Doctor Barrow
Mark Randall
Doctor Barrow
By Mark Randall
Chapter 1
“Miss Barrow, before we go any further, let me congratulate you on achieving your doctorate. As the first female graduate of this institution, your name will be forever memorialized. Now that having been said, what are your plans.”
This was from the college president. A white-haired man that tried very hard to disguise his growing bald spot while ignoring his spreading paunch. He had been reluctant to admit me six years earlier when I applied for medical school. His stated position was that outside of nursing and midwifery, women had no place in the medical profession, let alone higher education. But pressure from My father and the political machine he controlled had forced the dean to change his opinion.
Standing in front of his massive desk, I was dressed in a demure dark blue ankle-length dress, a simple single strand of pearls around my neck.
And a stylish cameo broach at the center of My neckline. “Well, dean, I intended to continue and specialize in surgery. But it’s my understanding that my application for a surgical fellowship will be turned down.”
“That is correct, Miss Barrow. At this time, all of the seats in that school have been filled. You would have to wait until something came open before you could be considered, let alone accepted. Might I suggest as an alternate something more appropriate, say obstetrics or gynecology?
Something where you would have more success?”
“President Thompson, we have had this conversation before. I don’t want to study the ‘women’s fields as you put it. My goal is a surgical fellowship.”
“That’s unfortunate because it isn’t going to happen at this institution.
I should also inform you that you will not be allowed to stand with your classmates at graduation because of threats of violence. I can give you your diploma and degree certificate right now. But you will not be allowed on the grounds during the graduation.” he raised his hand and beckoned to someone outside of his office.
“This is Provost McCain. He will escort you to your dorm and assist you in packing your belongings. A cartage company has been hired to transport your goods anywhere in the city you desire. However, outside of the Boston city limits, it is your responsibility. You are excused, Miss Barrow, and good luck.” he then turned to the Provost, “You know what needs to be done.” and then turned entirely away from me.
I stood there for a moment until McCain touched my elbow. “Please, Miss, I don’t want no trouble. It’s best we get this over with as quickly and quietly as possible.”
I was escorted to my dorm. Or at least what had been designated my dorm.
In reality, it was the housing space for a junior bachelor professor. At
the start of my senior year, it had been determined that my study hours were a distraction to the other female students. The distraction involved inconvenient questions concerning other women going into the medical field.
As a solution, I was moved into the bachelor apartment for the remainder of the school year.
Outside of the building was a high sided horse-drawn wagon and two burly men. Between Myself, the Provost, and the two movers, my property was quickly loaded, and I was escorted from the campus.
During the loading process, I decided to place my belongings into storage with the Kingston Brothers moving and storage company. These were the two movers that assisted me in vacating what had been my home for the past two years.
At a loss about what to do next, I took lodgings in an upscale boarding house with a good reputation. The first thing after settling in was to notify the family. Daddy would be thrilled and demand I come home immediately. Preferably to find a decent husband and put all this medical fol-do-rol behind me. Mother, too, would, in a less demanding way, suggest I come home. Take some time off and find my way in life. Again, a husband and children would be prominent in mother’s plan. And of course, my brothers would laugh and repeat their standard ‘We told you so.’
I knew there was no avoiding notifying the family. After all, daddy had expended serious resources, both financial and the calling in of political favors. He had a right to know what was happening in my life.
It was while I was writing that I started getting mad. While the President had been unfair, he was acting in what he considered an appropriate manner. The same could be said for my father and brothers.
But damn it, I had been serious in achieving this goal. And by gosh, I needed to see it through to the next level. And that was to set up My own medical practice. I had the qualifications to be a general practitioner, an MD. Nothing was going to stop me.
That evening, after dinner, I gathered together all of the local papers and some of the larger publications from outside of Boston. As I read the want ads and then the medical advertisements, I became more and more discouraged. There was little available in the New England area. It was while I was in the boarding house-sitting room that I noticed a middle-aged gentleman watching me.
