The Hand That Feeds

By Lincoln Reed

Gregory Martin rode into town mumbling, “Killed. Killed us all.”

He stumbled from his horse, staggered toward the frontier clinic, and collapsed. Within the hour, he was dead.

Roland Chadwick, Deputy U.S. Marshal, dispersed an inquisitive crowd and joined Dr. Vernon Mortimer inside his humble hospital.

The physician locked the door and shook his head. “Doesn’t add up.”

Chadwick removed his hat. Should visit his homestead. Tell his family the news.

Mortimer stripped the body and performed a thorough examination.

The doctor’s worried expressions gave Chadwick pause. “What did it, Vern?”

“Poor bloke. Nasty way to go.” Mortimer pulled a sheet over the corpse. “Had trouble breathing. Was sweating and salivating. Swelling, too. Numb in his legs. And so weak. I know these symptoms. No doubt in my mind—this man died from rattlesnake venom.”

“Then there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“What troubles me most…” Mortimer rolled up his sleeves. “There’s no bite.”

When Chadwick returned from his trip to the Martin homestead, he patted dust from his clothes before entering the clinic. Mortimer was squinting into a compound microscope.

“How’re Mrs. Martin and little Ruthie holding up?” the doctor asked.

Chadwick grunted, placed his hat on a bench, and splashed water onto his face. Next, he rubbed ointment onto palms littered with fresh blisters. “When I got there…” The marshal couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. “Buried Mrs. Martin and Ruth. Tomorrow, I’ll take Gregory and plot him beside his kin.”

Mortimer looked up from the microscope, crestfallen. “Poor souls.”

“Gregory was right. Something—or someone—killed them.”

“Should have sent for me. I could have exam—”

“Same as Gregory. Bodies stiff. No signs of struggle. No bites.” Chadwick nodded toward the microscope. “Leads?”

The doctor lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “A new mystery to unfold, I’m afraid. Traces of rattlesnake venom in Gregory’s blood, yes. But, without a bite, or some sort of cut on his body, there’s no possibility of absorption. The toxin won’t soak through the skin.”

“If it’s a disease, we should—”

“No.” Mortimer pivoted toward his desk and flipped through the pages of a wide tome. “There’s an answer. I just have to uncover it.”

Chadwick reached inside his duster coat and revealed a glass medicine bottle. “Found this in the Martin cabin. No label. Half full.”

The doctor analyzed a few drops of the bottle’s contents underneath his microscope. “I’d say it’s a tonic—some sort of quack medicine, perhaps. If my guess is correct, it contains venom.”

Chadwick straightened. “Enough to—”

“From what I can tell, no. Poison, when ingested, kills. But rattlesnake venom has to enter the bloodstream. If consumed in the stomach, I doubt it would prove fatal.”

“Why would they drink venom?”

Mortimer shrugged. “Bottle’s unmarked. Won’t know its purpose until we discover where they got it, or who sold it to them.”

The marshal visited homesteads, prospectors, and mining camps all across the county, searching in vain until arriving at a stagecoach station where a covered wagon rested outside the log structure. Its canvas sported a painted tooth and the title of: “Doctor Herbert. Dentist, Medicine Man.”

Curious, Chadwick left his horse at the hitching post and crept toward the rear of the wagon. He opened the canvas flap and peered into the shadowy interior where a basket and various boxes lay in an orderly fashion. He climbed inside and inspected each. Dental equipment. Clothing. Bunsen burners. Syringes. Mixing vials and glasses.

A bedroll concealed an open crate holding bottles of the mystery tonic.

Doesn’t prove anything. Not yet.

Chadwick hunched over the basket. When he raised the lid, two yellow eyes met his gaze. A frantic rattling spread shivers across his arms. The snake, curled into a horrifying heap of scales and skin, shifted its head, forked tongue flicking. Chadwick froze.

The rattling quickened. Fangs flashed. The snake sprang toward the marshal as he slammed the lid atop the basket, trapping the serpent back inside.

Chadwick stumbled from the wagon, collapsed onto the dirt, and glanced up into the face of a mustached man wearing a bowler hat.

Inside the musky cabin, the stagecoach station manager refilled Chadwick’s mug. The marshal sipped coffee while sitting across from Dr. Herbert, a portly man with sharp eyes. Chadwick studied the walls decorated with pelts as the dentist babbled.

“I’m a man of science, Marshal. I make—”

“Pain disappear!” The station manager’s smile showed a missing tooth. He tossed a log into the wood stove’s hearth. “Fry you fellas some bacon?”

“As I was saying,” Herbert continued, “I make rounds to prospecting camps all over the territories. Clean teeth. Treat what I can. Last I saw the Martins, pulled three molars. One from each of them.”

Chadwick set his cup aside. “And you sold them venom.”

“Anti-venom!” Herbert corrected. “My newest concoction. Brew it myself, too. Drain rattlers and mix the toxin with herbs and tea. Is that what this is about? Gregory complained, did he?”

“In a way.”

“Honest, it’s not fraud. Contains the ingredients as promised.” Herbert leaned back. “Alas, there’s only so many teeth in the territory. A man has to make a living, no? So, I figured… since all these miners and prospectors fear rattlesnakes, why not create a medicine that makes them immune to bites? Such a thing would sell… and has. That’s the power of science, Marshal. When we harness it, we can cheat death.” The dentist lifted a bottle of his tonic and took a long drink. “Agh. Bitter, I’ll admit, but it’s preventive and—”

“Enough to kill three people… who’d just had teeth pulled.”

Herbert’s mustache drooped. “Pardon?”

“Gregory and his family drank your brew with raw wounds on their gums. That’s how the venom got into their blood.”

“You’re saying—”

“As a businessman, the customer’s coin is your tonic. Without it, you die.” Chadwick unsheathed his Colt Navy revolver. “You bit the hand that feeds.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lincoln Reed is an author, screenwriter, and professor. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Miami University (OH). More than 40 of his short stories are featured in online publications and print anthologies. His debut novel and short story collection are forthcoming from Springer Mountain Press.

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