The Treasure of Eerie, Arizona
by Christopher Leeson and Ellie Dauber

Chapter 1

Wednesday, December 13, 1871 continued

Irene Fanning made the whip snap over the horse's back, wincing at what the bounce of the vehicle must have been doing to Myron's injuries. She was hurrying the buggy down Riley Canyon Road with as much hast as she dared. Though only twenty-four, it had taken all of her strength to hoist him into the carriage behind the driver's seat. Since then, covered by a woolen blanket, he had been alarmingly quiet. If she couldn't reach Hiram Upshaw's office in time, her nephew didn't have a hope. The doctor had been an army surgeon; if anyone in Eerie could save a badly wounded boy, Upshaw could.

At that moment, the buckboard was rattling past the familiar wooden sign painted with the words “Eerie Arizona – Welcome, Friend.” The first of the town's lamp-lit houses were now to be seen. She dreaded to think what might happen over the next few hours. Myron was a horse thief whom the law would be ready to arrest the moment that they learned he was back.

The widow Fanning slowed her buckboard when it entered the town proper. Eerie wasn't large, and in just a minute they were halfway through it. She pulled up behind the doctor's office, where she hoped there would be fewer prying eyes. It was after regular hours, but Doc Upshaw lived in the rear section. She was whispering prayers that she'd find him at home.

Irene drew up and braked. She wrenched her ankle springing to earth, but didn't stop before she was pounding on the back door. Though she was striking the panels as hard as she could, she didn't shout. She didn't dare attract attention.

“Hold on, hold on, I'm coming,” sounded a resonant but muffled voice.

A few seconds later, the door swung open. The man looked questioningly into the face of the young woman. “Mrs. Fanning? You look a sight,” Doctor Upshaw remarked. “What's the trouble?”

“M-My nephew. He's been shot!” Breathless, the farm woman had to rest her shoulder against the door post for support. Hiram helped her inside, to a chair beside the door.

“Thorn?” he muttered. “Shot? Where is he?”

“In – in the buckboard.”

The doctor spied the one-horse vehicle through the window. In the back of it was what looked like a body covered by a blanket.

“Don't tell anyone he's here!” Irene said. “He broke the law.”

The words were hardly spoken before the Hiram Upshaw was outside, closing in on the buckboard. Almost covered by a quilt was a boy's face. He'd seen that sort of face many times before near many a battlefield. Drawing the blanket lower, he saw the blood, looking like a spill of warm tar in the fading twilight. It looked like he had a gut-shot wound in the abdomen, which was always bad. Upshaw called for the widow's assistance and together they moved the boy inside. The doctor had lost hundreds of patients in the Civil War, but had fought for the life of every last one of them. He didn't know any other way to do his job.

Moving a belly-wounded man, the surgeon knew, could kill him right quickly, but every second counted. He was already guessing that the case was hopeless, but with a horrified family member looking on, he couldn't let himself think like that.

The doctor and the widow took Thorn Caldwell down a central hall that connected his living and his work areas, and then into a room furnished with three infirmary beds. As they eased him down on the sheets of one cot, the sufferer cried out, which at least informed Upshaw that the boy was not so far gone that he couldn't feel pain. Fortunately, his blood loss observed inside the buckboard hadn't given evidence of a full-blown hemorrhage. But if his bowels were leaking into his bloodstream it would poison him in a day or less. Maybe much less.

Hiram banished the boy's aunt to the waiting room and then lighted a whale oil lamp, which he placed on the night stand by Thorn's bed. A brief examination told him that the bullet would be still lodged inside the youth's body, making a bad situation worse. He wiped his hands on a towel and rejoined Mrs. Fanning. “Whether I take out the shell or not, I don't think the poor boy will make it... ” he trailed off.

The surgeon felt rather than saw the widow blanching in the gloom. “He's too young,” she said.

Upshaw shook his head. “In a better world than this one, he would be too young to die. But during the war I saw hundreds of boys like him pass on from even less serious wounds.”

“Lordy, lordy,” the woman moaned.

