or them; they
could remove her from the danger of spreading an unknown infection. Some
doctors must have doped her up on sedatives and painkillers and sent her
home, knowing that she would call him. For that matter, they might have
noticed her unrecorded tonsillectomy and considered her fair bait.

He grabbed the ether and slapped a cone over her nose. She tried to
protest; she never cooperated in anything. But the fumes of the ether he
dipped onto the packing of the cone soon overcame that.

It was peritonitis, of course. The only thing to do was to go in and
scrape and clean as best he could. It was a rotten job to have to do,
and he should have had help. But he gritted his teeth and began. He
couldn't trust anyone else to hold the instruments, even.

He cleaned the infection as best he could, knowing there was almost no
chance. He used all the penicillin he dared. Then he began sewing up the
incision. It was all he could do, except for dressing the wound with a
sterile bandage. He reached for one, and stopped.

While he'd been working, the woman had died, far more quietly than she
had ever lived.

It was probably the only gracious act of her life. But it was damning to
Doc. They couldn't hide her death, and any investigation would show that
someone had worked on her. To the Lobby, he would be the one who had
murdered her.

Jake was waiting in the tractor. He took one look at Doc's face and made
no inquiries.

They were more than a mile away when Jake pointed back. Small in the
distance, but distinct against the sands, a gray Medical Corps tractor
was coming. Either they'd had a spy in the village or they'd guessed the
rate of her infection very closely. They must have hoped to catch Doc in
the act, and they'd barely missed.

It wouldn't matter. Their pictures and what testimony they could force
from the village should be enough to hang Doc.

VI

Research

There had been a council the night following the death of Harriet Lynn.
Somehow the word had spread through the villages and the chiefs had
assembled in Jake's village. But they had brought no solution, and in
the long run had been forced to accept Doc's decision.

"I'm not going to retire and hide," he'd told them, surprised at his own
decision, but grimly determined. "You need me and I need you. I'll move
every day in hopes the Lobby police won't find me, but I won't quit."

Now he was packing the things he most needed and getting ready to