He wasn’t very noteworthy. Average height and weight. Greying, brown hair. What set him apart from all others was the angry red scar that ran from the center of his forehead to his lower left jaw, just barely missing the eye. The scar wasn’t new. In My professional opinion, it was maybe five or six years old. While the scar was an attention-getter in any case. I was more impressed by his smile. It was a genuine smile. One that began on his lips and continued up the corners of his mouth. Resting in his glittering eyes.
The gentleman stood and walked over to me. “Dr. Barrow, may I introduce myself? I am Dr. Thaddeus Paulson. And I would like to offer you a job.”
For the next several hours, Dr. Paulson explained his position. He was the medical recruiter for an organization that had been established after the late war. His mission was to locate medical personnel that would be willing to move to the west and join his organization. The work would be varied and, quite frankly, dangerous at times. But I would be welcomed as the professional I was, and that I wouldn’t be limited in my practice.
“Why me, Dr.? What made you look for and try to recruit me?”
“Dr. We have been watching this and other medical colleges. We need medical professionals. A good portion of our organization have suffered injuries during the war and need continuing care. Our primary mission has been that anyone traumatized by the war, military or civilian, union or confederate, are welcome in our ranks, without prejudice. It was your do or die and damn the details attitude that first attracted me to you.
There is a rather exclusive men-only club in this town. Well, more than one, but for this discussion, this club counts your university President as one of its members. As well as several others on the college staff.
While I was slowly separating that fool from his money during card games, I first learned of you. Over the last three years, I have been watching your progress. Now before you get a swelled ego, I’ve also been watching others’ progress in various other fields of study. If you decline our offer, that’s ok. We have other candidates.”
“Now, to get to the meat of the matter. What we are offering is a position as a medical officer. Specifically, you will start with the assumed rank and pay of a captain. This isn’t a government organization.
We are independent and outside of the government. However, we find it convenient to use military terminology. Some of our members need that structure in their lives. You will be provided with first-class transportation to our base of operations in Wilkins, Nevada. I’ll warn you right now first-class transportation is a bit of a joke. You will indeed enjoy the travel up to St. Louis. But after that, things get a bit rough. I recommend you get sturdy hard-wearing clothing. I strongly recommend that after St. Louis, you wear men’s clothing. Sturdy canvas or the new denim pants. Cotton long-sleeved shirts. I’d also include long-handled underwear. It gets pretty cold at night, and petticoats won’t do the job.”
“When you get to Wilkins, you’ll travel further to the Ruis Hacienda.
That is our home. I’ll give you a book on the Hacienda and Wilkins before you leave. Included is a history of the Regiment. That’s what we call ourselves, by the way. A biography of Colonel Anderson, our de facto leader. He’s a nice guy. I think you’ll like him. There’ll also be a breakdown of our chain of command. Being medical staff puts you in a unique position. You will be the bridge between the civilian and military sides of the Regiment. You’ll also be our ambassador to the folks outside our gates. You see, one of our services is free medical care for all that need it. Without prejudice or partiality.”
“I should also tell you that we live in a wild country. The law is pretty much limited to the cities sometimes. However, the Regiment has also adopted a position of being the strong arm of justice within our reach.
We don’t judge. We don’t enforce the law. But we will and do actively seek out and bring outlaws to justice. We leave the enforcement and administration of justice to others. Don’t get me wrong. We aren’t vigilantes. But we actively help out the limited law enforcement folks.”
“Dr. Paulson, you’ve given me a lot to consider. Can I please have a day or two to think about it?”
“Sure, Dr., You take all the time you need.” He handed me a card. On one side was Dr. Paulson’s contact information. On the opposite was the simple message ‘The Regiment, Wilkins Nevada.’ “When you make a decision, get ahold of me. Or wire the Regiment direct. The folks in Wilkins will know who you want.”
With that, Dr.’s Paulson and I rose and shook hands.
The following morning, I rewrote my letter to the family.