“We'll have to keep him warm and reduce the pain with laudanum, until...

Irene groaned and covered her face.

The doctor surprised himself when he blurted, “There may be one way to save his life... ”

The widow looked up hopefully. “If you can save him, do it!”

He was immediately sorry that he had spoken. Death was an everyday thing. But was the cure that he was about to suggest… ethical? He’d lately felt like reading through the few articles he had on medical ethics. He still wasn’t completely sure what was right in a case like this. “I'm not sure you would like saving your boy’s life in the way that we'd have to do it.”

"Do you mean he's be...paralyzed?"

"No, I don't mean that."

Mrs. Fanning looked urgently into his face. “Then I don't care about the cost! You can have the cattle. Even the whole farm.”

Upshaw shook his head. “It's not the cost. The medicine...is a strange one...does things that might horrify you. I'm not sure that Thorn himself wouldn't prefer to die instead.”

“What kind of medicine is it?”

“Indian medicine man medicine. Magic. Maybe magic. Probably.”

Irene drew back. “Magic?” Then her eyes opened wide. “You're thinking of doing what Shamus O'Toole did to save that O'Hanlan boy when his body was broken?”

Upshaw turned away. “Yes. I guess you know, then, what we'd have to do.”

Irene wheeled away, her mind reeling. “I don't know what I should do,” Irene answered back.

“You might talk to Sheriff Talbot. He handled that whole strange business with the Hanks gang. Otherwise, I suggest you pray.”

Hiram Upshaw returned to his patient. From a shelf, he took a brown-glass bottle of laudanum, unstopped it, and put the open neck to the stricken boy's lips. The cinnamon, added to subdue the drug's bitterness, wafted pungently. After setting the vial aside, the physician used his scissors to cut away the dirty and bloody shirt that was pasted to his patient. That done, he cleaned the wound with alcohol and stuffed the bullet hole with gauze.

'Inoperable,' he was thinking. Whatever Mrs. Fanning decided, under no circumstances would it be his hand that administered the bewitching draft. That potion had always filled him with many ethical questions. But what was the right thing to do? Did he have the right to say no if -- when -- she asked for it? The War had driven God out of the hearts of many of his fellow doctors, but that hadn't happened to Hiram Upshaw. He had seen miracles – many of them -- during those four awful years, and even later. Maybe Shamus’ potion was just the latest miracle to come along.

The office had grown as silent as the tomb. He looked into the drawing room and realized that he was alone.

#

The coal-oil lamp he was reading hung by a black chain from the beam above. Sheriff Dan Talbot was deep into Castle Dangerous by Sir Walter Scott. There wasn't much else for a man to do at so quiet an hour. His deputy, Paul Grant, was due in at ten. Dan smiled. Right now Paul would be over at the Eerie Saloon, where his lady love worked.

Talbot glanced up when pounding hooves stopped in front of the jail-house. A moment later, the door flew open. Dan swung his heels off the desk and turned in his swivel chair. The lawman knew his excited visitor on sight. It was Harv Durst, a cowpuncher from Abner Slocum's ranch.

“Sheriff!” he exclaimed.

Talbot set aside the book and stood up. “A problem, Harv?”

The cowboy's head bobbed up and down. “Big problem. Stage robbery!”

The sheriff gritted his teeth. The transport company often took on nuggets and dust from the assay office. But it had been a long while since a stage robbery had occurred near Eerie.

“Where?”

“Riley Canyon Road, up in the gap,” replied the young man.

“Anyone hurt?” Dan asked.

“One bandit got shot. Old lady Deeters thought it was Thorn Caldwell.”

Talbot scowled. “Who shot him?”

“A ricochet off the strongbox, the guard said. “The bandits let the stage go free, leaving Thorn just lying there on the road. They kept the chest. The stage men flagged me down when I rode abreast of them. They was going on to Phoenix to alert the authorities.”

