, I'd be happy to have her care for me if I'm sick," Myra said at that point. "Least she's a proper doctor."

"So she says," Loren said.

"She'll cost money, Myra," muttered Hank. "More than two bits anyhow." Two bits was Jake's rate for everything, whether it was a haircut, a shave, a few stitches or a pulled tooth.

Myra walked off and left the three men speculating about the female doctor's capabilities, which they continued with for some time once a number of customers came into the bar and joined in the discussion. It seemed no one was keen on the idea of a woman physician and a number of them reassured Jake that he wouldn't be losing their business.

Dr Michaela Quinn spent a few days at the boarding house until Sully reappeared from wherever he'd been hiding and rented his homestead to her; then she moved out there with the help of the Coopers and tried her hand at doctoring. As predicted, most people shunned her until she had Jake pull a perfectly good tooth out of her head; the barber couldn't help being impressed and let her fix an infected cut on his hand, then persuaded Robert E to let her look at his creaky joints.

Much to Hank's irritation, she even visited the saloon to look at Myra which resulted in him becoming angry with Myra too, when he discovered the reason. She'd caught the same disease that Janie had and would have to remain 'chaste' as the doctor put it, for a month. Hank was more bothered about the fact that Myra was unclean and that he would have to keep away from her himself, than the prospective loss of money while she couldn't work and yelled at both her and Dr Mike - Michaela - bringing one to tears and causing the other to haughtily storm out of the bar. It took a week for his fury over Myra's carelessness to subside and she spent most of that time keeping out of his way.

Hank was unsure what to make of Michaela. She was a good-looking woman with a shapely figure and pretty hair, but she seemed a bit of a know-it-all who liked the sound of her own voice and he knew she looked down her nose at him, just like his own family had. She came from a rich family and had read a lot of books so she thought she was better than him. He was as determined as Loren that he would stick with Jake for any ailments he might suffer and not let her near him and this opinion only increased after poor Loren, still mourning his daughter, lost Maude too while the woman was under the care of Michaela for what the doctor advised was a bad heart. Loren was understandably devastated, but rather than continue spending most nights in the saloon drowning his sorrows, he took to spending hours at the graveyard instead, sadly talking to Abigail and Maude and avoiding even Jake and Hank who were usually his best confidantes.

Hank decided that Michaela couldn't be much of a doctor to have given Maude medicine that killed her, and in addition poor Charlotte Cooper had died of a rattlesnake bite and she hadn't been able to fix that either. The woman had only been in town five minutes and two people had already died on her, the latter leaving her three children to the doctor to care for, which mystified most of the town. However, it did seem that Myra was getting better after Michaela's treatment so she couldn't be all bad. Hank still had no intention of going to her himself, but not too long after he was forced to seek her help after all and subsequently revised his opinion, at least a little. However, right before that he almost died and it was nothing to do with needing a doctor.

Late November he decided to take a trip to Manitou to trade furs from the animals he'd trapped in the woods, something he had taken to doing every few weeks to add to the growing tin box of money hidden under his bed. Furs didn't fetch in a lot of money, not the small stuff anyway, but what he got for them was worth having. He sometimes used it to order in fabrics for the girls to make dresses, since Melinda had turned out to be a reasonable seamstress. Some of their outfits had begun to look tatty recently and fabric was a lot cheaper than made up dresses.

Now he loaded up the mule outside the saloon and then strolled over to Loren's to help himself to a couple of apples. Since Charlotte died there had been no food available to collect any more and those who didn't cook, or didn't have the facilities, bought cold things or tins from Loren and made do.

"I hope you're goin' to pay for those!" Loren called out of the open door as he spied Hank picking up apples and shoving them into his pockets.

"'Course I am." Grinning, Hank strolled into the shop. "Mornin', old man."

"What's so good about it?" grumbled Loren.

"Never said it was good, did I?" Hank pulled the apples out of his pockets again and placed them on the counter, feeling sorry for the old man who had lost wife, daughter and unborn grand-daughter in the space of two years. Much as he loved to make fun of Loren, he sympathised with the man's pain. "I'll take some cigars, too," he added now, plucking four from the jar on the shelf nearby.

Loren added up the total and Hank dropped some coins onto the counter, then put his purchases away again and headed for the door. An hour later he was on the way to Manitou, clutching his duster coat tight around him against the sudden icy wind which had sprung up from nowhere. So far it had been pretty cold for November and some people thought snow was on the way. However, although the wind continued whistling down from the mountains throughout the day, there was no precipitation and Hank arrived in Manitou without incident, traded the furs for fabrics and a heavy coat for himself, then took a room in the hotel for the night.

The following morning he set off for home, glad of the new coat as the temperature had dropped by several degrees. His hands were frozen and he kept one tucked inside his coat to stay warm, then swapped with the one on the reins whenever he lost the feeling in his fingers. The grey sky was now tinged with yellow and heavy with snow and he was only two miles out of Manitou when it began to fall. He pressed on, guessing he would make it home before the fall became significant, but the large fluffy flakes were already swirling around in the strong wind and by the time he had travelled for another hour, it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The horse and mule ploughed on, heads down and all he could do was trust that their instinct would lead them back to Colorado Springs. He crouched low over his mount's neck, pulling his collar up and his hat down, the reins now held under one knee so that he could keep both hands inside his coat.