“Dear Mommy and Daddy;”
“I’m a doctor, and I’m going to Nevada.”
“More to follow.”
“Love Louise”
Chapter 2
The travel from Boston to St. Louis was, as Dr. Paulson described, pleasant. Granted, things were primitive or at least seemed so to a young society lady fresh from an ivy league medical school. The food wasn’t up to Boston’s high standards, but it was cheap, tasted good, and was filling. Those times that I had to stay overnight, the accommodations were clean and comfortable.
It was when I arrived in St. Louis that things began to change.
Following Dr. Paulson’s advice, I had purchased a new traveling outfit. I opted for the new cotton denim fabric. According to the salesman, the material was highly recommended for the miners heading to the California goldfields. It was durable, easily cleaned, and mended. I bought two pairs that fit reasonably well. I also purchased two red plaid long-sleeved shirts. Named ‘Pendleton’ as a style and the brand name. Both the pants and shirts were made of cotton. A far superior material than the wool or canvas alternatives. I also purchased two sets of ‘Long Handles.’
These were the insulated underwear that Dr. Paulson insisted I would need. Indeed, I found out later that they were invaluable when the weather turned colder at night. My final purchase was a cotton duck
jacket that had a removable liner. On a whim, I also purchased a wide-brimmed hat similar to what I had seen others wearing.
Once I had changed into my new clothing, and if I kept my mouth shut, I could easily be mistaken for a young male traveler. Maybe a farmer or a youngster headed to the minefields for my fortune. It tickled my vanity to fantasize that I was on a great adventure. Little did I know.
The following morning, I boarded the stage for the next leg of my journey. I was first to arrive and was able to choose my seat. Next on were a young lady and her 5-year-old son. She was the wife of an army officer stationed at a new posting in Colorado. She and her son were joining him there as family housing had just become available.
Next on board was a grizzled old-timer. A battered and patched felt hat on his head with what looked like a turkey feather extending out of it.
He was wearing buckskin clothing that appeared to have been crudely hand sewn. Rather than boots, I was fascinated by the Indian moccasins he wore. He had a grey beard that, along with his hair, appeared to have been trimmed with the knife that was prominent on the left side of his belt. On the right side was a deadly looking and well-maintained pistol.
He also carried a Spencer cartridge carbine and a short double-barreled shotgun.
There had been a disagreement between the old-timer and the driver about those weapons. The driver wanted them stored with the rest of the baggage either in the boot or up top with him and the shotgun rider. What started as a heated conversation changed to a quiet one-sided speech. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I did see several coins change hands.
The old-timer said that his name was Jedidiah Hess, That he had been a trapper, a scout, and an Indian fighter since coming out west as a boy.
He entertained our youngest passenger and myself with his thrilling tales of adventure.
The last passenger was a bit of a shock. He was a well-dressed middle-aged man. Well-dressed would be a generous term. He looked like any other eastern dude. His suit had that same shiny, oily look that his overly pomaded hair had. What set him apart was the sheriff escorting him. As the pair approached the coach, the dude could be heard alternately begging for a favor or insulting the sheriff and any bystanders.
Eventually, the dude was installed in the coach. The sheriff looked at the army wife and me. “Ladies, don’t trust anything this snake tries to sell you. If I had my druthers, he’d be stretching a rope right now. But the judge says get him out of town. So be warned.”
He looked at the old-timer “Jed, no tears for this owl hoot. Send him ta hell if needed. I wouldn’t bother digging a grave either. Crows gotta eat.”
It was after we left behind the last of the buildings of St. Louis that I noticed that we had a rider following us. It was the sheriff that had escorted our companion. After about an hour, he rode closer and asked the driver to stop.
Riding up to the window next to the dude, he handed him a small chrome-plated pistol. “It’s unloaded, Nelson. I suggest you leave it that way. I also suggest you stay out of St. Louis from now on. Next time I see you, it’ll be boot hill and no warning.” He then pulled his horse around and started riding away. The driver whipped up the horses, and we resumed our journey.