The sheriff scowled. He knew Thorn Caldwell – a quick-tempered kid with a chip on his shoulder, some seventeen or eighteen years of age by now. He was a suspect in some thieving, too. Once Dan had had to go out to the farm to reprimand the lad for reckless gun-play. Not too long after that, Caldwell had disappeared, run away. A neighbor had accused him of stealing one of his horses. That had been back in January, and the boy hadn't shown his face in Eerie since.

“What are you going to do, Sheriff?” Durst asked. “I'll join the posse if you're starting one.”

Dan took a deep breath. “First, I'm going to send out alerts. All the towns along the telegraph line have to be put on the lookout. Tell, me, Harv, how many long riders were there?”

“The stage people saw four, including Thorn. They thought they were all young pups.”

“If they took Caldwell with them, that might slow them down,” Talbot mused out loud. Dan decided to leave organizing the posse to Paul. He'd have all night to do it. Then Dan would lead it out himself, after a night's sleep.

“Lad, hang around town until the emergency bell rings in the morning, if you want to hunt bandits. We'll set out at first light. Get yourself a little rest before then, if you can.”

“Sure enough, Sheriff,” Durst said. The young man swung away and hurried out into the street.

Dan Talbot had just started putting on his guns when there was a tapping at the door. He yelled over his shoulder, “It's not locked.”

A woman stepped in and he recognized the widow Irene Fanning, Thorn Caldwell's aunt. This couldn't be a coincidence.

“Mrs. Fanning. Did you hear about your nephew?”

She blinked, amazed at how swiftly terrible news could travel. “That he's hurt?”

“That he's robbed a stage!”

“He robbed...?”

Talbot frowned. “You didn't know?”

“I know he's been shot!”

The peace officer nodded. “A rider came in. He said the stage was relieved of a strongbox up in Stagecoach Gap.”

She looked pained. “He came to the farm badly wounded, about an hour ago.”

“How is he?”

“He's with the doctor. Doc Upshaw says that he's... he's probably... lost.”

Talbot sighed. “I'm sorry, ma'am.”

“He says that the... the potion might save him, like it did the O'Hanlan boy.”

Dan sent her a hard look. “I see.”

“Dr. Upshaw told me to ask you what we should do?”

“Ma'am,” he said, “do you know what that potion does to a person? A lot of men would rather die than take it.”

Irene's anguish was writ large. “Maybe it isn't as bad as him dying.”

The tall man shrugged. “Are you sure? Is he able to speak for himself?”

“He's lying like dead. He can't talk,” Irene explained.

Dan nodded. “I can't make that decision for another person. I think you should talk to Judge Humphreys. He's the one who orders up the potion for outlaws if they get convicted.”

She looked despairing. “Will he let Myron have it?”

The sheriff shook his head. “I can't say.”

“I just --” Mrs. Fanning began, but couldn't find the words she needed.

“We've got get a move on, ma'am. While you and the Judge talk, I need to get to the telegraph, so the robbers won't get away.” As courteously as he could, he led the farm woman outside.

#

Judge Humphrey's lamps were lit. Sheriff Talbot banged on the door and, when it opened, the portly jurist stood regarding him, looking like he was already braced to hear news concerning some new trouble.

“Dan?” Parnassus C. Humphreys asked. “What's the emergency?” He stepped aside to let his visitors enter.

Talbot let Mrs. Fanning hurry inside while he stood where he was, facing the Judge. “The Prescott to Phoenix Stage has been robbed,” he said.

Humphreys frowned. “My word!” he said. “Do we know who did it?”

Dan nodded. “It was Thorn Caldwell, along with three other kids. Caldwell is with the doctor now. Wounded.”

“Thornton Caldwell?” the Judge muttered. Only now did it dawn on him why Dan had brought along the woman, one whom he knew from church. “Your nephew?” he asked, looking back at her.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “He's dying.”

Humphreys rubbed his thin hair. “I regret to hear that.”

“Your Honor,” said the lawman, “she's got something to consult with you about. I'll abide with your decision, whatever it is. But, right now, I have to send out the warning that there are thieves on the road. If you're going over to the saloon, let Paul know that he has to form up a posse.”

