I told him.
His expression hardened.
"That's not medicine. That's cruelty."
The older woman watched him from the bed.
"Doctor?"
He turned.
"Yes?"
She swallowed.
"If a woman gives birth to a healthy child, can a doctor make it seem the child died?"
The physician became still.
"Why do you ask?"
She told him about her son.
Then the younger woman told him about her daughter.
The old doctor listened without interruption.
When they finished, he removed his spectacles.
For a long moment, he stared at the floor.
Then he said, "If what you're telling me is true, those children were not simply lost. Somebody deliberately deceived their mothers."
The younger woman covered her face.
The physician leaned forward.
"I can't tell you whether your children are alive. But there should be records. Births, expenses, travel arrangements, perhaps correspondence. The people involved may have been careless enough to leave something behind."
I thought of the accounting paper.
The doctor noticed.
"What is it?"
I showed him.
He examined the dates.
Then looked toward the women.
"These correspond to the births?"
They nodded.
He studied the initials.
His expression changed.
"Good Lord."
I leaned closer.
"What?"
He pointed toward the second entry.
"That mark."
I nodded.
"I recognized the ranch symbol."
The physician shook his head.
"It isn't only a ranch symbol."
He reached into his satchel and removed a small notebook.
Then he searched through several pages.
Finally, he found what he wanted.
He turned the notebook toward me.
There was the same mark.
Below it was the name of a private freight service that specialized in transporting expensive livestock and personal goods between settlements.
I recognized the company.
But I hadn't known it also carried passengers.
The physician tapped the page.
"Last year, the company approached me about accompanying a child who was supposedly being transferred between relatives."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"A child?"
"A baby girl."
The younger woman stopped breathing for a moment.
The physician looked toward her.
"I refused. The arrangement seemed peculiar. They wanted medical supervision but would not identify the parents."
He swallowed.
"I thought it was a wealthy family's private matter."
The younger woman's eyes filled.
"When?"
The doctor checked his notes.
"Late April."
She made a sound so small I barely heard it.
Her daughter had been born in April.
I looked toward the physician.
"Where was the child going?"
He hesitated.
Then pointed toward the notebook.
"North."
"How far north?"
"Toward Copper Ridge."
I looked down at the brand.
For the first time, the marks on that scrap of paper began to make sense.
And the truth was worse than I had imagined.