Strangers on the Night Train

by Richard K. Lyon

Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

“Ya see, the way it is,” Doc James put in, “I’m way too old ta still be practicing medicine but I can’t retire, ’cause I’m the only doctor in Gila Bend. Sir John here says that he’s an extremely experienced surgeon. I know a little about him and I’m inclined t’ believe it. Still and all, ’fore I turn my practice over ta him, I want him ta prove it.”

Placing his right hand on the black box, Adam broke the first of the four red wax seals. In a soft, very polite voice he said, “Doctor James, am I to understand that you want Sir John here to demonstrate his surgical skills on me rather than on a stray dog?”

“Please,” Sir John interposed mildly, “neither the Doctor nor I know any stray dogs that are going to die without an operation. When someone like you is released from prison, it’s always for medical reasons. From your appearance I know that you have severe liver problems and an appendix that will kill you when it bursts in a month or two. The prison doctors didn’t dare operate because the chloroform they’d use would cause too much liver damage.”

“And how, Sir John, are you going to do an operation that other doctors can’t?” Adam Kane demanded. As he posed this question, he broke the second of the four wax seals.

“It’s not a problem for me, because I don’t believe in using chloroform,” the Englishman replied cheerfully. “The whole concept of anesthesia is a complete mistake. A man has no business being a surgeon unless he has strong, quick hands. If he has such hands, he can do the cutting quickly while strong men hold the patient down. No need to use poisons like chloroform and many reasons not to. Pain is good for patients, because it teaches them not to do whatever it was put them on the operating table in the first place.”

The gunfighter broke the third of the wax seals. As he did so, he frowned, noticing something he’d been missing. Sir John was sitting with his back to a window. With the sole exception of Sir John, everyone and everything in the train car were reflected in that window, but through some very strange trick of light the Englishman had no reflection. Kane had never believed the stories he’d heard about this kind of thing, but he did believe his eyes. In a mild tone he asked, “Just how long have you been doing operations without chloroform?”

“I sewed up a cut in King Harry’s arm at the Battle of Agincourt on Crispin Crispian’s day in 1415,” the Englishman said. “Since then I’ve gone from one war to another, practicing surgery on battlefields all over the world.”

From the way the Englishman made this statement, Kane had little doubt it was true. He also knew that in poker and gunfighting the one important thing was to remain calm. His fingers moved toward the last seal on the black box as he asked his last question, “Sir John, do you drink blood?”

“I enjoy,” The Englishman admitted, “a good blood sausage but actually drinking blood is something I haven’t done in a long time. A great many years ago I got myself into a... situation and was obliged to make some rather large changes in my habits.”

Kane’s hand moved away from the last seal, leaving it unbroken. That was not the answer he’d expected. Was Sir John a demon with a conscience? Maybe. For sure he was a demon with money, that beautiful little heap of 100 tiny gold coins sitting on the table in front of Sir John. They could be his. He could have money in his pockets and the freedom to do what he wanted and tomorrow be damned. “All right,” Kane said, his right hand sweeping up the gold coins, “let’s play poker.”

The next several hands were a see-saw battle. When Adam lost a pot, he lost gold but when he won he got gold coins only from Sir John. From Doc James and Miss Atwater he got only matchsticks. He soon began wagering his matchsticks first and putting gold into the pot only as a last resort. Everybody else did that, leading Doc James to mutter something about Gresham’s Law.

As the game proceeded, Kane wished that Doc James would open his bag and share a little of his “medical use only” whiskey. Of course with Miss Atwater present that wasn’t going to happen.

Things moved to a climax when it was Miss Atwater’s turn to deal the cards. Her aged hands trembling badly, she dealt Kane a hand that included two aces and two eights. He drew a third ace. The night in Deadwood when Bill Hickock had been shot in the back while playing poker, he’d held aces and eights. It was the dead man’s hand, and under the circumstances he couldn’t think of anything more appropriate. While he was a little down from his initial hundred, this was an opportunity to win it all back with interest.

When he raised ten matchsticks, Doc, who only had twenty matchsticks left, folded. Sir John reached into his pocket and took out seven double eagles, one hundred forty dollars in gold. “This is a table stakes game,” he said, “but you’ve put that black box with your soul in it on the table. I’d value it at another hundred, so I’m seeing your ten matchsticks and raising you one hundred and thirty.”