“The saloon?” the Judge echoed.

“Mrs. Fanning will explain.” Talbot tipped his hat and withdrew.

“How can I be of assistance, my dear?” Parnassus C. Humphreys asked Irene Fanning.

She hurriedly explained.

The Judge pursed his lips thoughtfully. “If that's what you want, it might be fate's judgment on how to handle this affair. If a boy with Thorn's record for trouble-making was ever found guilty of stage robbery in my court, I'd be sorely tempted to give him the potion, even if it were only a first offense. It may be that justice is about to be served, with no trial required.”

“Thank you, Your Honor, I think,” Thorn's aunt replied bemusedly. “But one thing... ” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I'm not sure that giving him the potion is the Christian thing to do.”

Humphreys' brow wrinkled. “I'm not sure either. Mostly, I've been letting it happen because I don't like hanging outlaws.”

Irene shook her head. “Myron always tried to grow up too quickly and he grew up angry. But if he takes the potion and and lives changed, it's important that no one knows about it. It would drive him out of his mind if everyone were laughing at him.”

The Judge nodded. “I dare say you could be right about that. I assure you, Madame, no one will find out such a thing from me. But if you really want to carry this idea out, we have to hurry over and see Shamus. He's the only one who can prepare the potion.”

#

There were few lights along the benighted street. Many shops were full dark, though the several drinking establishments along the way remained lit. Reaching the Eerie Saloon, they stepped through the batwing doors.

At once, Humphreys scanned the crowd. “I don't see Shamus. We'll ask the bartender where he's at.”

A dark-haired man in a deep-blue silk vest and a white shirt stood behind the counter serving customers from brown bottles. He glanced up as the pair neared. “What's your flavor tonight, Judge?”

“No time for that, R. J. This lady and I have urgent business with Shamus.”

R.J. Rossi looked across to the stairs. “He's in his rooms; go on up.”

Humphreys led Mrs. Fanning to the upper floor. The Judge rapped urgently on the O'Toole's apartment door and it very quickly opened.

“Land sake! Judge!” said Molly O'Toole. “What a surprise!”

“Parnassus,” muttered Shamus, her husband, stepping out of the bedroom. He was a tall, sturdy red-haired man in his early forties, sporting a trimmed mustache. “Ye’re always welcome, yuir Honor, but m'Irish instincts tell me that this must be a wee bit more than a social call.”

“Indeed it is, and we must settle the issue swiftly. A life is at stake. This lady and I should speak to you in confidence, Shamus. Perhaps, if Molly doesn't mind...”

Shamus grinned. “We can be starting out with a secret, but I can't promise that such a stubborn woman as me Molly won't wheedle it out of me before ye can find yuir way back to the street.”

“Oh!” said Molly in exasperation, “How you go on, Shamus! Find out what the Judge wants. Didn't ye hear someone is dying? Let me tend to the crowd below while ye're busy.”

Shamus nodded. With a few quick steps, Mrs. O'Toole was out the door.

“Who's life is at stake, if ye don't mind me asking?” the Irishman inquired.

“Have you heard the name Thorn Caldwell?”

Shamus grimaced. “The young hellion who was always in trouble -- the horse thief? Is he back?”

“He robbed a stage along the canyon road.”

Shamus made a hmmm sound. “‘Tis sorry I am to hear that. But ain’t that a job for the Sheriff?”

Humphrey sighed. “It's damnably complex. From what Dan and this lady have told me, her nephew, Caldwell, is with Doc Upshaw. He's been shot and isn't expected to make it.”

Shamus regarded Mrs. Fanning with a nod of sympathy. “I'm grieved to be hearing that, Ma'am.” Then he regarded the jurist. “Are ye hoping I can save the pup?” he asked with a suspicious lilt.

“It seems that it's the boy's only chance. Do you have any of the... medicine prepared?”

Shamus pursed his lips. “I've been keeping a small supply on hand, ready to go, ever since Elmer O'Hanlan had his accident.”

