Chapter 4

With Boots keeping an eye on Millie, Bob felt like he could check in with the authorities. To that end, he went to the Sheriff's office. He found Sheriff Clint Miller sitting back in his desk chair, his boots up on his battered desk. There were a few faded and curled wanted posters on the walls, but in reality there wasn't much for a lawman to do in the little town of Beaverton. He was used to things being sedate, and this recent uproar had him nervous. He stared at Doc, who had just finished giving him an update on the status of the town's newest, if reluctant citizen.

"So what do you think we should do?" asked Miller.

"Hell, I don't know. Send a telegraph maybe?" suggested Doc.

"Who to?" asked Clint.

"She was on the westbound train," said Doc. "I'd guess we need to notify stations down the line about what happened."

"And admit that Beaverton is responsible for all but killing a poor, innocent woman?" The sheriff frowned. "That could bring down all kinds of trouble on us."

"It was an accident," said Doc, shrugging. "A prank that got out of hand. Happens everywhere."

"She's a woman of breeding," said Miller. "I could tell that even without her clothes on. What if whoever's looking for her is important, and not patient with towns that let their younguns carry on like that? What if somebody shows up with a hired army, set on teaching somebody a lesson?"

"We can't just pretend she doesn't exist," said Bob.

"We could until she's healed up, and the bruises are gone," said Clint. "Who's to know she didn't just wander into town from out on the prairie somewhere ... and we took her in and took care of her?"

Bob looked at the Sheriff and shook his head. "You know better than that. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me is that we got ourselves a problem and I don't want it to tear this town up," said Miller. "She don't know who she is, so she don't know who to complain to. I say we make her comfortable and happy as possible, and work on finding out who she is ... but just take our time about it. I'd purely hate for somebody who cared about her to see her in the shape she's in right now. That's all."

Doc's eyebrows furrowed. "The mayor been talking to you, Clint?"

Miller looked uncomfortable. "It's the town council that pays my salary. Of course they consult with me about things that might cause trouble."

"I thought you had more grit than to cave to the likes of Henry Robinson," said Bob, shaking his head slowly.

"I didn't cave!" said Miller, taking his boots down off his desk and standing up. "I just agree that there's no hurry, until she's in better shape. You just take care of getting her healed up and let me worry about finding out who she is and who's looking for her. If we get any inquiries, I won't delay in responding to them, but I see no need to go looking for more trouble. At least not until she's out of the woods and has some reason to feel beholden to people in this town."

Bob knew when he was hitting his head against a wall, but he also recognized opportunity when it knocked. If the town council and sheriff were going to drag their heels about things, they should be made to pay. He smiled.

"I'll do my part, Clint. And I'm sure that Lawrence Thistledown, John Relway and Douglas Harrow will be happy to do their part and pay her doctor bills, seeing as how their sons caused this whole mess. And if they won't, then I expect the town council to pick up the tab. I don't get paid often in this dump, but I'm getting paid this time or I may feel the need to do some investigation on my own into who this woman is. You get my drift, Clint?"

The sheriff frowned. "That sounds suspiciously like a threat, Doctor Fisk," he said heavily.

"Take it any way you like," said Bob, folding his arms across his chest. "You want her taken care of well and proper. Fine. Somebody has to pay for that. That's all I'm saying. If the people who caused it won't do it, and the town won't do it, then whoever's looking for her might do it."

"How much we talkin' about?" asked the sheriff, still frowning.

"By the time I'm satisfied she'll heal on her own, I expect I'll have ten dollars invested in her," said Doc, thinking of the things he was short on, and what it would likely cost to restock his surgery.

"Ten dollars!" growled Sheriff Miller. "I'm supposed to arrest thieves, not help them commit the crime!"

"Take it or leave it," said Bob. "I've never had a vacation. I might just see fit to ride on over to Lincoln and find out what one's like. And while I'm there, I can see what the state of medicine is in the big city these days. Shouldn't take more than a month or two, I imagine. You and the mayor can take care of Millie while I'm gone. I'm quite sure she'll be beholden to you in no time."

"Millie?"

"That's what we decided to call her until she remembers who she is," said Doc. "When I found out she could read and do math, I told her the town might agree to give her room and board if she'd teach school until this can get all straightened out. So you can install her in the old schoolmarm's house. I think I'll just be on my way. The more I think about it, the more I think Lincoln would be nice this time of year."

Miller snorted. "Just hold your damn horses, Doc. You'll get your ten dollars. You just take care of her so she's nice and chipper whenever whoever comes looking for her comes looking for her."

"I'll expect the money tomorrow," said Doc.

"You drive a hard bargain," said Miller.

"If you didn't get paid, you wouldn't keep wearin' that badge," pointed out Bob.

Miller blinked, and then nodded slowly.

"Guess I wouldn't at that," he admitted. "Why don't we get the mayor on board, and then I'll ride out and talk to the fathers of them boys."

Bob was surprised to see the sun high overhead by the time everything got agreed upon. Mayor Richardson had wanted Ralph Dugway, owner of the hotel, and Claude Simpson, who ran the general store, involved. They were just about the only people in town, other than the saloon, who had much cash money, and they would also be involved in the victim's upkeep for as long as she stayed in town.

