Professional Courtesy

March 2015

Chapter 1

Dodge City

Dr Galen Adams forced his weary legs to climb the stairs to his office. He had left Dodge City before daylight that morning and now it was already way into the night. In that time he had made a dozen or more house calls trying to take care of sick men, women and children. The disease had come seemingly out of nowhere. One day everyone was healthy and two days later, nothing but illness. People were taken down by something that started with a sore throat, rapidly followed by fever, cough and congestion. It seemed to be harder on the young and the elderly, indeed the Fenton's baby had died in spite of everything he had done. It always tore at his soul when he lost an infant like that. The child became so congested he could barely breath. Adams had constructed a kind of steam tent hoping that the moist air would help but he could only sit and watch as the child turned blue and finally gave up the effort of trying to breath. He had stayed there at the farm while the parents buried their youngest child. It was a fact of life that almost half the children born here on the prairie did not live to grow up. Somehow people had learned to accept that, but he hoped and prayed that the day would come when medicine could improve on those odds and provide more than a comforting hand.

He opened the door to his office and stepped wearily inside. The well worn black bag he carried weighed heavily in his hand and he tossed it on top of the roll top desk with a sense of disgust. What good was all the learning if it did not serve to help people in times like these. Everyone suffered with colds, coughs, fevers even the ague from time to time and with no special treatment, or the limited medicines he could offer, they seemed to get well, but this was something else. To his personal knowledge 11 people had died - including the Fenton baby, and there were probably others out there among the sodbusters and nesters who he knew nothing about, and so far this epidemic - for that is what he considered it - showed no sign of abating.

It had all started when a gambler had arrived in Dodge from Wichita on the stage. He had been sick with fever when he arrived and shortly thereafter the other passengers had come down with a similar affliction. Soon all the saloons had sick bartenders and dance hall girls. From what he had heard the illness had moved across the country in a wave and even made it as far as San Francisco. There was no sense in quarantine now.

He pulled off his hat and threw it angrily at the coat stand behind the door. The room was cold and the only light was that reflected from the saloon in the street below. He struck a match with his steady fingers and raised the chimney of the lamp that sat above his desk. When he lit it, a yellow light gradually brightened the room, but it did little to improve his mood. He threw some sticks of wood into the stove and checked the coffee pot, then he had a better idea and crossed the room to the larger of two medicine cabinets. He opened the door and moved a few bottles around until he found the one he was looking for. Carrying it to his desk he gathered up an old white coffee mug on the way and half filled it with some of the contents. The first swallow always brought some kind of relief. It took the chill from his body but had little effect on the state of his mind.

As far as he could tell from reading an old text book, an illness similar to this had been described by the great Hippocrates. Sadly even though two millennia had passed since the age of classical Greece, he had little more knowledge about what caused it than that famous physician. He had managed to find an article in a journal from Edinburgh written about a hundred and fifty years ago where the disease was referred to as influenza or epidemic catarrh. It was nice to know it had a name and a description but none of that had helped the Fenton baby. He took another swallow of the liquid in the coffee cup and felt it burn its way down his throat. It helped the dryness and irritation he felt there but still didn't do anything to improve his mood. He sat staring into the mug trying to settle his thoughts and was not sure how long he had sat there when the sound of footsteps on the stairs made him come back to his senses. The footsteps were familiar and a few seconds later when the door opened he didn't even need to look up to see who it was.

"Come on in Matt," he mumbled, having little energy left for a more welcoming greeting.

"Hello Doc," came the familiar reply as the lawman entered, closing the door behind him, " I was just finishing up my rounds and saw your light on."

Adams looked up at him and Dillon could see the tired lines on his friend's face.

"Rough day, huh?"

"Yeh." The physician sullenly answered the question and pointed to the whisky bottle on his desk. "Grab a cup and join me." He pointed with a nod of his head towards the row of mugs by the stove. "I don't like to drink alone."

Matt did as he was told and pulled up a chair beside the desk. The physician was not in the habit of discussing his patients with others, but he and the Marshal had a lot in common. Both of them were responsible for keeping the town in good health - although in different ways.

