CHAPTER FIFTY
The gossip around town in the aftermath of Dorothy's article on the robbery had only just begun to die down when Hank was once again called upon to be a hero. It was approaching noon and Hank and the manager of the Gold Nugget were counting out some money to pay Loren for the latest order of whiskey when the sound of a gunshot close by made everyone in the building jump. Hank rushed outside looking left and right and noticed a man leaping onto his horse outside the clinic and galloping away. A number of other people ran out into the street to find out what had happened and several followed Hank as he ran across to the clinic. The door was open and the first thing he saw was Michaela lying on the floor, a bullet wound in her left shoulder. Who the hell would shoot a doctor? A woman doctor at that.
"Hank!" she gasped.
"Hang on, Michaela. Hang on," he said, dropping to his knees and gathering her into his arms. "Oh my God!" He was horrified by the look of her, frozen with fear and pain, her face white, blood soaking her clothing. He scrambled to his feet, gritting his teeth as his recently healed shoulder, although no longer painful, felt weaker than it had been before he was injured. He sidled out of the door, yelling at the people on the porch to get out of the way so he could get to the street.
"Somebody get me a wagon! We need a wagon!" he yelled at the top of his voice. Loren stood nearby, mouth hanging open in horror, feet rooted to the spot and Dorothy came running from the Gazette office. A farmer who had been at Loren's store stocking up on supplies whipped his horses into action and drove them towards Hank. Cloud Dancing, who had also been at Loren's, ran after the wagon and leaped into the back.
Hank carefully lifted Michaela into the wagon and climbed in himself. He had seen the man who hurt her just briefly, but enough to get a description and he shouted this over his shoulder to anyone listening, with instructions to pass it onto Daniel. Already the wagon was moving, on its way to Andrew Cook's clinic at Preston's hotel, and he shrugged his coat off to cover Michaela while Cloud Dancing applied pressure to the wound. He glanced sideways at the Indian, thinking it odd that both of them were now working together to try to save Michaela, when usually Hank was routing for the army to kill the Cheyenne.
The journey to the Chateau took only minutes, but it seemed endless. At last they halted noisily outside the main entrance and Andrew ran out to find out what had caused the commotion. Hank picked up Michaela again and carried her into the clinic, lowering her onto the table where Andrew indicated. Then he and Cloud Dancing hovered anxiously as Andrew examined the wound and then began giving instructions. Hank, by now covered in blood himself, began cleaning around the wound while Cloud Dancing disappeared to find suitable thread to stitch the artery which the bullet had nicked. Hank didn't have much confidence in Andrew, who was sweating and panting with nerves and confessed he had never done the procedure he was about to attempt. However, he managed to successfully repair the damage, remove the bullet and stitch up the wound and heaved a sigh of relief as he bandaged Michaela's shoulder.
"She gonna be alright?" asked Hank.
"I'm not sure," Andrew confessed shakily. "She lost a lot of blood. It's too soon to know."
"I lost a lotta blood and I'm alright," said Hank.
"You're much stronger than Michaela," Andrew pointed out. "All we can do now is wait."
"I will tell the others the news," Cloud Dancing advised and went outside.
"Hank, perhaps you'd carry her to one of the hotel rooms," Andrew said now. "She'll need to rest quietly until she regains consciousness." He didn't add if she regains consciousness.
"Sure." Hank lifted her once again, willing his right arm not to give out on him, and followed Andrew to one of the hotel's fancy rooms. He placed her carefully on the bed and then left the doctor to it, there being nothing else for him to do. Dorothy and Brian were outside waiting to see Michaela and Matthew had galloped off to find Sully to bring him back. Hank retrieved his coat from the back of the wagon where it still lay and the farmer drove him back into town.
Michaela stayed at the Chateau for three days after the operation and reports came from the hotel that she was recovering well. Sully took her back to their homestead where she stayed for another two weeks before she returned to her clinic. Hank was outside saddling his horse ready to go and check his traps when Sully walked over to him and he wondered what he could possibly want. They had never really seen eye to eye and over the past year things had been even worse, given Sully insisting on helping the Indians when they'd been attacking the town, followed by him spending weeks pretending to be dead to avoid arrest.
"Hank, can I talk to ya?" Sully asked now.
"Whaddya want?" Hank grunted.
"Look, I know there's been a lot of bad blood between us lately, but I just wanna thank you for savin' Michaela's life," said Sully earnestly.
That was a surprise. Sully thanking him for something? Still, he supposed he would say thanks to anybody who did something to help Myra. Even so, he didn't really feel he'd done anything on this occasion; it wasn't like the bank in St Louis.
"That was Andrew's doin', not mine," he replied.
"But you found her and brought her to him. I just wanna say I'm grateful, that's all," Sully went on, now offering his hand to Hank.
