Page 13 of Sure as Shooting

Huntley shrugged. “Not really. A couple times a year, maybe. Nothing to inconvenience anyone.”

Whit ventured to say, “I heard an informal ballot was taken this morning. The preference of most everyone for a battalion commander was you.”

“Well, yes. That was after Sheriff Burney backed out. He’s needed here in town.”

“And you’re not?”

They had gone around back to the kitchen door, and Huntley held it open for them. “I’ve got that youngster Stephen Holt to take care of my store here, although I don’t have a replacement for Greeley yet. When it comes to an Indian campaign, I’m their man. I just hope this Colonel Barbour doesn’t keep us cooling our heels until after the first big storm arrives. That’ll just complicate things.”

Lupe was in the kitchen, and Huntley spoke to her in that Spaniard jargon that was starting to become familiar to Whit. Lupe took a large cauldron of heated water and led the Indian woman into what was presumably the downstairs bathroom off the kitchen.

The men repaired to the study through the foyer as Huntley explained, “There’s a much fancier bathroom upstairs. But this one is used for when men return from the mountains funky as a hog’s ass.”

“Oh, I see,” said Whit. “It’s good enough for a filthy Indian girl, then.”

Huntley closed his eyes patiently, a tumbler in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other. Whit thought, He must have forgotten. The last time we were in this room, I tried to stroke his penis.He ordered me out, and now here I am. “Doc, you’ve got to understand. That woman tried to kill me. I tried to kill her in return. I know it’s your altruistic physician’s code or whatever you call it, and I find it highly admirable. But I just can’t subscribe to that code. Not when she lifted the hair off a fellow standing not five feet away from me and wanted to pay me the same compliment.”

Whit took the whiskey bottle from his friend and poured his own drink. “You take it too personally. You were merely caught on opposite sides of a battle. Do you seriously think every Indian in that camp was some evil-doing nefarious son of a bitch? No, they’re just protecting what they believe is theirs, just as our side was doing.”

Huntley swallowed a few gulps of whiskey. “I’ll admit as I always considered myself a friend of the Indians. But it looks as though I’m forced to take sides, and I’ve got to come down on the non-horseflesh-eating side of things. Let’s face it, Doc. This Indian way of life is a thing of the past. Since gold was discovered, a veritable flood of mankind has invaded these parts. When the gold gives out, they’re not going back home. Towns are just going to turn into cities. People will need more houses, and I’m the man to fill those houses with the trinkets that modern man demands.”

“Yes,” said Whit thoughtfully. “Bud was talking about wanting to open a trading post, too.”

Huntley’s eyes narrowed. Whit had seen this sudden ire rising in him many times, and it was amusing to watch the way the sculpted upper lip raised in a snarl. “You tell him he can open his own trading post…up on the American River.”

The American River was where Sutter’s men had first discovered gold a few years back, and it was a hundred and fifty miles to the north. Whit remarked, “Maybe that’s the favor Bud’s expecting from you.” Whit put down his tumbler and headed for the study door. “I’ll go check on Bel. I’ll need to dress her wound again once it’s washed.”

“Yes, you do that,” snarled Huntley, and Whit thought he detected a shred of jealousy. “And I’ll stand guard outside the door.”

Whit fairly rolled his eyes as he strode back to the kitchen. If Bel was going to be Whit’s maid, Huntley was just going to have to forget that she’d taken a shot at him. “¿Es el paciente allí?” he asked Lupe, proud of what he hoped was understandable Spanish. Is the patient in there?

He must have been correct, for Lupe beamed widely. “Sí,” she said enthusiastically, pointing to the closed bathroom door.

Now he had to ask in English, “Can you fetch one of Mr. Ashbury’s calico shirts?”

Whit accepted a fresh pot of hot water from Lupe. At the door, he hesitated. He felt odd to be bursting in on a naked woman and had to remind himself that in his profession, he’d done it thousands of times. But somehow, Bel didn’t feel like a patient to Whit. He’d known her only half an hour, but already she felt like…well, a maid, probably. That was it. He felt odd because she was already more like a maid to him.

