OK Doc p.3
Mad eyes.
The Doctor saw that the creature wasn't grooming its whiskers as he'd thought. It was holding and playing a flute. It was a desert hare, long and lean and tough as the desert could make it. It turned and saw them, its red, mad eyes looking directly at first one then the other of them, aware of them, and making sure they were aware of him. It turned and hopped off.
No, not hopped, Rose realized, skipped, like a child. The strangely happy motion was made all the creepier by the malevolent music it was still playing.
"Quick! After it!" The Doctor sprang up and dashed after the creature, duster flaring, one hand clamped to his hat.
"What do I look like? Alice?!" Rose demanded as she lumbered up and followed him, her skirts tangling at every step. She hiked up her dress and ran after him.
Rose caught up to the Doctor at the bottom of the hill. He was standing there, arms akimbo, hands on his hips, glaring like Clint Eastwood.
"Where did it go?" she asked.
"I lost it." He jerked his chin at the town, a true rabbit warren of clustered houses, fences, wooden porches and raised boardwalks. The rabbit could be hiding anywhere.
"What was it anyway?" Rose asked.
"A kachina."
"Bless you. So what's a kachina?"
The Doctor crouched down and drew a picture in the dirt with his finger. A stylized humpbacked figure, dancing and playing a flute, four long protuberances curved back over its head.
"You gave it too many ears." Rose noted absently. She scanned the dusty landscape, looking for a large crazed rabbit with mad eyes.
He stood up and pointed down at the drawing. "That is a kachina. A spirit of the Hopi people."
Rose's eyes snapped back to the Doctor. "I thought you didn't believe in spirits."
"I don't. But I do believe in established patterns. And this one's all wrong. It's supposed to be a joyful spirit, one that heralds in springtime with its beautiful flute playing."
"Somehow, Bunnicula didn't infuse me with joy. And I'd hardly call that cat screeching music."
"Exactly." The Doctor strode off toward the town. "We've got to find it. I'll take this side, you take that side." he said, motioning to different sides of the high street as they reentered town. "Keep your eyes open, it could be anywhere."
***
Rose checked everywhere on her side of the street, inside stores, under the side stairs leading to upper rooms, and under the steps to the boardwalk, as best she could anyway. She could hardly get down on her knees to check, in this dress. She was just peeking in around the edge of the saloon door (a real live Wild West Saloon!) when she heard crying coming from the street behind her.
She turned and saw a short parade of people walking down the street, everyone in black, the women wearing veils. The Doctor loped across the street in front of the procession and joined her. "Looks like some kind of funeral procession." he said, turning to stand by her and watch.
"Where's the casket?"
"There. The man in the front is holding it." That's when Rose saw the tiny casket. No more than two feet long, tiny enough to be held by one man. A baby. "Oh!" she took down her parasol and furled it in respect as the procession passed, bowing her head. She peeked sideways at the Doctor, he was just standing there watching, his hat still on his head. She poked him with her elbow. "Take your hat off!"
He gave her an affronted look, but took the hat off. A man and a woman followed the man with the tiny casket, the man having to virtually hold the woman upright, she was crying so hard.
"That's Wyatt Earp," the Doctor said quietly, nodding at the tall brunt man with the large mustache. "She must be Mattie Blaylock, his wife."
"Wyatt Earp!?" Rose yelped quietly, as she strained to get a better look at the man as they passed by, impressed in spite of the grief of the occasion. "I didn't know he lost any kids." she said softly.
"No, nor did I."
"That's the third babe we've lost in as many months."
The Doctor and Rose spun around at the unexpected voice. A blowsy red haired woman stood behind them, her hair piled high in elaborate curls, the feather sticking out of the back of her hair contradicted by the somber black dress she was wearing. Rose would have placed her as an aging saloon girl, if it wasn't for the matronly respectability of the dress.