Humphreys cocked his head. “What do you think about doing that? Was it something you regret?”

The barkeeper shrugged. “I don't regret saving a kid's life. But I ain’t happy ‘bout his father swallowing the stuff by accident.”

“Thorn is with the doc. There may not be much time.”

“Is the boy worth saving?” O'Toole stopped abruptly when he saw the reaction on Mrs. Fannings' face.

The jurist sighed. “Do you regret how the Hanks gang turned out? It seems to me that you treat them as if they were your own daughters. Tell me if you think that there's any one of God's creatures who is absolutely not worth saving?”

Their host looked away thoughtfully. “I figure I've met a few of that kind, mostly in San Francisco.” He then shifted toward Mrs. Fanning. “Are ye sure about this?”

“I don't know. Are the... potion girls miserable?” she asked.

The Irishman shrugged. “They have thuir good days and thuir bad, like everyone else.”

“Then you say the potion doesn't make all that much difference?” Irene asked hopefully.

Shamus became grave. “It makes a wee bit of difference in the sort of life they're living now. Do ye realize how hard this is going to be for Thorn, even if he heals up as fit as a fiddle?”

“I don't think there are any good choices left for him. Horse thieves hang, stage robbers go to prison. I owe it to my sister -- his mother -- to save him if I can.”

“What you do tonight is going to be changing the lives of the both of you. Just don't be blaming me if you give yourself a hard row to hoe for years to come.”

“I won't, I promise.”

The taverner crossed to the wall rack and drew down a woolen coat of red and black plaid.

“Another thing, Shamus, my friend,” added the Judge. “I'd like you to get Molly or R.J. to spread the word that Dan needs to have a posse put together. The sheriff wants to take it out at dawn. Is Paul Grant here?”

O'Toole squinted thoughtfully. “He'll probably be down on the floor, talking to Jessie whenever she has a minute to spare for him.”

“Good. Pass on Dan's instructions to go ring the fire bell and form up the volunteers..”

“What's the posse for?”

“Caldwell wasn't alone. There are still three desperadoes on the dodge,” Humphreys replied.

“I hear what ye’re saying,” Shamus said.

#

“Doctor, how is he?!” Irene Fanning asked urgently from the waiting room.

Upshaw looked up. “He spoke a few words, but he's senseless again. I doubt he knows where he is.” To the men with Irene, he asked, “What all have you decided?” Shamus and the Judge looked at one another, but let the lady give the answer.

“Can you wake him?” Irene asked. “Then I can ask him what he wants.”

The physician exhaled with a whistling sound. “I'm afraid that no talking is going to be possible. What do you want to do, Mrs. Fanning?”

Now that Irene actually had the means to save her nephew, the faithful words seemed to catch in her throat.

“Under the law,” began Judge Humphreys, “Thorn is a minor, and you are his legal guardian, Madam. The course of his care in a life and death emergency is legally yours to decide. Our Dr. Upshaw will be able to use his own discretion about what happens in his office, if you happen to ask Shamus to use... a controversial treatment.”

The widow stared at the ashen-faced boy. “He'll hate me. But if an outlaw dies unrepentant, he'll goes to Hell, doesn't he?”

“Here's what I know,” suggested the physician. “Potion or no potion, he won't last more than a few hours if I don't take out that bullet. But abdominal surgery may actually shorten his time. If he doesn't live through the extraction that I have to do immediately, you won't have any decision to make.”

Irene nodded. “While you take out the bullet, I...I have to pray.” She hurried away to the doctor's waiting room, where she sank to her knees and cupped her hands.

Upshaw now faced the two men, both of whom he knew well. “I need to do this in my operating room. Help me carry the lad there.”

#

Under the lamps of his surgery room, Upshaw operated on Myron Thornton Caldwell for about a half hour. While the others continued to wait, he stitched the incision. When the physician called Shamus and Humphreys to come in, his expression told them just how bad the situation was.

“Well?” the latter finally asked.

“I have to have the lady's final consent, or else there is nothing more anyone can do. Anyone except the Lord, that is.”

