"Hello," said the driver, drawing the two horses in with a tug on the reins, and jumping down from the front of the wagon. He was dressed in a dusty black suit, a black hat and polished snakeskin boots. Easterner, Gus snorted to himself. Gus noticed that the driver limped a bit, favoring his left foot as he walked toward him, hand outstretched.
Gus dismounted and took the man's gloved hand. "Pleased to meet you."
He grimaced at the man's limp handshake, took his hand back quickly.
"And I, friend, am pleased to meet you," the man said, removing his hat and wiping his forehead with an immaculate white silk handkerchief. "I'm Dr. Alatryx, and I am at your service." He made a deep bow, bending crisply at the waist. "How can I help you?"
"A drink'd be right good about now," said Gus.
Dr. Alatryx looked at him, and Gus noticed that his eyes were a strange reddish-violet. They were intense to look into, and they gave his face an otherworldly cast, as if he did hold some mysterious power to cure what mortal doctors could not.
"Then, friend, we shall share what I have." He walked past Gus toward the back entrance of the wagon. His unworried, unafraid demeanor confounded Gus.
Dr. Alatryx inserted an ornate silver key into a lock on the wagon's rear door, drew it open with a low creak. He ducked into the wagon's dark recesses, and Gus heard the sound of many things being moved here and there inside.
The doctor reappeared with a labeled bottle of amber fluid and two clear, crystal glasses. "Here we are," he said, handing a glass to Gus. He uncorked the greenish bottle, poured a generous shot of amber fluid into Gus' glass, then his.
The label on the bottle read, "Dr. Alatryx's Mysterious Persian Cure. Good For ALL AILMENTS! Indigestion! Headaches! Tooth Pain! Gout! Piles!"
Gus did not wait for the doctor to fill his own glass before he took a long draw on his. Whiskey. Its fire cut through the dirt, dust and dryness. Saliva seemed to spring like a gusher from the inside of his mouth, following the whiskey down his throat. Gus moistened his lips with his newly wet tongue, and laughed a little at the "Mysterious Persian Cure" before taking another draught.
Dr. Alatryx watched Gus with amusement, then took a small drink from his own glass. "Where are you heading, friend?" he asked, his strange eyes focused on Gus.
"Whatever town'll have me," Gus laughed, finished the whiskey in his glass. Dr. Alatryx refilled it for him. Gus stared into the whiskey as he rolled it in the glass.
"Trouble?"
Gus jerked his head up and looked at the doctor. "What business is it of yours?"
"None," the doctor said, smiling. He took another small drink of whiskey. "None at all, friend. But if there were trouble, I have in my wagon things that could help you."
Gus took another drink, his eyes staring at Dr. Alatryx over the rim of the glass, his brow a map of frustration and interest. "What makes you think I'm in any trouble, stranger?"
"What makes a man ride through the desert in the middle of the day with no water, no hat?" he mused as if reading lines from Shakespeare. "What makes a man flag down an ordinary patent-medicine salesman in the middle of said desert?"
"What makes a man travel alone without a gun?"
Gus started. "What makes you think I don't have a gun?"
Dr. Alatryx laughed and set his glass of whiskey onto the step leading to the wagon's door. "A man like you would carry his gun for all to see. Since I see no gun, you must not have one." He leaned forward, dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Therefore, friend, you must need one ."
Gus turned away from the doctor's gaze. His stolen bay was cropping at a small arrangement of desert plants it had found.
He did not like the way the word "friend" spilled so often from this man's lips.
"'Spose I do need a gun? You got any?"
"Do I 'got' any?" he asked, gently mocking, and laughed again. "Sir, Dr. Alatryx has been around the world. He has seen the mysteries of ancient Egypt. He has talked to the wizards of Persia. He has been privy to the secrets of the Orient. Just like the wagon says." He limped to the top step of the wagon, tapped its side and turned back to Gus. "You can read, can't you?"
"Yeah, I can read," Gus said defensively. Dr. Alatryx disappeared again into the wagon. Gus watched him and took another drink from his refilled glass. He leaned over to make sure the doctor was preoccupied, then grabbed the bottle and filled his glass to the rim.
More sounds of things being moved, tossed and dragged around issued from the wagon's interior. "Yes, the Orient," came his voice unexpectedly. "Did you know that the Chinese invented gunpowder?"
He did not.
Dr. Alatryx returned to the door of the wagon holding a wooden case. "The Chinese are a strange and wondrous people." He descended the three steps that led to the ground but walked so unsteadily that Gus jumped to his feet to help him.
"Not necessary, I assure you," said Dr. Alatryx, shaking him away. "Not necessary at all, friend."
He set the plain, polished wood box down on the wagon's last step and opened it. Inside, nestled in crushed red velvet, was a gun. Gus recognized it as a .44 caliber Remington No. 3. A six-shooter. Pretty good gun, though it had to be nearly seven years old.
The Remington's wooden grips had been replaced with grips of a dull black material that had strange carvings on them. On the case's opposite side was an impression in the velvet where a second gun had been.
"This is a special gun, the last of its kind," said Dr. Alatryx, drawing it reverently from its resting place. The black grips were highly polished, yet reflected little light.
"What's so special about a '75 Remington?" Gus answered impatiently. Gus began to worry. What if the posse was catching up with him? He knew Sheriff Holloran from previous encounters. Holloran wouldn't even bother with formalities. He'd hang him out here from anything they could throw a rope over.
"What's so special about this gun, sir?" repeated the doctor, lapsing into his sales spiel. "Friend, this gun never misses."
"How's that?" asked Gus.
"This gun not only never misses, it can't miss. Do you hear what I'm saying, friend? It cannot miss. Ever." He handed the gun to Gus.
)
Desperate to replace the gun he left behind in his flurried escape, Gus gallops across a nameless desert of the Old West just 30 minutes ahead of the Sheriff's posse. When he spies a wagon driven by "The Incredible Dr. Alatryx", Gus takes advantage of his good fortune to acquire a shot of whiskey and a very special '75 Remington six-shooter.