"I'm Reggie Carstairs." she held out a weatherbeaten hand to Rose, then to the Doctor, as sure as equals. The Doctor grinned as he shook hands, plopping his hat back on his head. The woman's eyes flickered as she took in his long gunfighter's form, and the cheerful irreverence of wearing a hat in a lady's presence.
"I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose." the Doctor introduced.
"Pleased to meet you. Come on in, have a drink, God knows I need one, there's been too much death in this town of late." She nodded her head, sending her feather bobbing, and Rose followed her eagerly into the Last Chance Saloon. The butterfly doors swung shut behind them, and they stepped down two steps onto the main floor. Rose looked around avidly.
"Hasn't changed much." the Doctor noted. Rose was fascinated by the roughhewn room, it was two stories tall, a set of switchback stairs on the left wall leading up to a gallery with rooms leading off it, overlooking the main floor. There was a potbellied cast iron stove right by the door, holding a wilting pot of flowers right now, unneeded in the heat. The classic saloon bar filled the space along the right wall. Bars didn't change down through the centuries Rose noted, they were all the same scarred and polished wood, marked with pale rings left by spilled drinks, and the nicks and dings of hard use. Instead of the mirror she expected behind the bar, there was a series of plaster arches that looked like they'd been intended for mirrors, but none had arrived. Instead they were filled with racks of trophy antlers, and a large sign that read, "No shooting in the saloon." Rose had to gulp back a laugh.
"You been here before?" the woman asked, as she went back behind the bar, her skirts swishing against the wood.
"A while back." the Doctor said, uninformatively. "Charlie was the barman then."
"Yeah, my nephew, Charlie. Died on this very bar." she patted the bar in front of Rose, and Rose jumped back at the image. "He left the saloon to me." She poured herself a drink from a tall bottle and raised it in a silent toast, she knocked it back in one gulp. "So what'll ya have?" she asked, plunking the shotglass back on the shelf behind the bar.
"Beer!" Rose said automatically. The Doctor laid a restraining hand on her arm. "Sarsparilla."
Reggie looked at the two of them then nodded. She rummaged around in the underside of the bar. She came up with two small brown bottles, corked, and set them on the bar in front of them, along with two glasses. The Doctor surprised Rose by digging into his pocket and tossing a coin onto the bar.
He uncorked the bottle and poured the fizzy liquid into one of the glasses, he slid it over to Rose and poured himself one. Reggie surprised her further by going to the end of the bar, opening an upright wooden chest and coming back to plunk a chunk of ice into each of their glasses. "No extra charge." she said magnanimously.
Rose looked at the Doctor in surprise and lifted the drink to her mouth cautiously. It was surprisingly good, even warm. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was. She inconspicuously sucked on a corner of the ice as the Doctor and Reggie talked.
"You say this is the third infant death in three months?" the Doctor asked, as blunt as usual. Reggie seemed to appreciate bluntness, she nodded.
"Miscarriages or stillbirths. It's not unusual, but three in three months, well, it's got the rest of the pregnant girls spooked. Nothing will grow in this town. It's bad enough that the fools are actively killing each other off," she waved a dismissive hand at the street outside, "But it's even affecting the cows and chickens, even the gardens aren't coming up like they should. Even with the heat there should be more green around by now, but... nothing. Just dirt and sand. It's enough to give a person religion."
"Has anyone tried to trace the cause?" the Doctor asked. Rose looked up at the note in his voice. He had that hard, determined look around his jaw. It was sad when babies died, but, surely, babies died a lot more in the past didn't they?
"Bad luck's the cause. No rain means no crops, no crops mean people don't eat right. Doc Holliday thought it might be something in the mines or in the water, he sent samples off to Wichita for testing before he left. But, nothing. Say, you're a doctor, you plan on looking into it? You want me to round up some of the girls for you to examine?"
"No, but I think I might just take a look at the mine."
Reggie nodded. "Good idea. All this started when they opened up that new seam."
Picture of Kokopelli
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