The dude was quietly cursing to himself while he returned the pistol to a hideout shoulder holster. He looked up at the rest of us, and it seemed as if he was about to say something when he looked at the old-timer. He had his hand on his pistol and a cold look in his eyes. “Friend, I’d be grateful if you’d leave that piece empty while we’re on the road. If they’s any trouble, I’m sure that the shotgun and I can handle it. If not, well, I’ll let ya know.”
From there till we arrived at Fort Smith in Arkansas, we had no further problems with the dude. At Fort Smith, he debarked and disappeared into the background. The next day we continued on. But now it was with the old-timer riding up top with his arsenal. Later, I found out that we would be crossing Indian territory, and the stage driver felt better with the additional firepower up top.
In Santa Fe, we lost the army bride and her son. Their trip continued to the north. It was during the next leg that I had the coach to myself.
With the reduced weight, we were able to make very good time. In Sparks, Nevada, the old-timer and I parted ways. During our travels, I had come to admire him and his wild tales. His calm and stoic demeanor was a comfort during a crisis, and there had been a few. We shook hands at our parting. On a whim, I kissed his cheek and rushed away. Afraid that my tears would cause him distress.
The next day we were once again traveling what seemed to have become a never-ending trail when I noticed a group of riders. They were about a mile off and didn’t seem to be approaching. They did, however, keep pace with us. I called up to the driver and shotgun, and they confirmed that they had also seen that group. And a similar group on the other side.
It was hard to tell at this distance, but they all seemed to be wearing the same clothing. I was confused because I had seen military patrols while on the road, and these were definitely, not the same thing. The driver said that I shouldn’t worry. He knew who these riders were, and our travels had just gotten much safer.
At noon we came to a horse station. This is where we needed to change horses for a steep incline ahead. The driver told me that it would be at least 15 minutes. But if I wanted, the station master’s wife usually had a fresh pot of coffee on at about this time of day. I walked into the station house and was welcomed with the smell of fresh coffee and cherry pie. I introduced myself to Polly, the station master’s wife, and Joey, her son. And gratefully accepted her offer of coffee and pie.
We were joined shortly by the driver and his guard. The offer of coffee and pie also enticed them. Once we finished, we stepped outside to resume our journey.
In the yard were 20 riders. These were the riders that had been shadowing us all morning. The leader of the group was talking to the station master, Slim. The riders were in various stages of caring for their mounts and equipment, except for 3 of them who remained mounted and watched the surrounding countryside rifles at the ready.
Seeing us, the leader of this group approached and introduced himself.
Giving a half bow, he started, “Ma’am, I am Captain Gibson of The Regiment. I have been tasked with escorting you onto Wilkins. Colonel Anderson is awaiting your arrival.”
“Thank you, Captain. I’m impressed. Do I need this level of protection because of some threat? Or is Colonel Anderson trying to impress me?”
For a moment, the Captain had a look of confusion on his face. This quickly changed to a smile. “Oh, I can see you’re going to be a fun one, ma’am. Let me assure you, Doctor Barrow, your safety is my, and the Colonel’s, utmost concern. Now, if you would board the stage, we’ll get you to Wilkins and Colonel Anderson before dinnertime.”
After handing me up into the coach, he gave a shrill whistle and a series of complicated hand signals. Without further orders, his men immediately mounted their horses. From then on, that escort was a lot closer and seemed to rotate. There were 20 riders in the escort, and I’m positive all of them rode close by at least once to take a peek at me.
In the late afternoon, I was awakened by the driver. He informed me that we were arriving at Wilkins, Nevada Territory. I looked out the coach window. What I saw was a collection of opposites. Some of the buildings looked like they stood half a breath away from collapsing. Others were as sturdy as a brick fortress. Indeed, the use of brick amazed me. The size of the town also took me by surprise. I had not anticipated a sprawling metropolis like Boston or even St. Louis. However, this town could have easily fit into the appearance of an eastern city block with plenty of room for growth. I was enchanted.
