Glass spat in the dirt, eyeing Buell for a long intense moment. "I reckon it ain't, Mr. Buell. But I don't tolerate mistreatment of horses or children on my property." He turned away and went back inside, leaving Buell and Doc alone with the young boys.
"Where're you headed, Mr. Buell?" Doc asked amiably, hoping to put the man in better humor again. He knew all too well that this type of man would take out his frustrations on the youngsters, and probably had been doing so for a good many miles from the looks of the boys.
"Headed over to a spread between here and Spring Branch. Owned by Mrs. Allison Taylor."
Doc looked down at the dusty road, hiding his surprise. So these were Allie's cattlemen; the orphans she was trying to make a place for in the world.
"Why she would want so many of the little bastards, I've no idea."
Doc's head came up at Buell's casual statement, his eyes icy behind his glasses. He clamped his lips together. An idea was forming in his mind, and he didn't want to give Buell the power to deny him what he hoped to do: get these boys away from the abusive man as soon as possible.
"Doc Wilkins." Doc extended his hand. "I know Mrs. Taylor," he said quietly. "She's not expecting the boys until the end of the week. You may have to set up camp outside of town for a couple of days until she's ready for them."
"Oh, no!" Buell put his beefy hands up in protest, shaking his head. "I'm not keeping these little bastards one minute longer'n necessary, mister. I was paid to deliver 'em and I shoulda asked for four times what they're payin' me."
Doc stroked his chin, peering past Buell into the interior of the stable. Ten, Allie had told him. Just ten. But by his count, there were at least fifteen. Good Lord.
"Well, Mr. Buell, I wish you good luck." He touched the brim of his hat and started to turn away. "Mrs. Taylor is pretty tough to deal with. If she said she'll accept delivery on Friday—" he broke off, shaking his head regretfully, "I'm afraid that means Friday. Not Tuesday."
"So…if she said she'd take ten of them boys, that only means ten, right?" Buell looked anxious.
"How many did you bring, Mr. Buell?" Doc bent a sharp look on him.
"Eighteen."
Doc gave him a long stare, and Buell looked away.
"Well, Hell's bells, the orphans' home is runnin' over and she said she might take more later on, so—" he broke off. "Are you tellin' me she's going to turn down the rest of 'em? What'll I do with 'em?" His voice turned plaintive. "Lord, I can't handle draggin' half of 'em back to New Mexico Territory with me!"
Doc met his eyes. "I…might be able to help you, Mr. Buell."
"How?"
Doc took a deep breath. He was surely taking a step out on the proverbial limb. "Well, I know Mrs. Taylor, and you don't. She might take it better from me, bein' as how she's a long-time acquaintance.
"You mean – are you sayin' you'd be willin' to take these boys and deliver 'em for me?"
"Hold on, now, Mr. Buell. There's a price involved. I can't be spending a lot of valuable time delivering orphans – that's a job you were getting paid to do."
"I'll pay you, Doc! The orphans' home, they gave me a hundred dollars. That was for travel, food, renting the wagon, everything. I still have fifty dollars left."
Doc shook his head. "I couldn't take on all these boys for less than seventy-five, Mr. Buell."
"But – but you're almost there! The spread is only a couple of hours' wagon ride from here!"
Doc nodded complacently. "Yes. But Mrs. Taylor may not be willing to take the boys ahead of time. Arrangements will have to be made in that case." He looked around at the boys, none of them meeting his eyes. "These boys look hungry, Mr. Buell."
At that, one of the older orphans looked up from a mop of black hair, his odd silver eyes blazing. "We haven't eaten since yesterday at lunch."
"You shut your filthy mouth!" Buell started toward him, but Doc grabbed his upraised arm.
"There'll be no more of that, Mr. Buell. And my price just went up to eighty-five dollars."
"Eighty-five doll— Doctor, I-I can't pay that! Why that would leave me flat broke."
Doc shrugged, turning away. He saw the boys' shoulders slump in dejection, but he had to play his cards right to make this work. "I'm sorry. You'll have to take your chances with Mrs. Taylor—"
"Wait! Wait—" Buell hurried after Doc, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. "If you're willing to take possession of these boys, and be responsible for them, I guess – " he pulled out his wallet, rifling through the bills. "Here. Take it. Take them." He glared around the circle of boys as the others stepped into the daylight. His lip curled beneath his shaggy moustache. "Buncha troublemakers, all a'ya!" He shoved a handful of bills at Doc. "You can tell Mrs. Taylor I said so. And good riddance to all of you little sons-a-bitches."
Doc took the money brusquely and folded it, not bothering to count it. He slipped it into his own wallet and put it back in his pants pocket, all business now. "Where are their clothes? Their bags?"