"I lost the Fenton baby." The older man's voice cracked as he spoke the words and rubbed his hand across his face. His grey eyes were almost tearful.

"I'm sure you did everything you could Doc," Dillon commiserated. He took a mouthful of the whisky, not knowing anything else he could say or do.

"But it wasn't enough Matt. Do you know there are 11 people who have died in this last week and there's not a dad blamed thing I could do about it?"

The man slammed down his mug and got up to pace the room. "Whatever this thing is, or whatever it is called, it's killing people just as surely as a gang of outlaws robbing a bank."

The lawman sat back and looked at his friend. "You can't be expected to cure every sickness that comes along Doc. People will die even when you do everything you can. We all know that."

Two sullen eyes stared back at him for several seconds. Eventually the physician took a thoughtful breath and broke the silence hanging between them.

"Matt what do you think about when you go out there to face a gang of killers or a hired gun waiting for you on Front Street? I know you are not telling yourself that it is alright if you let some of them get away. You are protecting the people in this town and trying to stop innocent people being killed."

"Yes but my job is different."

"No it's not different. We do the same thing. We are both trying to keep people alive."

The physician seemed to have aged ten years in the last week. Matt watched as the older man stood staring out of the window. He noticed his clothes, a little more rumpled than usual and the distinct slump of his shoulders. He went to join him and they stood in silence watching the last stragglers of the evening weave their way along the boardwalk.

"Doc you are exhausted. Go on and get some sleep. Maybe things will look better tomorrow."

He reached over and poured more whisky into the older man's mug and took it to him.

"Drink that down and go to bed," he advised, almost as an order. "Go on now before i pick you up and carry you in there."

"I don't take orders from a public servant," Adams began angrily, but deep down he knew his friend was right. He was no good to anyone the way he was now. "Alright," he relented after a couple of breaths. "I'll meet you early in the morning for breakfast then I'll have to head out again before most of this town is even awake."

Satisfied that his friend was in a slightly better frame of mind, Matt Dillon left the doctor's office and made his way to the Long Branch Saloon where Sam Noonan was closing up the doors and turning out the lights.

"Evenin' Marshal," he said as he propped the broom he'd been using in the corner.

"All quiet Sam?"

"Yes, not much business around tonight I'm afraid. Miss Kitty looked kind of tired so I sent her on to her room." He saw Dillon grin at the thought of anyone giving orders to the redheaded saloon owner.

"I'll check on her," Matt volunteered. He knew that the barkeep was well aware of Kitty and his relationship, but would never divulge this knowledge to any one else. Just like Doc in that respect, he thought. A good bartender has his own code of professional ethics. Sam was more than a barkeep though. He was a good friend and a staunch protector of his boss, Kitty Russell.

The saloon doors were locked and the lights were out. Matt Dillon made his way up the stairs to the rooms behind the curtain at the end of of the hallway. He could hear coughing coming from one of the girl's rooms. He should have called out to her to see if everything was alright, but didn't want to announce his presence to all and sundry.

**o0o**

Denver

Dr. Melissa Anders wrapped her winter cloak tightly around herself. Even though it was barely fall, the blue cloak had been necessary here in Denver but back home in Kansas the colder weather would barely have made its mark as yet.

She glanced quickly over her hotel room one more time to be sure she had left nothing behind. Her travel bag was already full but she still managed to squeeze in some of the medical samples and instruments she had purchased. Then with a little maneuvering and a final effort, the brass latch gave a satisfying click and locked into place.

She had been planning this trip for at least six months and now it was almost over. The chance to visit Denver and attend a prestigious medical meeting was an enticing opportunity that she could not let pass her by, but now she had been away from home for almost two weeks and was quite anxious to be back in her own office.

Melissa had known that attending the meeting would not be easy for her. At best she would be totally ignored by all her male colleagues and at worst ridiculed or even denied admission. She had gotten used to that attitude ever since her first desire to study medicine. "Women need not Apply" had been a common theme throughout her career. She did not like it but was intelligent enough to blame others for their ignorance rather than change her own ambitions. She had hoped there would be at least one or two other female physicians among the registrants, but would not be deterred from enjoying the proceedings even if she was the only one there.