As he broke the last seal, the gunfighter, in a very cold voice, told Sir John, “You might want to see my soul before you put a price on it.”

The Englishman replied in equally cold tones, “I already know. You have a suicide pact with your half-brother. When I saw Ben talking to Sheriff Black, I could tell that the Sheriff has cancer. He’s traveling around setting his affairs in order. As soon as he comes back to Gila Bend, you’ll meet in the street and kill each other.”

“Not exactly,” said Kane. As he spoke, his hand moved, a single fluid motion far too fast for the eye to follow. The box popped open and a Colt 45 appeared in Kane’s hand, cocked and leveled at Sir John’s heart. “I am much the faster gun,” he said. “When we meet three days from now, we won’t kill each other. I’ll kill him. And then I’ll hang.”

In Adam Kane’s experience when you suddenly produce a gun, the people watching you can be expected to have strong reactions. This time, however the only reaction he got was from Miss Abigail Atwater. Glaring at him with singular disapproval, she snapped, “I do hope you’re not going to shoot Sir John. That would annoy him, and he’s not a pleasant traveling companion when he’s annoyed.”

Even though Sir John didn’t have a reflection, Adam Kane was fairly sure that a 45 slug would do more than annoy him. Still, for a man looking at the business end of a Colt 45, Sir John did seem awfully calm. Almost as if — Dear God! — how could he have missed that? While Sir John didn’t have any reflection in the window behind him, his cards did! The man had three queens.

It didn’t matter what kind of demon he was because Adam Kane had him beat! With all that money in the pot he could have a wonderful three days! Plenty of whiskey and, while none of the whores in Gila Bend were great beauties, there were two who could be very charming indeed...

Without a word he put his gun, the gun with which he was going to kill his brother, into the pot. Sir John added the seven gold coins.

Before he and Sir John could show their hands, Miss Atwater snapped, “Wait, just a minute, gentlemen! I’m in this game, too, and, Sir John, I’m seeing your raise.” With that she pushed one hundred and eight matchsticks and thirty-two dollars in gold into the pot, her entire holdings.

Confident that he’d won and happy to take her money in addition to Sir John’s, Adam Kane laid down his cards. He had been right about Sir John’s cards but to his horror Miss Abigail Atwater was laying down four sixes.

“It would appear that you won’t be able to pay the mortgage on your appendix.” Sir John commented. “Please report to Doc James’ surgery in the morning.”

To this Doc James added, “After the surgery, if ya don’t want that liver ta kill ya, ya’ll need to change your ways.”

While they were speaking, Miss Abigail Atwater was swiftly gathering up her winnings, his gun, all the gold coins and even all the matchsticks, her hands moving with a speed and dexterity that was quite surprising in one of her years.

“That won’t be a problem,” she declared. “Mr. Kane, as the owner of your soul, I shall expect you to give up smoking, drinking, and loose women. And to come to services every Sunday morning at the Gila Bend Methodist Church. Also, your brother is facing a long illness. You’ll help him by taking a position as deputy sheriff.”

Astonished by the woman’s presumption, Kane protested, “You’re not giving me any choice about this!”

“No,” she declared, “choice is what I’m giving you. Remember what I taught you about Moses, his last sermon to the Children of Israel? He told them that he was giving them a choice: follow the path of righteousness and live, or not follow it and perish. That, Mr. Kane, is exactly the choice I’m giving you.”

Staring into the old woman’s calm blue eyes, Kane realized that she was telling him the simple truth. Gun or not, he could still die more or less as planned, or he could live by paying a very high price. The operation probably wouldn’t hurt more than a bad knife fight but after that he’d have to make massive changes in the way he lived.

He’d be changing not just how he lived but who he was. That wasn’t going to be easy... but there wasn’t any point in complaining about it to Miss Abigail. She’d tell him that narrow was the way and strait the gate that lead to life and that he was fortunate to have such a clear choice. Maybe that was true.

With a rueful smile he nodded agreement. “All right, Miss Atwater,” he said, “but I do hope you’re not going to make me teach Sunday school.”

“No,” Sir John assured him, “that’s one of the things she forces me to do.”

Open Challenge 318...