Here was a blank slate. A canvas wanting an artist’s touch.
We came to a stop at the stage station. In front of which stood a huge black man. He was wearing immaculately clean and pressed tan pants and shirt. On his upper arms were a series of stripes and chevrons. On his head, a tan slouch hat sat squarely. His face was neutral, showing no emotion. When the stage came to a stop, he leaned over and spoke to a young Mexican boy, who was dressed identically. The boy raced off.
Before I could do anything, the man-mountain opened the door. “Ma’am, I am Sergeant Major Young. I have sent a runner to get Colonel Anderson. My apologies, he was supposed to be here when you arrived. But it seems the driver was a bit ahead of schedule today.” While this was said, the Sergeant Major glared up at the driver.
“Not my fault, top soldier. Your Captain Gibson set the pace. Polly Thompson at the horse station had cherry pie and pot roast for dinner. I would have overnighted, but your officer insisted we continue on.”
“A likely story Clyde.” Digging into his pocket, he came out with a notepad and pencil. Writing quickly, he continued, “Alright, Clyde, you and your guard get dinner and a beer, one beer, on the Regiment.” He pulled the sheet off the notepad and handed it to the driver. “See Red over at the livery for the cargo and baggage.”
“You got it Top, happy trails there Doc. I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
As the stage drove away, the Sergeant Major turned to me. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll get your luggage taken care of. We’ve got a room with a hot bath waiting for you. You can get cleaned up and,” looking her up and down, “Out of your travel clothes.”
Turning to a young Asian girl standing shyly off to the side. He spoke softly, “Miko, this is Doctor Barrow. You help her out, ok? Anything she needs, it’s ok. If you need help, let Corporal Wheaton know, ok?” the young girl nodded and shyly smiled at me.
Also, standing next to Miko was a young man. He was dressed like the Sergeant Major. But on his shoulders were two stripes and a red cross brassard. “Ma’am, this is Corporal Wheaton. He is your aide, your batman.
He is a fully qualified corpsman and can assist you in any medical issue.
Miko is your maid. She will see to any of your feminine needs. She’s a little shy, but I’m sure that the three of you will get along. If not, you let me know, and we’ll make whatever changes you want.”
As he was speaking, a group of 5 men dressed identically as the Sergeant Major approached. The Sergeant Major came to attention and saluted. “Sir, may I present Doctor Louise Barrow. Ma’am, may I introduce Colonel Joshua Anderson, our commanding officer.”
A tall, dignified gentleman stepped forward. He appeared to be in his mid to late forties. A touch of grey at the edges of his sun-bleached hair.
He was clean-shaven and had a fresh haircut. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. “Doctor Barrow, a pleasure to meet you.”
Chapter 3
I was a bit overwhelmed at this point. Events had speeded up after the slow lazy travel days of the last two months. Taking his hand, I mumbled,
“A pleasure to meet you, Colonel.”
Turning to his followers, he introduced the others. “Sergeant Major Young, you’ve met. If there is anything you need, Just see him, He has my full confidence. He is my strong right arm, literally.” turning to the older gentleman to his left “This is Major James Gaunte. He is the Regimental executive officer. The administrative brain of our
organization. Next to him is Major Surgeon Doctor Julian Blanchard. He is our Regimental medical officer, your boss, so to speak.”
A round of handshakes were exchanged. I was starting to become a little self-conscious about my clothing. I was still dressed for travel. I was dusty, thirsty, and hungry. “Colonel Anderson, not to be rude, but is there somewhere I can get cleaned up? it’s been a long hard road. While I can think of nothing I’d rather do than sit around and gossip, I need a bath, clean clothes, and dinner.”
