Read Online The Taylor County War by Ford Fargo - Free Book Online Page B

always paid his medical bills for him.
Caleb knew it was because he was the best-damned gravedigger there
was and it was worth keeping him well.
    Elijah Graveley was waiting for Dr.
Logan Munro at the door of his funeral parlor. As usual, he was
dressed in a black frock coat and a top hat. He was almost
skeletally thin and had an iron-grey moustache that he allowed to
droop over his upper lip in order to hide the fact that he had no
teeth in his head at all. For personal reasons, he had never
contemplated asking the Wolf Creek dentist to make him a set of
dentures.
    “Thank you for coming back, Doctor
Munro. The sooner you use that fancy knockout stuff on Caleb the
better for me. He won’t stop talking. I reckon he is more nervous
than I have ever seen him before.”
    “He has every reason to be a touch
scared,” Logan replied as he entered the parlor ahead of the
undertaker. “Having a perianal abscess the size of a hen’s egg is
no fun. The chloroform will help, but he’s going to need pain
relief for a good few days after the work I’m going to be doing on
him. You realize that he’s not going to be able to do any digging
for at least a week.”
    Elijah Graveley had removed his hat
upon entering, and automatically ran a hand through his thinning
hair. He smiled and came perilously close to revealing his
edentulous mouth.
    “In that case, it is a good thing
that I have no funerals arranged, Doctor Munro. It appears you are
doing your job too well. The Wolf Creek folk simply ain’t dying
these days!”
    Logan shook his head regretfully.
“I am afraid that I haven’t been so successful, Elijah. A patient
of mine just passed away. It is not a case that will wait. He needs
a quick burial.”
    The undertaker sighed. “He is
decaying fast, I take it? Then it looks as though I will have to
either find a substitute gravedigger or get my own hands dirty.
What’s the client’s name, doctor?”
    Logan winced. “I am afraid I have
no idea, Elijah. In my country we’d call just him John Smith.”
    Elijah Graveley opened the door
leading to the living quarters where Caleb Brodie could be heard
gabbling and chuckling away to himself.
    Logan grinned. Soon, under the
influence of chloroform, Brodie would be as quiet as the grave that
would soon receive Logan’s other un-named patient.

    ***

    After operating on Caleb and
leaving him with a bottle of a specially prepared painkiller of his
own invention, Logan headed along South Street. It was busier than
usual. He tipped his hat to a group of ladies as they made their
way toward the church, their arms laden with flowers and various
cleaning paraphernalia. They belonged to the coterie of devout,
god-fearing women who kept the Reverend Obadiah Stone’s church in
pristine order, garlanded with blooms and smelling like the Garden
of Eden itself. Not only that, but they took turns in keeping the
parsonage as clean and wholesome as a parsonage should be. Some of
the less charitable members of the said reverend’s congregation did
a lot of elbow nudging and chin pointing at some of the prettier
members of his entourage and opined as to which of them kept the
reverend’s bed in order, too.
    Up ahead, at the junction with
Second Street, he recognized the familiar plump figure of one of
the prominent ladies of Wolf Creek. Edith Pettigrew was the widow
of Seth Pettigrew, one of the town’s founders, a pedigree that she
wholeheartedly believed gave her and the sewing circle which she
led the right to act as the moral compass for the town. She was
huddled in conversation with a tall, slim Chinese man dressed
dapperly in a suit with a starched collar and tie. By their furtive
manner he knew that a transaction was taking place.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Pettigrew,” he
said, tipping his hat as he approached. “And to you, Mr. Tsu.”
    Tsu Dong stuffed something in his
pocket, turned and smiled at Logan as he gave a small stiff bow.
“Good morning, Doctor Munro.”
    The widow Pettigrew