Hank nodded briefly at last and shook hands, his eyebrows rising as Sully walked away. The least likely people were certainly behaving curiously towards him lately - first Horace and now Sully.
There were still more surprises to come. He had just returned from checking his traps, finding only a couple of rabbits in them, when Jake exited the barber's shop and strode across to the front of the Gold Nugget where Hank was unloading his horse. Jake was grinning from ear to ear as if he'd won big at poker, although that was hardly likely.
"Been lookin' for ya," he said.
"Oh, yeah?" Hank eyed him over the horse's neck. "What for?"
"I wanna have a little party in the bar Friday night."
"Well, it's half yours, Jake, I'm sure ya don't need help organisin' it," Hank grunted.
"Yeah, but it's gonna be my party, see?" grinned Jake.
"No, I don't see. What d'ya want a party for? Yer birthday, is it?" Hank dumped the items he had unloaded on the porch and began to lead the horse around to the corral. Jake followed.
"I'm gettin' married," he said. "Sunday. Teresa's folks're visitin'. They'll be stayin' here at the hotel."
Hank stopped now and laughed loudly. "Yer marryin' her? Hell, Jake ya took yer time askin'!"
"I was waitin' for the right moment."
Hank snorted, feeling a bit of a fraud as he imagined what Jake would say if he confessed he was intending to go back to St Louis shortly and propose to Myra.
"Where ya gonna live?" he asked. "Movin' her in over yer shop?"
"Temporarily," Jake said. "I'm gonna build her a house."
"Right. Found a tree growin' money, did ya?" Hank turned the horse loose now. "Well, I guess congratulations are in order." He shook Jake's hand. "Ya told Loren yet?"
"What do you think?"
"Huh, no, otherwise I'd've been hearin' this from him and not you," Hank grinned. "Least when ya do tell him, it'll save ya puttin' it in the Gazette."
By Friday night, everyone in town knew Jake was planning to make an honest woman of Teresa Morales and the bar was full as people toasted the mayor. Hank and Loren plied him with whiskey and teased him mercilessly about Teresa and how he was going to end up with little half-Mexican children with names like Pedro and Poncho Slicker. Jake's sense of humour began to desert him, especially when Hank presented him with a Sombrero that Loren had managed to obtain from Denver on special order.
Jake's wedding was a quiet affair in the end. Teresa's aunt and cousin objected strongly to her marrying a 'gringo' and didn't think Jake was up to the job of providing Teresa with a decent life, but in the end the cousin, who was a priest, changed his opinion and he and the Reverend both performed a ceremony for the couple outside the church. No one was actually invited to join the celebration, but half the town wandered over there to watch when they realised what was going on.
Two weeks later Hank planned to return to St Louis, realising he would have to leave the Gold Nugget in the hands of the manager, with Jake still languishing in his honeymoon period and consequently not much good for anything except making cow eyes at Teresa. However, before he had chance to let anyone know of his intentions, Jake thwarted his plans.
"Hank, I wanna talk to ya," he said, no grin in evidence this time.
"What is it now?" Hank frowned, irritated by the interruption to his thoughts about Myra.
"I wanna sell my share of the Gold Nugget; are ya interested?"
"What?" Hank exclaimed. "Yer sellin'? Why?"
"I need the money to build a house," said Jake.
Hank sighed heavily. He should have seen it coming really, Jake newly married and wanting to give Teresa a decent home, but he'd been so wrapped up his own plans he hadn't considered it.
"Whaddya want for it?" he asked.
"Give me yer best offer. I'll come back later; leave ya to think on it," Jake said and walked out.
"Damnit!" muttered Hank, slamming his hand down onto the bar. The last thing he wanted was to think about business at that moment, but then again, he supposed it wasn't going to hold things up any by handing over some cash to Jake and leaving the manager in charge, just like he had intended to anyway. He poured himself a drink, lit a cigar and sat down to think about it. The Gold Nugget hadn't been doing so well since they opened the hotel part - the saloon was keeping it afloat and in a way he wished now he had left it as a saloon. Jake had invested all that he got for that nugget left to him by his father, but no way was Jake's share of the business worth that now. After considering a while longer, Hank wrote $1,000 on a scrap of paper and then kept an eye out for Jake coming back. He returned a couple of hours later with Teresa. Hank went out to meet them and passed the slip of paper to Jake.
"A thousand dollars?" said Jake scornfully.
"Ya wanted my best offer," Hank reminded him.
"My share of the Gold Nugget's worth a lot more than a thousand dollars." Jake shoved the slip of paper back into his hand.
"Maybe a while back it was, but not now," Hank said. "Business ain't been that good and we got expenses."
"You wouldn't have a hotel if it wasn't for the gold nugget my pa left me and that nugget was worth twice that much!" exclaimed Jake.