It was with satisfaction that I saw a blush come to several of the men’s faces. I felt a tug on my arm and looked that way. “Missy, you come with me.” it was Miko. Standing next to her was Corporal Wheaton. “You go ahead with Miko, Ma’am.” He said. “I’ll head over to the livery and see to your luggage. Don’t mind these military folks. They sometimes don’t think right.” he glared at the assemblage of superior officers, while Miko hustled me into the Hotel Majestic.
For the next hour, I luxuriated in a tin bathtub on the third floor of the Majestic. If the water changed a half degree, Miko fussed until it was just right. Then she scrubbed me down with sponges. First concentrating on my hair. Then the rest of my body. By the end of the process, not only did I feel clean, but I was so relaxed that if it hadn’t been several hours since I had that delicious slice of cherry pie, I would have gladly fallen asleep right there.
Miko would hear none of it. She opened the door and told Corporal Wheaton. “Corp-o-rol food, please.”
“Well, the Colonel is expecting dinner. But I think I can find something to tide the lady over.”
Fifteen minutes later, a knock at the door brought Miko. As she looked at the selection offered, she beamed “Domo Corp-o-rol Domo Arigato.”
She brought in a plate of what looked like folded bread sandwiches.
“Missy? you eat, you like.” she picked one of the sandwiches up and demonstrated how to eat a ‘Taco.’ I immediately fell in love. The combinations of tastes and textures were nothing like I had previously eaten. The three tacos offered were quickly consumed. With my appetite somewhat satisfied for the moment, Miko quickly finished getting me ready for an audience. That’s what it felt like. She had pawed through my clothing, looking for what she deemed appropriate. Unsatisfied, she selected what she considered the best available.
Looking me over with a critical eye from all sides, Miko was marginally satisfied.
Miko and Corporal Wheaton escorted me to the Majestic’s dining room.
Colonel Anderson, Major Gaunte and several others were seated at a table more or less at the center of the crowded dining room.
As I approached the table, Colonel Anderson and the others rose. “Doctor Barrow, I’m sure that you remember Major Gaunte, and Doctor Blanchard.”
For the next 10 minutes he introduced the other members of his staff. I couldn’t remember any of them. But I knew that as time went by, I would be able to put names to faces.
The rest of the evening was basically small talk about the Regiment, Wilkins and the social activities in both of those areas. After dinner and coffee, I offered that I was tired and needed to get rested up for the following day.
My sleep that night was deep and untroubled. That is until about midnight when I had to rise and put on my long handles. It was getting chilly.
The next morning Miko and myself were, in my opinion, awakened brutally by Corporal Wheaton. He threw the door open with a loud shout and started banging a copper pot, yelling at the top of his voice. “Rise and shine, ladies. It’s a new day, and the world is breathlessly awaiting your appearance.”
If hadn’t been the sheer terror of such an awakening, I might very well have rolled over and gone back to sleep. As it was, I bolted out of bed and in sheer panic, looking around me. I could tell looking out the window that the sun had not yet risen. I wasn’t sure of the time, but this wasn’t morning. Morning meant sunshine, warmth. eggs over easy, crispy bacon and hot toasted bread with dairy fresh butter. This was a crazed maniac disturbing the peace and quiet of my slumber.
Once I recognized my surroundings, I called out, “Corporal Wheaton, what is the matter with you?”
“Good morning, Ma’am. I felt that, since you have joined the Regiment, you need to get used to the time schedules that we operate by. Now, you have 10 minutes to take care of your morning routines and get dressed. In 10 minutes, I will meet you in the hotel’s dining room. It seems that the barbarians that run this place refuse to rise before 6 am. So, We have brought our own food service staff. I will have them hold your breakfast until you are ready. You will have 10 minutes for breakfast. Then we will get you prepared for your travel to the Hacienda. Without another word, and answering no questions, He turned and walked out of the room.
Miko and I looked at each other, totally confused. One of the things that Wheaton had done the previous evening was have my traveling clothes cleaned, pressed and neatly folded. There was also a similar set for Miko. Following the corporal’s orders, we dressed and proceeded to the dining room. It was filled with men from the Regiment. Their clothing easily identifed them. It was also apparent that they had already finished their meals. It seemed that our appearance was the trigger needed for them to begin the functions of their day.