“I'll go get her,” volunteered the jurist. He hurried from the surgery. When the barkeeper turned to follow him, the doctor whispered, "I need to talk to you."

Shamus stepped closer. “What is it?” he inquired in a low tone.

“If the lad wasn't a minor, I'd prefer to let the Lord's will be done. I vowed not to do any patient harm, but is saving a life by changing a patient's sex doing harm? My medical ethics books have no answer for that one. My best course is to respect what the boy's next of kin decides.”

“It's all ye can do,” nodded Shamus.

“How many souls have received the potion so far?” Upshaw suddenly asked.

The barkeeper's expression pinched. “Eight. Here in Eerie, I mean.”

Doc frowned. “Yes, I recall that there was also a Cheyenne warrior.”

Shamus squirmed slightly. “Ay, I told ye about him… her... last summer.”

“How did that one turn out, in the long run, I mean?”

The Irishman shuffled uneasily. “About as good as a person who drank two doses could have turned out. She made a life for herself working in a cat house. Then, the last I heard, she married one o’her customers and made a better kind o'life with him.”

The surgeon sighed. “As a man of medicine, I've learned to accept death as part of the natural order. Sometimes I still wonder whether we have any right to preserve a life without a patient's 'by your leave'. I've gone along with saving soldiers whom I knew would be legless, blind, disfigured, paralyzed...”

Shamus smiled wanly. “When I have me doubts, I always think about Laura with Arsenio, and Paul with Jessie. Without me potion, thuir lives’d be a whole lot different from what they are today. I think taking a drink o’me potion’s like having surgery. It hurts like hell for a while, but healing makes things better, and a person can take things in stride after that.”

Upshaw glanced away, his expression uncertain. Just then, there came footfalls from without. Shamus peered toward the adjacent room and saw the Judge and the farm widow at the door.

The surgeon came to meet them. “What will it be, Mrs. Fanning?” he asked. “I don't think we have a second to waste.”

“Doctor,” she began, “I think He has heard my prayers. It was like I was hearing His voice.” The surgeon searched her face; it looked somehow inspired. “I wept and I prayed; then suddenly His purpose came to me.”

“What purpose?” the doctor asked.

“'He wants to save Myron. He said, ''male and female he created them,'” she quoted.

“And so you believe that we should use the potion to save his life?” Upshaw inquired carefully.

“Yes. Words can mislead, but what He has put into my heart tells me that there is no doubt about His intentions.”

“Are you sure?” the physician pressed.

“Lord help me, Doctor. Whatever happens tonight shall be God's will. Please save my nephew's life. He will watch out for Myron in his time of trial; that He has promised.”

The surgeon resignedly nodded and shifted toward the Irishman. “If this is God's will, let Him bring the boy around long enough to be able to swallow the draft. I'd appreciate it if someone other than myself holds the glass.”

Shamus muttered an agreement and reached into his coat pocket, to draw out a vial containing a couple ounces of greenish-colored liquid. “I have it, Doc. I'll need a cup or glass with a little water in it.”

Upshaw glanced toward the others. “Judge, would you take Mrs. Fanning to the other room? What happens next might be too upsetting for her.”

Without a word, Humphrey escorted the young woman away.

#

“I'm first going to try to bring him around with smelling salts,” explained Hiram Upshaw. He uncorked a small brown bottle. Shamus took a place next to him, holding a tin cup of water liberally laced with potion. He had deliberately made the dosage strong, on the chance that the lad was too weak to take in very much of it.

Upshaw was passing the ammonia fumes of the salts under Thorn Caldwell's nose. Nothing. It began to seem that he would never again awaken in this lifetime, when, of a sudden, the lad's shoulders lurched and his eyes popped open.

“Boy,” said the doctor, “do you know where you are?”

Thorn just stared at the physician for a moment, before going into a fit of coughing. Upshaw, believing that the outlaw didn't have much time left, stepped aside for Shamus. Shamus drew in a deep breath and eased the cup toward Thorn's lips. “This here is medicine, me bucko,” he said. “Drink what you can; it will make you feel a lot better.”