"Well, maybe I was better off when this was just my saloon. The hotel's what's been draggin' us down. Ya want a better offer? Go find one," Hank said with a smirk, guessing there wasn't a soul in town who had the kind of money to even match his offer, much less better it. Grinning, he left Jake and Teresa standing outside and strode back into the bar, assuming Jake would be back within a day or two to accept the offer.
Meanwhile, he advised the manager he would be leaving for St Louis on Thursday and the length of his stay wasn't certain. He would be back, but it may be a week or several.
"Somethin' important?" the man asked him.
"Yeah. Tell ya when I get back." Since Horace apparently hadn't said anything to the other townsfolk about his intentions, he decided to keep it to himself until after he saw Myra. There was always the chance she'd refuse him and then he'd just look like a fool. He hadn't really considered that option up to now, but with only days until he saw her, he began to think she may have since thought better of what had happened between them at Christmas. He wrote her a brief letter, telling her he intended to arrive in St Louis the following Saturday and then went to the telegraph office to send it.
Horace eyed the envelope with raised eyebrows.
"I'm goin' to see her next week; thought I better warn her," Hank said.
"That'll be a nickel."
"You are gonna send that, right?" said Hank drily.
"Of course. I took an oath!" exclaimed Horace indignantly. "I'd be breakin' the company's trust if I interfered with the mail!"
Hank grinned. "Good man." He strolled back to the Gold Nugget, pausing a couple of times to speak to people on the way, wondering what he was going to do about getting a ring. He guessed he would find one in Denver. He'd be stuck there a few hours waiting for the connecting train anyway. He sat down in a corner of the bar now, thinking he should make the time to spend an hour with Zack too on the way out and tell him what he was planning.
"Hank!"
He looked up to find Jake standing in front of him.
"What?"
"I did what ya said. I sold my share to Preston."
"You what?" cried Hank, horrified. Preston Lodge? That jumped up little fool suddenly owned half of his business?
"Well, ya told me to find a better offer and I did," Jake said smugly. "Effective immediately."
"You can't do this!" Hank protested.
"It's done."
"I ain't goin' into business with Preston," continued Hank.
"No? Well, ya shoulda offered me more money," said Jake, grinning. He turned and walked out, leaving Hank fuming. What the hell was he going to do now? Preston owned half of the Gold Nugget - how could he possibly go to St Louis? He'd likely come back and find all manner of changes implemented, the girls gone and heaven knew what else. He swore under his breath and shoved his chair back from the table. Something had to be done. Still, there was always the chance Myra wouldn't want to come back to Colorado Springs, in which case he'd be selling his own share of the business at some point. In the meantime though, he would have to stay.
Hank hurried to the telegraph office again and waited impatiently while Horace handed Dorothy a parcel and sent a telegram for Michaela. At last it was his turn.
"Horace, did ya send that letter?" he demanded.
"I told you I would, didn't I? It went on the train a half hour ago. I'd been failin' in my job if I didn't...!" Horace began, looking angry and insulted.
"Well, I didn't want it sendin'," said Hank.
"Then why'd ya give it to me?"
"I mean, I was hopin' it'd still be here, so I could get it back. Things've changed." Hank groaned. "Alright, look, can ya send a wire for me?"
"Certainly. It'll cost ya ten cents a word."
"Whatever."
"Who's it goin' to?" Horace grabbed a pencil.
"Myra."
Horace looked up again, eyebrows raised, then began writing.
"Myra, you will get a letter from me...Horace, how long does the mail take?" Hank asked suddenly.
"She'll get the letter in two or three days," said Horace.
"Right. Where was I?"
"...you will get a letter from me," read Horace.
"...in a couple of days sayin' I'm comin' to St Louis next week. Change of plan, I'm sorry. Jake sold his half of the hotel to Preston..."
"He did what?" exclaimed Horace, looking up again. "Why would he do a thing like that?"
"Horace, ya took an oath!" growled Hank.
"Right. Carry on." Still looking astonished, Horace lowered his pencil to the sheet of paper.
"...so I have to stay for a while," Hank continued. "Hopefully I'll be there soon. I miss you."
"That's it?" asked Horace.
"Yeah."
"How're ya signin' it?"
"Hank, obviously. Don't ya put who it's from anyhow?"
"Yes, of course." Horace finished writing and turned away to send the telegram. Hank waited until he finished. "There, it's sent. That'll be five dollars and twenty cents."
"How much?" Hank demanded incredulously.
"Ten cents a word, I told ya. There were fifty-two words. Count 'em if ya like!" Horace challenged, holding out the paper with the message written on it.
"I'll take yer word for it, Horace." Hank counted out the money and returned slowly to the Gold Nugget, wondering what on earth he was going to do about Preston. He sure as hell wasn't going to work as his partner; he'd finish up killing him.