As we sat at the only free table, Corporal Wheaton came from the kitchen and, with a hint of reproach said, “You’ll need to do better ladies.”
placing the plates in front of us he retreated to the kitchen. Four junior members of the Regiment came out and started clearing the other tables. Quite self-conscious, Miko and myself ate our breakfast while
these men cleaned up around us. When we had finished, we were again joined by Corporal Wheaton.
“So, ladies, I assume that you are packed and ready for the trail?” Miko and I blankly looked at each other and then back to the corporal. He slowly shook his head. “Alright, ladies, let’s go upstairs and get you ready for travel. Hopefully, we’ll get home before breakfast tomorrow.”
Acting as if the burdens of atlas were riding his shoulders, he slowly trudged back up the stairs to our room.
Thirty minutes later, I had all of my luggage and baggage loaded and in the wagons. I didn’t see much of the Regimental people beyond Corporal Wheaton and the detail packing my property. But when we were finished, Wheaton called over to the young Mexican that had been with Sergeant Major Young that first day. My god, was that just yesterday?
“Pablo, let em know, son.”
The boy grinned at Corporal Wheaton “Yes, Corporal.” he raised the bugle to his lips, moistened them, and blew a complicated tune. Within moments crowds of men started appearing, and after mounting their horses formed into ranks on the streets in front of the hotel.
As soon as they were in position, Colonel Anderson and his command group came from the saloon across the street. They had their signature dusters and slouch hats on. Colonel Anderson was tugging on a pair of leather gloves. Stepping up to the horse being held for him, he thanked the youngster holding the reins.
Once he was mounted, he looked over to Corporal Wheaton, who was at the reins of the lead buckboard. “Ready?”
“At your command, sir.”
The Colonel called out “Column of twos, Scouts out, Forward ho.” As one, without any seeming effort or confusion, the entire group started moving.
As soon as they passed the last building, riders raced out to the sides and took up flanking positions.
We had been on the trail for several hours, and it was a slightly less comfortable trip than the stagecoach. The seat supports on the buckboard, compared to a stagecoach, left a lot to be desired. We did have an awning installed, so direct sunlight wasn’t an issue.
About noon, I was beginning to wonder about a break when a group of riders appeared. They were blocking the trail ahead. “Oh lordy, I’d hoped he would wait for this.” Corporal Wheaton muttered.
Looking at the group, not riding, just sitting their horses on our road.
“What’s the problem, Corporal?” I asked.
“Well Ma’am, that’s Busted Horn. He’s the chief medicine man for the Shoshone’s. You don’t need to worry. We’re friends with these folks. At least some of them. Busted Horn, well, he’s always been on the fence as
far as that goes. At any rate, he heard that we had a female doctor coming in, and that made him kinda mad. Between not trusting the white man’s medicine, he’s afraid that a white spirit woman would cause trouble.”
“Corporal, I can assure both you and Mr. Busted Horn that I am not a spirit woman. I am a certified medical doctor, licensed to practice anywhere in these United States and its Territories.”
Wheaton turned in his seat and looked at me. “Ma’am, I know that, the Colonel knows that, Hell everybody in the Regiment knows that. But Busted Horn is an important leader in the Shoshone tribe. Please respect that.
You, and I mean you more than anybody else, don’t need this buck pissed off at you. Scuse my language Ma’am.”
As Wheaton and I had been talking, I watched Colonel Anderson, and Sergeant Major Young approach the party blocking our path. After a moment’s conversation, they walked their horses back to the buckboard.
“Doctor Barrow,” the Colonel started. “This is Busted Horn. He is the chief medicine man for our friends, the Shoshone. He wants to make your acquaintance.”
Busted horn was a short, heavy-set man. He looked to be about 50 years old. He was wearing a bear head as a hat and a buffalo cape. He leaned forward and stared at me for a moment, then dismounted his horse. As he approached the buckboard, the grotesque paint he was smeared with came into sharper focus.
