That’s why God’s Word commands us to be sober!” exclaimed Doc Jones.
Doc had joined me for supper at the diner. Mateo had agreed to let me treat him to supper. Of our now foursome, Charlie Gold had to travel to Silverton. He makes a trip up there at least once a month, sometimes more.
“And soberness means more than not being drunk!” Doc continued on. “It means to understand that life is serious; God gave us this life to be living for Him, not to be foolish!”
Mateo glanced at me, but mostly he kept his gaze upon Doc. I don’t think that he had heard such talk before so he waited for Doc to at least catch a breath before venturing in. “Does that mean fiesta is out? Don’t the God above want us to be happy?”
Doc didn’t hesitate. “Fun in moderation, never foolishness. Do you think that Nick Parsons is happy right now knowing that his foolishness might have killed a man? Waiting to see if that man dies, for that will determine if he is hung or not? No, we are to enjoy life, so fiesta at times is fine, but soberness is still required,” he paused to look at Mateo. “Are you catching any of this?”
“I think so,” came his slow reply.
I was sitting there listening, sipping at my coffee. This seemed to be Doc’s show and he was relishing in it. “Mateo, have you ever been drunk?”
That brought a little laugh from Mateo. “Si, only once. Luciana lowered the broom on me. ‘Never again!’ she ordered.”
“You mean she lowered the boom,” I interrupted trying to explain for him.
“No, she lowered the broom. It cracked in half over my head,” he said touching the top of his head. “She then told me to look at how it could affect Alejo and Enrique. Never again have I touched el licor.”
“What are the man’s chances?” I asked Doc concerning the wounded man. “Ever find out what his name is?”
“I dug the bullet out; that’s the good news. However, I don’t know if it clipped his lung or not, and he lost a lot of blood. I would say, if he rests and infection doesn’t set in he has a decent chance. Again, I don’t know if the lungs were hit. He could be slowly bleeding inside.”
“Marshal,” interjected Mateo, “I’ve been reading, and since it was purposeful it wouldn’t be first degree murder. If the stranger dies, might not Mr. Parson get off with a prison sentence?”
Doc gave him a questioning look, along with his perpetual frown. I had a grin, I was pleased that Mateo was taking his position seriously. “It depends upon the prosecutor, what he charges him with,” I paused to take a sip. “Also upon Judge Klaser.”
“It seems sad that one foolish event could change a man’s life forever,” stated Mateo. “Does Parsons have a family?”
I glanced at Doc, “I really don’t know. He doesn’t work regularly. He hires out to ranchers as he needs the money or during roundups. He’s done some work in the mines.”
Doc responded, “If he has family, they’re not around here.”
Concern was showing on Mateo’s face. “Maybe we should try and find out.”
Smiling, I slapped Mateo on the shoulder. “Sounds good to me, go ahead.”
The concern left and was exchange by a touch of fear. “But, Marshal, he doesn’t like me, like Mexicans. Plus I’m the man who arrested Him.”
“Perhaps, you may change his mind…”