Bob smelled the odors of cooking as soon as he stepped inside his surgery. He pushed through the curtain to his living area and was surprised to see Millie standing at his cook stove, which hadn't had a fire in it for at least three months. She was stirring something in a pot, and it smelled delicious. Boots was leaned against one wall. She had been in the middle of saying something to Millie when he walked in, but stopped as soon as she saw him.

"Miss Millie's doin' much better," she announced, beaming.

"I guess so," said Bob, as the young woman turned to look at him.

"I remember you," she said. "You're the doctor. This is your house."

"Such as it is," said Doc.

"We been tryin' to remember things," said Boots. "'Cept it ain't working much."

"Whenever I try to think of something from my past, all I can visualize is a very dark cavern," said Millie. "It's so frustrating!"

"Perhaps things will come back to you in time," said Bob. "You're cooking, I see."

"It's not much. You don't have much food. I just whipped up some chicken and rice soup."

"Chicken," said Bob, looking at Boots, who seemed very interested, suddenly, in a hole in the sleeve of her buckskin shirt.

"Don't worry," said Millie, turning back to the pot. "Boots caught an old, scrawny one. I'm sure it wasn't laying any longer."

"Now that you're here, Doc, I'll just be moseying along," said Boots hurriedly, and headed for the curtained doorway.

"Nonsense!" said Millie. "You caught the chicken and brought the milk, and there's plenty for three. You must stay and eat too, Boots!"

"Yes," said Doc, smiling tightly. "You simply must stay and eat with us, Boots. I can't wait to hear about the milk, Boots."

Bob rubbed his belly, which he felt must be bulging at least six inches.

"That was mighty good, Millie," he said.

"It was just soup," she said, lowering her gaze.

They were gathered around his examination platform, which had been pressed into use as a dining table. Millie was seated on a tall stool. Bob was sitting on an empty nail keg. Boots was standing. Bob owned a grand total of three plates, only one of which was ceramic. It was balanced on Bob's knee, served to him by Millie, who insisted that "the master of the house" got the best dishes. She and Boots were eating off of tin plates, one of which still had most of a coating of blue enamel on it. Three mismatched cups held water from the pitcher Bob kept on the dry sink.

"I'll have to get some bowls," said Bob.

"I don't think I used enough water in the rice," said Millie. "It turned out awfully thick."

"It was delicious," said Bob, smacking his lips. "You can cook for me anytime you like."

"All right," said Millie, taking him seriously.

"Mighty fine vittles," said Boots, wiping her plate with a finger and sucking it clean. "I could get used to eating that-a-way."

"I suppose we should get over to your new, temporary home," said Bob. "I doubt it will be suitable for habitation just yet, but at least you can see it."

"I guess that would be the best thing to do," said Millie. "This is all so strange."

"I'll work with you each day," said Bob. "We'll see if we can't uncover some of those hiding memories."

"I'll help," said Boots.

Thinking about the chicken and milk, neither of which had been discussed in full yet, Bob frowned. "I expect you've already helped more than was needed, Boots."

"She's hurt," said Boots firmly. "She'll need some help fer a while yet."

"Yes," said Doc, staring at the scout. "You and I will do some planning on that ... won't we, Boots?"

"Sure, Doc," she said carelessly. "Whatever you say. How's about we get on over to the schoolmarm's house now?"

The previous schoolmaster had been a man. Millie didn't know what kind of teacher he had been, but he was a pig at keeping house.

"This is awful!" said Millie, waving a hand in front of her face. There was a thick layer of dust covering everything. The breeze caused by just opening the door filled the air with a dense cloud of dancing motes. Trash lay strewn everywhere. There were two rooms, one large and one small. In one end of the small room the trash was piled man-high and filled almost half the living space.

"Don't see no rats," said Boots, helpfully.

What had been billed as a simple "look-see" turned into a preliminary cleaning crusade, as Millie suddenly took command and ordered Bob and Boots around. While Boots scurried off to fetch water and rags, Millie and Bob dragged the few pieces of furniture outside. When Boots returned, Millie used a rag to dust the furniture off. The clouds of dust wafted away in the breeze and Bob got an idea. Re-entering the house, he opened all the windows and the back door, letting the breeze flow through the structure. A little experimentation with an old sheet revealed that two people waving it just so, stirred up the dust into swirling gouts of thick, choking clouds, which the wind then blew out through the open windows and doors. Initially there was much coughing as the sheet-wavers had to run from the house in order to get into air clean enough to breathe, but soon the amount of dust being raised was severely curtailed. Millie said that she'd revert to proper dusting the next day.

They looked around making a list of things that would need to be done to make the place liveable. She'd need a mattress of some kind, probably straw, for the board bed in the corner of the small room. Victuals would need to be stocked. The wood cook stove in the large room appeared to be in good condition, though a supply of wood was needed. Pumping the handle of the water pump only made clanking noises, but Bob opined that if it were taken apart, and the leather gasket oiled, it would likely pump water then. The leather hinges on the front door needed replacing and some of the floor boards were loose or warped. But the glass in the windows was unbroken, and the roof appeared sound, though one couldn't tell for sure until it rained. There was even a privy out back, though the elements had taken their toll on it, and it would need some repairs.