His face and chest had alternating bands of yellow red and black in the most garish of hues. In the middle of his forehead, a white symbol of a buffalo skull with the horns on one side missing. Coming closer to the wagon, he started chanting and rattling his gourds. As he circled the wagon, the chants got louder, and his actions became more frenzied. He began scooping handfuls of dirt from the ground and tossing them in the air.
If it hadn’t been for the troop of well-armed guards around us, I might have gotten worried. I was scared spitless.
Eventually, the savage came to a halt and stepped up to the wagon. He stood no more than a foot away from me and glared in my eyes. I was so scared I almost lost control of my bladder. But then I remembered all the civilized savages I had come across in Boston while fighting for my medical degree. So, I did what I had wished I had done so long ago. I stuck my tongue out at him.
He jerked back, his eyes bulged out of his head. He had the most delicious look of shock on his face. For a moment, time froze. Then he did the most incredably unexpected thing. He started laughing. Not a chuckle or polite recognition of a bad joke. It was a full-on belly laugh.
Turning away from me, he continued to laugh as he returned to his horse.
As he approached his companions, he started speaking, not speaking more, yelling loud enough for all to hear. I had no idea what was said. But I could see that they were just as dumbfounded as I was. Before he rode away, he called out to Colonel Anderson and spoke for a moment in what I assumed was Shoshone. Then he turned to me and raised his right hand. I raised mine and wiggled my fingers. This started a whole new round of hilarity as Busted Horn and his escort rode away.
Colonel Anderson rode closer to me and asked “What did you say that got that old goat going like that?”
As he was smiling when he asked, I decided that some secrets needed to be kept. “I don’t know, Colonel why don’t you ask my good friend and colleague, Busted Horn. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.” With that, I leaned back, and pulled my hat down over my eyes.
Corporal Wheaton told me later that he had never seen the Colonel look so confused. He also told me that Busted Horn had given me an Indian name, A powerful name. I was now known among the Shoshone as “Brave Tongue.”
I considered that as a partial victory. I ready didn’t anticipate dealing with the local tribes very much. It was my understanding that the white man’s medicine had the same reputation among the tribes that tribal medicine had among the whites. I was to later learn that there were remedies and solutions in the tribal world that were effective. But ignored by the establishment ‘white’ medicine.
Chapter 4
When we approached the Hacienda, I was awestruck by the sheer size of the complex. The whole complex was surrounded by a blazing white adobe wall at least 15 feet high. At the two corners that I could see, there were blockhouses built atop the wall. I could see figures inside these structures. I assumed they were sentries.
In the center of the wall was a large double-sided doorway. The doors of which stood wide and inviting. 4 armed guards stood to attention as we passed them. Inside was a huge open space. This was a parade ground larger than the football pitch at Boston University. Larger even than the field I had visited at Harvard in Cambridge. The sheer size was daunting.
Spaced at regular intervals on the left and right walls were what appeared to be replicas of the gateway we had just come through. But these were closed and seemed quite substantial.
Ahead of us, the wall also included these same gateways, but there was a wide patio fronting three-quarters of this wall. A doorway to the left of the center stood open, and a group of men and women stood waiting.
Colonel Anderson and his followers headed towards this group and dismounted. Their horses were gathered by handlers that had been standing by and led off to an open doorway to the left.
Meanwhile, the troop of riders that had guarded our travels headed towards a gateway that opened on the wall to the left. Once they passed that gate, it was closed. I could faintly hear shouted commands from that direction.
As our buckboard approached, Colonel Anderson stepped up. “Dr. Barrow, Corporal Wheaton and Miss Miko will show you to your quarters. We have an apartment that is part of our hospital complex and quite spacious and comfortable. Please see to your personal needs and get some rest. We will have an officer’s reception later this evening, and you can meet the officers and their ladies. That is unless you have other plans?”