Thorn still didn't seem to understand, but closed his lips around the rim of the cup when he felt it. Shamus now tried to push the mug between the boy's teeth, but Thorn turned his face away.

"Maybe I should try," said Irene Fanning. "He knows my voice."

Shamus glanced up. The widow had returned and was standing at the threshold. "I thought I should be here for him."

"Aye," replied the Irishman. He passed the glass to Irene when she approached within reach.

"Myron? Do you understand me? I'm your Aunt Irene."

The boy gave no reaction. When she repeated her words, his head slightly stirred.

“Myron. Those outlaws shot you. But you'll be all right if you take this medicine.”

Her nephew blinked; his glance glassy and unfocused. Irene kept coaxing. “I'll hold the cup up to your mouth, darling, and I want you to sip as much of the medicine as you possibly can. It'll be good for you.”

The men watched intently. Doc still wished that he was certain about the ethics of what they were doing. But he had seen too much death from sickness and war. He had played host to Mr. Death many times, but never learned to like his company. If this happened, though, would he ever see the same sort of smiles on Myron's face that he had already seen on the lips of Laura, Jessie, Bridget, and Maggie? At the moment, he was only an observer, and that was all he cared to be.

Shamus, beside him, gave a relieved sigh to see that Thorn was able to drink. In fact, the boy seemed extremely thirsty. Just then, the Judge touched Shamus' arm. “If it works, who’s going to be giving her… orders?”

“I don't know,” the barkeeper admitted. “But I don’t think it should be meself.”

Humphreys frowned thoughtfully. “He's gotten into a hell of a pickle not listening to his aunt. You can fix that.”

“Aye. But shouldn’t there be somebody else besides the lady?”

The jurist shrugged.

“I suggest ye, Judge. Ye’re used to deciding important things for people. It might be that the widow can't always be available.”

Humphreys sighed. “Very well.”

The Irishman looked like he had another idea. “I'd also suggest that me Molly be party to it, too.”

“Molly, but not yourself?”

Shamus shook his head. “The Mrs. Fanning will be needing advice... on some very ‘girlie’ matters. Molly knows better than I do what t’be expecting from a potion gal.”

“You make sense. Would Molly want to get involved?”

“She's a hard one t’be guessing about.”

“Then I'll tell Molly that it was my idea,” Humphreys offered.

The taverner seemed satisfied.

The doctor called, “Shamus!”

The two men saw Caldwell's body shuddering. The Irishman came up quickly. Thorn's sandy brown hair was growing out at a miraculous rate and getting a little darker. His strong arms were looking willowy. In moments, the figure on the operating table had become lightly-built and lithe. The bandages over his wound loosened and shifted as he transformed. The alarming convulsions lasted only seconds longer. When they passed, the patient was left flat on his – on her – back, gasping for breath.

Doc reached over and removed the loosened bandaging from what was now blood-smeared white skin. “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered. “There’s no sign of the wounds. I'll take those stitches out after she's rested a bit.” In the interest of modesty, he threw a sheet over Myron’s chest. Just then, her gasping stopped and she settled into a trance-like slumber.

Shamus realized, somberly, that this was the moment to act. He leaned in and shook the girl's shoulder with two fingers. She responded with a bleary stare.

“’Tis another part of the magic,” he said to Irene. “Ye need t’be telling him – her – who she’ll obey from now on.”

“Obey? I-I don’t understand.”

“The potion’ll make her obey whoever ye tell her to obey. Doing what she's told’ll help her t’adjust to being a gal. Just say yuir name and the Judge’s, oh, and me wife's, too. Molly O’Toole. Just tell her, and it’ll stick.”

The young widow blinked. “Amazing.”

“Doc, give him – her -- another whiff of those smelling salts.”

The physician complied. The girl reacted with a cry; her eyes widely opened in alarm.

