Chapter 8 of 10·7 min read·That afternoon through dusk
The Livery Yard
The fallen rider's horse stepped on his coat, and the crowd around him broke in every direction.
The Man With No Phlegm reached the rider before the horse did it again. He caught the bridle, pulled the animal aside, and called for the people nearest the man to give him room.
A woman snatched up her boy and backed against the courthouse wall. Somebody shouted that the sickness had come to town. That helped the horse more than it helped anyone else.
“Hold still,” the Man told the rider.
The rider made a wet sound into the dust.
Bulbous Bob sidestepped the horse. “Well, the square has certainly improved its smell.”
“Keep that horse back.”
“Gladly. He appears to have less sense than I do, and that is saying a great deal.”
The rider's eyes opened. His face had gone a dull red, and a string of spit hung from his lower lip. He tried to sit up, failed, and grabbed at the Man's sleeve.
“Water,” he rasped.
The Man pulled his arm free before the rider could use it to haul himself upright. “Someone bring a cup. Set it down beside him.”
A courthouse clerk hesitated with a tin cup in hand. Magistrate Senn came down the steps and took it from him.
“Put it there,” Senn said. “Then get the square clear.”
The clerk set it beyond the rider's reach and hurried back. The Man got the horse's reins over a hitching post. He kept his own hands away from the rider's face. That was sensible enough, even without knowing what sense would do.
Three more riders were coming in along the main road. One leaned heavily over his saddle horn. Another kept wiping his nose on his sleeve, though the sleeve had given up looking clean several miles back. The last was trying to keep a small wagon behind them from tipping into a rut.
The people nearest the road began moving again, this time toward the courthouse doors.
“Not through the doors,” the Man called. “Clear the square and leave a path for the wagon.”
A man in a dark vest told him he had no authority to give orders.
“Then listen to the magistrate.”
Senn raised his voice. “The square is to be cleared. You there, take the courthouse steps. Everyone else, move along the east side. No crowding the road.”
The dark-vested man looked at Senn, then at the sick rider, and moved along the east side with everyone else.
Next
The Man and the doctor will ride north at dawn, but Dace's account leaves open how many sick men are still at the camp—and whether the ones unable to stand have lasted the night.
The wagon reached the edge of the square. Its driver held the reins in one hand and a handkerchief over his mouth with the other. The animal pulling it had foam around the bit. One wheel kept catching on the road's ruts.
The Man walked out to the team. “Can you bring it in without turning it?”
“I can try,” the driver said. His voice sounded rubbed raw. “If you keep the road open.”
The Man waved the bystanders back. Bob moved to the wagon's left side, where the road dipped. He put his shoulder against the wheel when it began to sink.
“Don't make a habit of this,” Bob said. “I have a reputation for carrying one fool at a time.”
The wheel climbed out. The wagon rolled into the square.
The driver looked at the fallen rider, then at the courthouse. “We came for the doctor.”
“Where is he?” the Man asked Senn.
“He lives west of town. I can send a boy.” Senn turned to the clerk, who had come back to the steps. “Find him. Tell him there are sick men in the square and at the livery.”
The clerk started off at a run.
The three riders reached the hitching posts. One slid down and nearly fell against his horse. The Man caught his shoulder, then let go when the rider stiffened.
“Easy,” the man said. “I can stand.”
He was upright, after a fashion. His knees kept trying to revise the matter.
“What's your name?” the Man asked.
“Dace.” He glanced toward the rider on the ground. “That’s Weller. He went over before we got here.”
“You all sick?”
Dace wiped his nose. “Most of us. Some worse.” He gestured toward the wagon. “One can't ride.”
A cough came from inside it. Then a voice said, “I can hear you.”
“Good,” Dace called back. “Keep doing that.”
The Man looked from the wagon to the livery yard across the square. Its rear gate stood open; the front stalls were full, but the yard itself was empty. People had already begun to gather at the corners to watch.
“If they stay here,” the Man said, “the square will fill again.”
Senn followed his look. “The rear yard is clear. We can keep the front gate shut and have the doctor meet them there.”
Dace's mouth tightened. “We're not prisoners.”
“No one's putting you in a cell,” Senn said. “The yard gives you room and keeps the whole town from crowding you. You need the doctor. We need the road clear.”