Bel didn’t flinch when he opened the door, shutting it behind him. She lay sprawled in what was probably the largest bathtub in town. Much larger, anyway, than the one in the bathhouse connected to Boling’s Hotel. A window allowed diffuse winter light to bathe her torso. Her burnished brown arms were draped over the sides of the tub, her head, the dark brown hair wet and sleek like a seal’s, propped up against the wall in an uncomfortable position. Her eyelids barely flickered to acknowledge Whit, and he realized she must be exhausted after the battle and long march back to Agua Fria. Not to mention, missing whatever relatives the Mariposa Battalion had wrenched her from, or polished off.

She was even more stunning clean, of course, and once again Whit had the feeling she was not of these mountain tribes. Fully a foot taller than the tallest Digger maiden, her breasts rode high and saucy. He had also noticed that she had unusually good dental hygiene, her rather large teeth bright and clean. Whit couldn’t help but think, If she smiled, she’d be a regular bucktoothed beauty.

“Bel,” he now said, pulling up a stool and seating himself. He placed the cauldron of water on the floor and dipped a towel into it. “I need to wash your wound,” he said, though he knew she couldn’t understand him.

She gazed at him with a look of utter trust. Whit had seen enough mistrustful patients in his time, some skeptical because of his skin tone, some patients just plain cracked and determined to fly off the handle when someone came near them holding a scalpel.

As he unwrapped the bandage that was gluing the dirt to her wound, Whit found himself talking, just to hear the sound of chitchat. “You’re a very striking girl. I’m hoping you will consent to be my maid, although I really don’t have anywhere to live as yet. I was hoping Huntley Ashbury—that will be Major Huntley Ashbury now—would offer me one of his rooms in this grand house, but we had a bit of a…a misunderstanding awhile back. Now I suppose that hospital tent is my home. Not terribly pleasant with the groaning, belching, and farting all night long. I’ll have to come up with some new arrangements.”

She watched with detached interest as Whit used the clean towel to sponge dirt from the hole in her arm. “I wonder if Indian women are liable to hysteria. That’s the ‘womb disease’ of modern women. For years I’ve been following a treatment laid out by Hippocrates. It would be interesting indeed to try this treatment out on you, but how do I know if Indian women become hysterical? Marriage sometimes cures the disease, so this form of treatment is especially useful on widows, those who live chaste lives, and nuns. All other women might just engage in intercourse to alleviate hysterical symptoms.”

Her eyes flickered about his face, clearly alert and intelligent. “I should ask Huntley about Digger women.” He chuckled fondly. “He’s the obvious expert on womb hysteria in Indian women, that’s sure as shooting! I wonder if an Indian woman would respond differently to the massage treatment. I wonder if she would reach crisis sooner, or not at all? For sometimes it is a great burden on a physician, treating these ‘out of health’ women. You would not believe, Bel, how long it takes some women to reach a crisis when manually manipulated. Most physicians loathe it, how sore their wrists become! But none dare stop doing it, since it’s the most common disease except fevers, and most women require regular treatment.”

He sighed. The wound was not bleeding, and he wanted it to dry before applying the fresh bandage. “Stand, please. You might not realize it, but you’re sitting in a tub full of grimy sludge.” To demonstrate, Whit stood, gently tugging on her injured arm. It would help if tomorrow she would swim in Agua Fria Creek.

Whit had to admit to himself, he wanted to view the maiden standing naked and brazen before him. Since he didn’t see her strictly as a patient of his, he didn’t feel the need to “keep himself far from all seduction,” part of the physician’s oath he’d taken. The oath went on to state, “Especially from the pleasures of love with women or with men, be they free or slaves.” Was a maid a slave? Well, not if he paid her. His cock was already at half-mast as she rose from the tub, the gray water sluicing off her long limbs, her sun-browned body emerging as a siren from the sea.

“Wonderful,” Whit said in a half-whisper, admiring the tantalizing slope of her lower back where it flared to her hips, slipping down into the blindingly white globes of her shapely behind.

Whit mouthed a word. “Wait…”

They both stood stock-still. Bel had a vague smile, as though waiting for Whit’s approval. Whit’s eyes were fixed on her ass.

He reached the bathroom doorknob in one enormous stride, and flung the door open.

“Huntley!” he bellowed, but he didn’t have to yell loud.

Huntley was standing right there.