Free Hell on the Prairie by Ford Fargo

suspicion that it
was a child rather than a grown-up who was demanding his attention
in the night.
    It was Tommy Brewster, and he looked like a
frightened jackrabbit.
    “ My ma and pa sent me, Dr. Munro. It’s
my baby brother. He’s sick and has that cough again. Can you come
quick?”
    Logan was used to dressing and dashing out
in a hurry. “You go on home, Tommy. I’ll be following you in a few
moments.”
    True to his word, two minutes later he was
hurrying along Washington Street towards the far end of town where
the Parker house looked out over Wolf Creek.
    He knocked on the door and immediately let
himself in. In the dim light from the oil lamp he saw Rob Parker’s
big bulk sitting in a chair with his back to him.
    Curiously, there was no telltale cough from
Kenny Parker.
    He noticed that Rob Parker’s head was
slumped forward and he saw rope wound round him and the chair.
    The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly
stood on end, as if some sixth sense was alerting him to
danger.
    But it was too late. There was an explosive
pain at the back of his head and he felt himself pitching forward
into a deep pool of unconsciousness.
    ***
    Someone was whistling. And alongside the
whistling there seemed to be a muffled moaning.
    Logan struggled to force his eyes to open.
Then he was aware of a feeling of nausea, and of a throbbing
headache, worse than any he had ever experienced before in his
life.
    His vision was blurred, but slowly he became
able to focus in the dim lamplight. Still the whistling went on, a
cheerful tune, as if someone was pleased about something.
    Then he saw Mollie Parker and young Tommy
Brewster bound and gagged, propped up on the bed. Their eyes stared
at him in horror and he could see that they were both shaking with
fear. Baby Kenny seemed to be sleeping peacefully in his basket
beside Mollie.
    “ What…what is…?” he mumbled. Then he
gasped as he saw Rob Parker’s large bulk lying on his back on the
old table. A stout rope was wound round and round him and the
table, securing him tightly. Logan could see the look of terror on
his face. A deep gash on the side of his head had bled and soaked a
linen rag that had been used to gag him.
    The whistling stopped and was replaced by a
soft laugh.
    Logan turned his head and saw Barclay
Patterson sitting just out of the circle of lamplight on the other
side of the bed. In his hand he had a gun trained on the doctor,
and in the other he held an unsheathed swordstick.
    “ Why, Dr. Munro. We are so pleased
that you could join us,” he said, silkily. “Now we are all united
again.” He pointed the sword at the chair by the stove. “Please
take a seat and make yourself comfortable. I think it is time we
all had a chat, before we begin.”
    Conscious of the gun that was unerringly
aimed at his chest, Logan rose and sat down on the chair.
    “ Before we begin what?” he
asked.
    “ Let’s call it the re-union. Rob
Parker here and me go back a long ways, don’t we, Rob?” He gave a
short laugh. “Or rather, don’t we – Chris .”
    He glanced at Mollie Parker then shook his
head slowly. “I am sorry if the news that your husband isn’t who he
says he is comes as a surprise, but if it is a surprise, I warn you
there is worse to come. This is Chris Bodeen, the worst friend a
man could ever meet.”
    Rob Parker shook his head vigorously and
made muffled protests.
    “ What’s that, Chris? You disagree?
Well, we’ll hear what you say in a minute, right after I tell the
folks here all about you. But when I do untie that gag, be warned.
If you or Dr. Munro here make any attempt to call for help, I’ll
kill young Tommy and Mollie first.” He swished the sword through
the air. “I’ve become pretty handy with this here
weapon.”
    “ Chris and I fought for the Union
during the war. Actually, ‘fought’ may not be quite right, because
we had a neat line in bounty jumping. Thanks to the Union we got
paid three hundred dollars to enlist, which we