Dace studied the magistrate, then the watchers. His shoulders eased a fraction. “The wagon can't go fast.”
“We'll walk it,” said the Man.
The short trip became a negotiation with every rut and every person who wanted to step closer. Senn sent two courthouse men to hold the livery's front gate. The Man led the team while Bob kept the wagon from scraping a post. Dace and the other riders walked beside it, stopping twice so one could lean over and retch into the roadside ditch.
The people watching did not follow them in. Senn stood at the gate until the last rider crossed the threshold, and then shut it.
For the first time since the collapse, the square had space in it. The onlookers stayed at the far corners, whispering. The clerk had vanished toward the doctor's house. The Man's shoulders had started to ache from holding the team steady.
Dace sat on an overturned feed bucket. “We didn't come to cause trouble.”
“Most trouble doesn't arrive by appointment,” Bob said.
Dace's face twitched, nearly a smile. He reached for the cup Senn had brought and drank slowly. His hands shook against the tin.
The Man stayed by the gate. “Where did you come from?”
“Camp north of the cut.” Dace set the cup down. “We heard Hobb was in court. Figured we'd come in, get a doctor, and ask after the wages.”
The Man looked at him. “You knew Hobb?”
“Same camp. He wasn't the first one to take sick.” Dace rubbed his nose with his sleeve. “We had more men laid up this morning. Then more. We left them with a cook and a water barrel.”
The Man felt his attention narrow on the words. “How many?”
“Six, when we left. Could be more by now.” Dace stared at his hands. “Two of them couldn't stand. We didn't have a wagon enough for everyone.”
Behind them, one of the riders coughed hard. Weller, still on the ground in the square, had been helped to the livery by Senn and a courthouse man. He sat against the fence now, blinking at the afternoon light. The man in the wagon made another small, strained sound.
Dace put the cup down. “We should've gone back for them.”
“You couldn't carry them all,” the Man said.
“I could've carried one.”
The Man had no answer ready. Dace looked up, waiting for one anyway. The Man found himself checking the road beyond the yard, as though six sick men might come walking down it because he had thought of them.
Senn came through the gate. “The doctor is on his way. He'll bring a wagon and whoever he needs.”
“Good,” said the Man. “I can ride to the camp with him.”
Senn looked at the riders. “They'll need a driver who knows the way. They can go once the doctor has seen them.”
Dace began to rise. His knees failed, and he caught the feed bucket.
“Sit,” the Man told him.
“I can ride.”
“You can barely stand.”
Dace's jaw worked. Then he sat back down and fixed his eyes on the yard dirt.
The Man understood the look. He had made the journey into town. Now someone else would carry the next part of it.
Senn turned toward the square. “I'll arrange a wagon and have the road kept clear. No one goes to the camp without the doctor's say.”
The Man glanced at the livery gate. “If he says wait, we wait. If he says go, I'll go.”
Bob lowered his head toward the Man's shoulder. “You've just been released from one obligation.”
“I know.”
“Good. I wouldn't want to explain it twice.”
The doctor arrived before sunset with a leather bag and a wagon driver. He went into the yard, spoke briefly with Dace, then examined Weller and the man in the wagon. He asked questions no one could answer clearly. He did not promise a cure or name the sickness. He told Senn to keep the yard clear and ordered water, blankets, and clean cloths brought from the nearest storehouse.
The Man watched the doctor's face while he listened to Dace's account. It gave him little to work with. The doctor wrote down the camp's location and asked whether anyone there had been left alone. Dace said the cook was with them.
When the doctor had finished, he told Senn he would go to the camp at first light. The road was rough in the dark, and the wagon would not make it safely.
The Man went to saddle Bob.
“First light,” Bob said. “That means we get a few hours to regret it.”
“Get some sleep.”
“I'll do that while you find a way to pack a doctor, his bag, and six men into a wagon built for three.”
Dace stood at the gate, one hand on the post. “There may be more than six.”
The Man tightened the saddle cinch. “Then we take more blankets.”
Dace's eyes stayed on the road north. “Two of them couldn't stand when we left.”
The Man lifted his saddlebag. The square behind him had quieted, but the camp was still waiting.
At first light, he would ride there with the doctor. Bob lowered his head as the Man set the bag across the saddle, and the livery gate creaked shut behind them.