“Myron, listen to me,” the woman said. “From now on, you will obey any order I give you. And you’ll obey any order from a Mrs. Molly O’Toole or from Judge Humphreys. Tell me if you understand what I've just told you.”

“I-I understand,” the new girl muttered, her voice a tight whisper.

Shamus came to stand beside the woman. “Yuir new niece is going t’be needing a name, too. Do ye have one, Mrs. Fanning?”

The woman seemed overwhelmed. “I-I…” A thought came to her, like a whisper from an angel. “My sister dreamed she was going to have a little girl when she was carrying Myron. She'd picked out a name, Myra, after our mother. But when she got a boy instead, she baptized him Myron.”

“A workable plan,” adjudged Humphreys. “She'll be Miss Myra Caldwell.”

Mrs. Fanning's pondered that. “No, she can't be a Caldwell. But... but wait a minute; maybe I can say that she's the daughter of my late brother, Amos. The real girl is living back East with her mother and grandparents. But we can give out that she's alone in the world, and that I'm her only living relative. That would make her Myra Olcott. Better still, Abigail Myra Olcott. Amos' girl is named Abigail.”

Shamus nodded in approval. “Ye’d best be telling her then, and be quick about it. The magic won’t be lasting much longer.”

“Very well,’ Irene replied. “Myron – or Thornton – is not your name any more. From now on, your name is Abigail Myra Olcott, but you’ll answer mostly to Myra. Do you understand me?”

There was a look of bemusement on Myra’s face as she whispered, “Y-Yes, Aunt Irene.” She seemed to relax after that and snuggled down on the operating table, closing her eyes. In moments, the girl was asleep, exhausted from all that she had gone through.

Shamus nodded. “All right, Myra it is. But whatever name, yuir... niece... uses, she's going to need some rest.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Doc, shouldn't ye make ready your infirmary?”

Upshaw answered with a throaty “Yes.”

“Mrs. Fanning,” he continued, “do you still want the girl's identity to be kept secret for now?”

Irene nodded. “I do. Myron can't stand to be laughed at. When angry, he does things that he shouldn't.”

“Well,” replied the doctor, “we'll all do the best we can. She... Myra... can rest in one of my infirmary beds until she's fit to go home. She'll need girl's clothes, so no one sees her dressed like a boy. A little thing like that in a town like Eerie can let the cat out of the bag.”

“What will we say about Thorn disappearing?” asked the doctor.

“It's for the best that no one be told that Thorn ever came back after the robbery at all,” said Humphreys. He glanced to Irene. “A boy who's unaccounted for and a new girl showing up in his home at the same time could make people wonder. Let's hope that the story about her being your niece keeps people who are too smart for their own good from making any easy guesses.”

Humphreys rubbed his chin. “And, Shamus, if Molly has any ideas how to help Mrs. Fanning, it would be a good thing for them to chat.”

The barkeeper scratched his head. “I'm thinking that Molly should be getting Myra some clothes over at the Silverman’s right promptly in the morning.”

“Fine,” replied the Judge. “Fortunately, the girl is too old for school, so she won't need to be enrolled. It's for the best that she gets settled down away from view before having much to do with people.”

Shamus stepped closer to Irene. “I think the best thing’d be for ye to go easy on her at first. Let the filly have her head out at the farm as long as she don't behave badly. It is hard to be telling ye more. For a while, we won't really know what to expect.”

“How do you mean?"

The Irishman was remembering the amount of strongly-mixed potion that the boy had gulped down. “I've seen a few potion girls in me time. As the weeks pass, she'll start t’be acting differently, more like a girl. Me wife can explain it a whole lot better than I could.”

Irene shook her head. “The Lord has given me a bewildering task. But He answered my prayers, so I will not let myself fail.”

“It won't be easy for you or for... Myra,” said the Judge. “But, don't coddle her. She brought these troubles down on her own head, and we're only trying to do right by her.”

Then he added, “I'll be sending Deputy Grant out to your place. He'll have some serious questions for Myra, such as who exactly helped her with the robbery, and where they've hidden the gold.”

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 2