Time seemed to stand still and for all he knew he could have been riding around in circles. Common sense indicated the best option was to stop and find shelter, but there was little chance of that when he now couldn't even see his horse's ears in front of his face. He was shivering, face stiff with cold and feet numb in the stirrups. He was considering getting down from the horse and attempting to make some kind of shelter from the snow itself, when something spooked the animal and it danced rapidly to one side, unseating Hank. With his hands trapped inside his coat he was unable to save himself and tumbled to the ground, striking his head on something. It wasn't enough to knock him unconscious, but he saw stars and when he got to his feet he swayed dizzily and reached out to grab at the horse for support. It was gone and the mule with it.

Hank wrapped his coat tighter around himself and began to walk forwards slowly, one hand out-stretched in an effort to feel his way along, although there was nothing there to feel. Then suddenly he found bushes. Prickly branches scratched his hand and he pulled it back quickly, then reached out again more tentatively. The cluster of shrubs would shelter him a little and he dropped to his knees and crawled underneath, deciding to sit there and wait out the blizzard. If only he had something to make a fire with. He guessed he could have burned the duster coat which he was still wearing beneath the new one, but that would burn for about five minutes, leaving him colder than before when it went out. He sat still, his knees drawn up to his chin, breathing on his hands in an effort to keep them from getting frostbite. He was beginning to feel tired and guessed that if he fell asleep, at least the time would pass quicker and he'd probably wake up to find the snow had stopped. His eyelids drooped and his chin rested on his knees, but before he drifted off completely, the sound of voices came to him.

Hank jerked his head up quickly. What lunatic was out wandering around in the blizzard, other than himself? He made out two male voices, both shouting at intervals although he didn't understand what they were saying. More immigrants, no doubt. Then after a minute they switched to English.

"Helloooooo! Is anyone there!"

"Hey!" Hank's attempted shout came out as a croak and he cleared his throat and tried again. "Hey! Over here!"

The two voices exchanged comments in their own language and then one called out in English again. "Call again so we can hear where you are!"

"Here!" shouted Hank and began to get to his feet. Immigrants or not, at least they were going to save him from freezing to death. His legs, stiff with cold and having no feeling, refused to function and he sank back into the snow. Then suddenly he saw the glow of a lamp only a few feet away through the thick curtain of snow and the two men appeared in front of him. Both wore heavy coats similar to his own, with hats and mittens made of fur. The pair reached down now, gripping Hank by the wrists, holding his arms across their shoulders and hauling him to his feet.

"Who are you people?" he asked as they began to hurry into the blizzard, as confidently as if they could see where they were going.

"We have travelled from Prussia," one said.

"Prussia? Where's that?" asked Hank.

"It is in the east of Europe," said the other. "My name is Azriel and my brother here is Hyram."

"Hank Lawson," said Hank. "How'd ya find me?"

"Your horse and mule wandered into our camp," Hyram said. "We followed their hoof prints. Luckily it was not far or the snow would have already covered them."

"Well, thanks for lookin' for me."

In only a few more minutes, they reached the camp and Hank found a group of wagons positioned in a small circle, the horses, including his own, tethered in the shelter of a rocky outcrop with blankets draped over them. A large fire burned in the centre of the group of wagons, a tarp hooked up with stakes above it to protect it from the heavy snowfall and a woman bundled up in blankets stirred something in a pot suspended over the flames. Azriel now spoke to her in their own language for a moment before he and Hyram took Hank to one of the wagons and pulled him up into it, lowering him onto the edge of the narrow bed there, where he sat shivering.

"You must change clothes, you are wet," Hyram said, taking fresh clothes from a pile in the corner of the wagon. Hank nodded and attempted to unfasten his coat, but his frozen fingers refused to co-operate. Azriel turned towards him and systematically began to unfasten his clothes, taking each item off and then quickly replacing them with the fresh dry clothes which included thick woollen socks, shirt and pants of a heavy, coarse type of fabric and a kind of knitted jacket. Hyram then fetched a bowl of warm water, instructing Hank to place his hands in it until they thawed out. He did as instructed and sat there grimacing in pain, feeling almost sick with it, while the two brothers sat with him, telling him their group consisted of two Jewish families. They had travelled by ship to America and then by wagon to their current position. They were intending to continue south to a warmer climate before setting up home.

A short while later, Azriel's wife, Ilana, leaned into the wagon, holding out a wooden bowl containing a steaming portion of meat and potato stew. By this time Hank's fingers had recovered enough feeling in them to hold the bowl and the spoon and he ate the food gratefully, wondering how in the world he was going to repay these people. He had begun to realise that without them, he would probably have been dead by now if he'd fallen properly asleep.

He stayed the rest of the day and then the night in the wagon with Hyram and the following morning woke to blue skies, the ground covered by a thick blanket of snow which although deep, wasn't impassable and Colorado Springs was visible in the distance, probably only five miles away. Hank's clothes had dried out over night and he changed back into them, but thankfully accepted a pair of fur mittens before he set off, the mule carrying only half of the supplies he had left Manitou with. Learning that the Jews were peddlars who traded anything and everything, he gave them three bolts of the fabrics he had obtained for the girls and a sack of oats for their horses. Every one of them turned out to see him off as he mounted his horse; Azriel, Ilana and their two children, Hyram, their elderly parents and the other family which consisted of a husband and wife and four children.

When he finally arrived back at the saloon in the late morning, he found no one had even missed him, the girls merely assuming he had seen the snow coming and decided to stay in Manitou an extra night. He didn't bother to enlighten them or to explain the curious fur mittens he was wearing. It was one adventure he didn't even bother telling Myra about.