Sheriff Gold was on the trail of outlaw Lige Donor whose brother was sitting back in the Durango jail. Another outlaw laid unconscious in the office of Doctor Henry B. Jones. They had failed in an attempt to rob the M & M Diner. Go back with me now, to those exciting days of yesteryear to see what is in store for Sheriff Gold and Miles Forrest.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sheriff Charlie Gold sat on his horse hidden in the small aspen grove watching the young man come out of the cabin. He went around the corner and soon came back with an armload of firewood. Gold had his rifle at the ready. “This is Sheriff Gold, hold up your hands!”
Startled, the man dropped the wood, then reached for his pistol snapping a shot toward the voice. He had no target, but fired anyway. Charlie lifted his rifle and fired. The bullet streaked unseen across the distance striking the man, dropping him to the wooden porch. In agony the man struggled to the doorway and fell inside kicking the door shut behind him. The bullet had struck him in the thigh and was bleeding heavily.
“Donor, you’re under arrest for attempted murder of a law enforcement officer, an innocent civilian, along with the crime of armed robbery. It’s best you give yourself up,” yelled Gold to the man wounded in the cabin. “Donor!”
Not paying much attention to the words coming from the sheriff, the man hollered back. “He was already dead! That old man was dead when I arrived at the cabin,” Gold could hear the pain in the man’s voice. “I’m bleedin’ something terrible, you’ve got to help me.”
There was something not quite right here, thought the Sheriff as he nudged his horse on toward the cabin. “Open the door and throw out your gun,” ordered Gold,
“I can’t…I can’t get up to reach the knob,” yelled the voice back.
Charlie dismounted and slowly moved to the cabin, then up on the wooden porch. He carried the rifle in his left hand, then placed it against the side of the cabin drawing his pistol for the close distance. “Donor, I’m opening the door, but before I do I want to hear you throwing your gun across the room.” He waited a few seconds listening for the sound of the gun thudding against the far wall, then opened the door.
The young man was on the floor, a small pool of blood coming from his wounded leg. Charlie pointed his gun in the man’s face, then uncocked it, putting it back in his holster. “You’re in bad shape, Donor.” Gold look around then seeing a wooden spoon lying in a skillet he grabbed it. Taking off his bandanna, he tied it around the man’s thigh above the wound, then placed the spoon in the bandanna and twisted it for a tourniquet. “I’ll try and get the bleedin’ stopped, but there’s little I can do for the bullet in your leg. You need a doctor.”
“I don’t want to die,” the young man was near crying. “I didn’t kill that old man. When I came in the cabin he was lyin’ on the bed already dead…honest. I buried him out back,” he said, then pausing. “I didn’t even know his name.”
“You can tell your sorrows to your brother. He’s waiting for you back in jail,” stated Charlie with bitterness in his voice.
“Brother?” questioned the man. “My brother has a small farm outside Buena Vista.” His eyes widened, as the thought struck him. “Why do you keep callin’ me Donor? My name’s Phineas Edward Wheatly, most call me Pea.”
Now is was Charlie’s turn to be startled. “You’re not Lige Donor? You didn’t try to rob an eatery in Durango?”
“I’ve only been to Durango once, a month ago when I rode through. I’ve tried working the creek and hillside to see if I could find some color, then came to this cabin to hole up during a storm. There was an old man who was dead in here, and I’ve been eating off his supplies ever since.”
* * * * *
I switched off and on with Lucas covering Clem Donor in his cell waiting for his younger brother to show up. Mateo watched for any strangers as he made his rounds through the town, and I went a couple of times to see if Fred Dover had regained consciousness. Doc said that he didn’t break open the wound only a couple of stitches which Doc replaced, yet Dover had not regained consciousness.
Each time I visited, I found Parson Chapman there by Dover’s bedside. He was either praying or reading from the Bible to the man. Who knows, maybe the unconscious mind can hear God’s Word. I wasn’t going to question it; I’d let the preacher do his work. I was impressed with his dedication in his work for the Lord. I guess it was no different than mine in regard to the safety of the people. Then I remembered my last conversation with the preacher, before we were interrupted by the attempted holdup.
“Parson, why don’t you go home?” I inquired. I could tell he was tired.
He gave a smile then answered, “I will, just as soon as Dover comes to. Heard anything from Charlie?”
I shook my head. “Parson, I…” There was no chance to finish. The door slammed open to the outer office, I grabbed for my pistol…