Race for the Dying Read Free

“Haven’t seen her since.”
    Thomas Parks felt a surge of excitement. “Is Dr. Haines the only doctor in McKinney?”
    â€œWas, until last year. Riggs is the other gentleman’s name, I believe. Zachary Riggs. He works with Haines from time to time. I don’t know him well, and to tell the truth, I don’t know what he does other than squiring John’s daughter about.”
    â€œThe fair Alvina,” Thomas said. “Father has told me about her.”
    â€œMost fair, yes, indeed.” He held up his left hand, pointing with his right to a long, thin scar that ran around the base of his left thumb, ending low on the fleshy pad of his palm. “She stitched this up, so fine that it looked like an old lady’s needlework.” He glanced over at the pendulum clock on the far wall. “I could keep you here all day with tall tales, but I suspect you’re eager to be on. Stop by from time to time. The telegraph will be off within the hour.”
    Thomas extended his hand again, and this time Birch’s grip was more enthusiastic. “I’ll do that, sir. Thanks again.”
    â€œWalk up toward Lindeman’s place…that’s the Mercantile at the top of the hill. That’s the corner of Lincoln and Gambel. Just across the way, you’ll see one-oh-one. It’s a three-story that looks like it’d be at home in Connecticut as much as here, all fancy and frilly. That’s the place. Oh,” and he held up a cautioning finger, “right at the Mercantile, there’s a dog that everyone wishes would someday drop dead of lead poisoning. Beware of him. Big brindly looking thing with a bad back leg. Even with it, he’s fast enough to catch people. Most of the time, he’s locked up in the back of the Merc, but he finds a way out now and then.”
    â€œThanks for the warning.”
    He turned to go, but Birch held up a hand. “And the telegram is a dollar,” he said. “You want to start an account? I do that for folks.”
    â€œNo,” Thomas said, and dug out several coins. “Thanks again.”
    By the time he stepped back out on the street, most of the fog had lifted, and the strait fairly sparkled as the afternoon sun chased away the last strands of gray.

Chapter Two
    As he walked up Lincoln Street, Thomas Parks found himself turning sideways, even backward, stumbling as he tried to take in a hundred views at once. The clarity of the air was breathtaking as the fog evaporated, as if layers of gauze were being stripped away. Far to the north, a dozen islands daisy-chained through the last tendrils of mist, and the sound was dotted by a myriad of vessels. One of them would be the Alice wending its way north to Bellingham.
    The street reached a bench of land, level for a hundred yards along the top of a rock escarpment. The village appeared to be carved out of the trees and the hillsides, an almost random scattering of squat cabins clad in slab wood, and a few stout, elegant houses of multiple stories, looking as if they’d been plucked out of their original eastern neighborhoods and planted here. The pure white spire of a church steeple reached upward, and in that same neighborhood Thomas could see a series of massive brick buildings that might be the true center of Port McKinney commerce. More wharves thrust out into the water, more tall ships waited.
    Legs starting to tingle pleasantly from the climb, the young physician approached a major intersection where a carved sign announced Gambel Street. He paused in front of Lindeman’s Mercantile, the place in harsh contrast with the neat, prim Sander’s Hardware in Leister, where every nut and bolt had its place. This establishment rambled here and there, spreading across the lot from the original two-room building with sheds and additions and corrals and bins. The enclosed portion of the store that fronted both Lincoln and Gambel streets appeared to be