The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 25: Two Patients

I awoke at dawn the next morning, likely due to a combination of cold and hunger. Reagan and Holmes lay still asleep upon the floor, the former visibly shivering. I slipped out of bed and stoked the dying embers before adding a log. I stepped carefully over the two detectives and made my way down the short hall to the kitchen, intending to check on the injured parties.

I instead found that they had been moved and Mrs. McCarthy was in the early stages of preparing breakfast. The baby was again on her hip, but in a much more congenial mood than she had been the previous evening, though the dark circles under the mother's eyes told me that between the child's ill temper and the events of the previous night, life was taking a toll on her.

"Good morning, Doctor. The Sheriff and Wright are in the sitting room," she said. "They awoke during the night, but I believe they are both asleep now."

I thanked her and found that my patients and doctor's bag were indeed in the sitting room. O'Brien was keeping watch, slouched over and blinking slowly. I sent him off to rest. The Sheriff still lay upon a cot and Wright had been moved from the table to the settee. The home had no gas, so I lit an oil lamp by which to see and set to checking the condition of the Sheriff. I removed the old bandage and was relieved to find that he had not lost much blood in the night and there were no signs of infection. I dabbed away the thin layer of dried blood near the wound and was in the process of re-bandaging when the Sheriff awoke.

He greeted me with a string of curses that would put a sailor to shame. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Putting a clean bandage on your arm," I replied.

The Sheriff grumbled but did not resist.

"Thank you for coming to our aid last night," I said.

"Yeah, well, I could tell you idiots weren't going to listen to reason," he growled. "At least your friend Holmes wasn't wrong about where we'd find Wright. Though I can't say as I'm pleased to have him as a bedfellow." He nodded toward the unconscious murderer on the settee.

I chuckled. "You seem well enough off to cease intruding upon the McCarthy's hospitality at any point today, though you must be careful with that arm and immediately alert me or another local doctor if the condition worsens."

"Easy for you to say," replied the Sheriff. "You know how difficult it is to move without breaking open your bullet holes?"

I smiled. "Unfortunately, I do. And more unfortunately than that, dealing with gunshot wounds is no less gruelling as a doctor than as anybody else."

The Sheriff quirked an eyebrow. "I suppose you and Mr. Holmes ended up in a bit of a fix?"

"Not one quite so bad, but it could still happen," I replied. "No, someone put a Jezail bullet in my shoulder in Afghanistan five years ago. Then I took ill, and they shipped me home on a stretcher. It was a poor time and makes for a poorer story. You have been shot previously as well?" I began unwinding the bandage on Wright's leg as I spoke.

"Yes, but mine's a better story," replied the Sheriff, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Twenty-five years ago, I got nicked pretty bad in the thigh during the Civil War. It was the Battle of Athens and I was under Colonel David Moore. I made it till near the end of the battle though, and the Missouri rebels only took thirty of us out, though there were three hundred of us and nigh on two thousand of them. They took to their heels through the cornfields. We took four hundred of their horses and a wagon load of long knives."

I grinned. "That is a far better story." I brought the lamp closer to Wright's leg and swore.

"What's that, then?" asked the Sheriff.

"A little internal bleeding," I replied. "It's starting to swell, there, by the tibial artery. I have to take the pressure off before he loses a foot."

"Sounds pleasant," replied the Sheriff. "Here's to hoping the morphine keeps him quiet."

A careful incision and forty gruelling minutes later, my task was complete and Wright's leg bandaged again. Wright awoke about halfway through the process but fainted almost immediately from the pain. I pitied him, despite the number of people dead by his hand.

The Sheriff fell into a doze and I made my way back to the kitchen to see if I could assist the good Mrs. McCarthy. I found Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy, her brother O'Brien, Holmes, and Reagan already digging into a breakfast of ham and eggs. I was glad to see that Holmes was actually eating—rather than merely picking at or pushing around—his food. Mrs. McCarthy quickly rose and put some food on a plate for me as well. I thanked her and pulled up a chair next to Holmes.

"How are your patients?" he asked.

"Well enough," I answered. "The Sheriff a little better than Wright, though I think it will be safe to move him to the jail by this afternoon." I turned to Mr. McCarthy. "There is a doctor in Sac City?"

He nodded and held up a finger while he finished chewing. "Dr. Irwin. He lives about three blocks from the jail and I'm sure he'll take care of the Sheriff and Wright as soon as you need to head back to Wall Lake."

That was well indeed; I was beginning to wonder how I would balance my duties as a doctor and as assistant to Holmes. But now that all crises seemed to be averted, the pain in my chest was back in earnest. After breakfast, I checked my patients one time more, and we thanked our hosts profusely before departing the home of the McCarthy's.