On the second day Melissa had met Dr. Eva Meskin, a woman about ten years younger than herself who had managed to establish a modest practice in the city of Philadelphia. She was accompanied by a female medical student who was studying under her in preparation for going to medical school. The younger woman was barely twenty years of age but had a lot of confidence and seemed knowledgable and well read. Melissa spent a while talking to her, telling her not to become discouraged, but the young woman seemed well aware of the challenges ahead of her and was not deterred. For three days the women attended the lectures and socialized over dinner. It was good, thought Melissa, to know that there were more women coming up behind her who would carry the torch for others to follow.

Now she was headed back to Caldwell, Kansas. It was not a big town by any means but it had been wild and adventurous when she had first arrived and hung out her shingle. That had been more than eight years ago. It had taken a long time but finally the people there had learned to accept her for the caring and knowledgeable physician that she was and so Caldwell had become home. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and, as she expected, it was the bell hop come to collect her bag and deliver it to the stage depot.

She took her time walking through this part of the city, there were some nice stores with goods on display that she would never see in a town the size of Caldwell. She had already purchased some new boots and some fine leather gloves that were actually made to fit a woman. They would suit her well in the coming winter months when she drove her buggy to make house calls far from town.

It was just a short walk to the depot and she arrived a few minutes before the sound of galloping horses warned of the approaching Overland Stage. With a squeal of breaks and cries of "Whoa there", to say nothing of clouds of whirling dust, the driver pulled the coach to a halt directly in front of the stage office. As usual Melissa was not impressed by the sheer bravado that many of the drivers felt was necessary to announce their arrival. She waited patiently, black medical bag in hand, while two passengers left the coach and her travel bag was handed up to the driver so that it could be tied with the other baggage on the roof.

Melissa had taken a more northern route by way of Great Bend on her outbound journey, but now partly because of the stagecoach schedules and partly because of her own curiosity, she was taking the southerly route home - it would take her through Dodge City.

Curiosity - it was something she had always suffered from. Her family had often chided her for it, saying it was unbecoming in a young lady, but quietly her father had encouraged and indulged her, bringing all manner of books and magazines to feed her desire to learn.

She knew very little about Dodge City. It had quite a reputation as did the Marshal who was based there. She had by chance had occasion to meet him in Caldwell, of course he had been somewhat under the weather at the time, but had told her to look him up if she ever came that way, he had some friends he would like her to meet. Maybe he hadn't really meant it, but again Melissa was curious and so here she was climbing aboard the stage. The first leg of her journey would take her due south to Pueblo where she would change coaches for a direct connection to Dodge City.

**o0o**

Dodge City

"Come on in and sit down Matt," Kitty greeted him. She watched as he removed his gun belt and hung it with his hat on a peg behind the door. He settled on the damask settee and she handed him a drink.

"I went by and checked on Doc before I came here," he told her, grunting as he eased his boots off.

"How is he?" A worried look came over her face. If Doc got sick the whole town would be in trouble.

"He's tired, very tired. He told me that 11 people had died so far this week."

"He always takes that hard."

"Worse still the Fenton baby died today."

"Oh no! He was barely six months old." She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head before looking at Matt again.

"Doc blames himself. You know how he takes any death to heart, but with a child he feels it more than ever."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"I don't know, but if we don't get him to slow down soon, he'll be sick himself."

"Tell me about this Influenza. I think that's what he called it."

"I only know what Doc told me. For most people it is a fever and cough that lasts about a week then goes away. Some people are more susceptible, like the Fenton baby and some of the old timers. Others he just can't predict. Sometimes they just keep getting sicker and there is not much he can do for them."

Their conversation was interrupted by some kind of commotion going on in the hallway. One of the girls was screaming, then another voice shouting.

"Miss Kitty. Come quick. It's Loni, she can't breath!"

The saloon owner jumped up from her seat and headed for the door.

"I'll go get Doc." Matt was already pulling on his boots as she disappeared down the hallway.

TBC