The first stop on Dr. Lee’s rounds was at the home of the Taylors to check on a bull terrier named Lucky. Walking to the porch, Lee explained the reason for the visit. “Lucky picked a fight with a porcupine and lost. He had so many quills in him I didn’t think he’d survive, but he’s a tough little fellow. I came to make sure I removed all the quills, and that none of the punctures are infected.”
They were greeted at the door by Mrs. Taylor, who was short, thin, and had red hair. Her threadbare calico dress and apron indicated a woman with little wealth. Lee made the introductions.
“Nice meeting you, Mrs. Taylor,” Garrett said.
“Same here. Come on in. Silas and Lucky are in the parlor.”
Lee, carrying his medical bag, asked, “How’s Lucky doing?”
“Limping a bit, but healing. I swear that dog is really a cat. He has nine lives just like one.”
Garrett guessed the red-haired freckled-faced Silas to be about ten years old, and upon seeing Dr. Lee the boy smiled widely. “Hello, Dr. Lee.”
“How are you, Silas?”
“I’m fine.”
“How’s Lucky?”
The black-and-white terrier was lying in a large basket atop a pile of blankets. At Lee’s approach he shrank back and whimpered. Silas stroked the dog’s back. “It’s okay, Luck. Doc Lee just wants to make sure you’re healing up right.”
Lee hunkered down by the basket. “Removing those quills caused him a lot of pain. I understand why he’s a little wary of me.”
While Garrett and Mrs. Taylor looked on, Lee gently examined the dog’s wounds. Garrett saw the small reddish patches that covered Lucky from nose to tail.
Lee said, “Looks like you’ve been taking real good care of him, Silas.”
“I’ve been putting the salve on him like you showed me. He’s still having trouble eating because of the quills that were stuck in his mouth.”
Garrett was surprised by that. Mrs. Taylor told him, “You should’ve seen him, Mr. McCray. We couldn’t tell where the quills ended, and Lucky began. It was terrible.”
Colt added, “But once again, he lived up to his name.”
Silas smiled. “I didn’t think anything could be worse than him taking on One Eye.”
Colt replied, “Me, either.” He stood. “Okay. He’s healing up well. Lucky, no more cougars and definitely no more porcupines.”
Lucky whimpered as if agreeing.
“Silas, keep putting the salve on him, and give him soft things to eat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is he having any other problems?”
“No, sir.”
Colt looked to Mrs. Taylor for verification, and she agreed with her son. “Nothing else that I can see.”
“Good. I’ll be back to check on him next week.”
Mrs. Taylor escorted them to the door. “Thanks, Doc. Nice meeting you, Mr. McCray.”
Walking back to the buggy and the gelding, Garrett asked, “Lucky tangled with a cougar?”
“Yes, last year, and saved Silas’s life. One Eye’s claws ripped open Lucky’s rib cage, but he lived up to his name. He’s a very lucky dog.”
Garrett thought the tale would be a great addition to his story on the doctor. He mounted up. “Where to next?”
“Ed Prescott. Life-long friend, and Spring’s business partner. He’s also an engineer. We all grew up together. A mare of his lost a foal while I was in Rock Springs. Ed does a good job of doctoring his animals but wants me to check the mare, too, just as a precaution.”
Garrett was anxious to meet the man. He assumed Spring held him in high esteem if they were partners. Of course, being a male, Garrett fleetingly wondered if the two had ever been lovers, but put that out of his mind because it was really none of his business. He did envy the fact that Prescott obviously knew more about Spring than Garrett ever would.
As Garrett rode beside the buggy through the gates of the Prescotts’ Sweet Heart Ranch, he was impressed by the dozens of horses of all sizes and coat colors filling the vast pens. Some galloped while others milled about. The tall brown-skinned man who waved and walked to meet them as they arrived had long raven-black hair braided down his back.
Colt made the introductions. “Ed Prescott, this is Garrett McCray. He’s a newspaper reporter from back East. McCray, my good friend, Ed Prescott.”
Garrett shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Same here.”
It was Garrett’s first encounter with what the back-East papers called an Indian, and nothing about him fit what he’d read; not his speech, manner, or college training. Given how slanderous and insulting the press often portrayed the