The Lincoln Deception Read Online Free Page B

for the horse’s halter.
    â€œDon’t let him eat the grass,” Fraser called. The soot-covered growth could foul the animal’s digestion for days. He unloaded his regular bag and his surgical bag, the one with the saw and chloroform mask. His surgical tools were no better, he thought with disgust, than those used in the time of Mary Surratt and John Wilkes Booth.
    At six feet tall, Fraser loomed over the miners and their families. Their clothes, all in shades of gray, hung from gaunt frames. Their skin and hair had a smudgy, subterranean look. He nodded greetings to those he passed, not pausing to shake hands. He could hardly perform surgery after shaking hands that were never clean.
    â€œI’m Dr. Fraser from Cadiz,” he said at the door, but they knew who he was.
    â€œJohn Evans, Doctor.” Several stepped aside for a wiry man with a thick brush of curly hair. He strode from the opening to a rear room. The air in the shack was moist, the smells sour.
    â€œMr. Evans.” Fraser looked round for what he would need. Two chairs, a basin. The table was too small. Water was heating on a coal-fired stove. “The patient?”
    â€œMy brother Lew,” the man said, leading him into the darkened room.
    Fraser followed and knelt next to the bed. He reached for the arm of Lew Evans. It was cold. The man shivered and his pulse was weak. “Hello, Doc,” he said. “Did it up right this time.” His breath smelled of whiskey, the only painkiller at hand.
    â€œTimber came down,” his brother explained, “square on the leg.”
    â€œI’ll have to pull aside the linen,” Fraser said.
    Lew Evans nodded. “Can you save it?”
    Fraser thought a quick thanks. The timber had pulverized the left leg, but at the shinbone. “You’ll have your knee, Mr. Evans, and with some practice you’ll dance again. But right now”—Fraser shifted to look into the man’s face—“I need to get you into the front room where I can work.” He gripped the man’s shoulder. “You look tough enough for this.”
    Fraser instructed the brother to clear the house, borrow another table for the front room so they could stretch the patient out, and start water boiling in neighbor houses. “We’ve done that, sir.” Fraser had not noticed the woman who spoke. She had a determined look. “We have sheets to drape the table.”
    â€œFine,” he said. “You can assist me? It won’t bother you?”
    She nodded.
    It took almost an hour. A skilled surgeon, one who had done more than the six amputations Fraser had done, might have completed it in half the time. The woman, Mrs. Llewellyn Evans, followed instructions. She didn’t flinch. Though she was as thin as the rest, her hands were strong. Lew Evans, he thought, was a lucky man. In some ways.
    Fraser left laudanum with her, with careful instructions about the dosage. When he stepped from the house, the tension began to fall away. He wanted to sit down but saw no seat. He leaned against the wall of the cabin. Aware of the bloodstains on his cuff, he looked at the knot of men in the road.
    â€œWhere’s the company now?” one was saying. “Evans is a foreman, one of their best, and can they be bothered to see how they’ve maimed him?”
    â€œAch, they’ll maim us or kill us all, then ship in a load of hunkies and niggers to do the work for less.”
    The group fell quiet as they noticed Fraser. John Evans detached himself from it. “Will my brother be all right?”
    â€œI think so. It’ll take some weeks to heal. He’ll need crutches, and then a prosthetic leg—he should be able to tolerate one. There’s a man in Akron who’s good with them.”
    â€œAnd what does that cost?” the brother asked.
    â€œIt depends, Mr. Evans. Let me write down his name.”
    They walked to Fraser’s gig. While