Clem Donor is in jail, his brother Lige is on the loose with Sheriff Charlie Gold on his trail. That is, until the Sheriff had a run in with another man in the cabin where he thought Lige was held up. Back in Doc Jones’ office lay Fred Dover, unconscious after passing out trying to escape. Now, let’s go back to another exciting episode in those adventurous days of yesteryear.
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“Doc! Doc Jones!” hollered the voice from the outer office.
The preacher and I were in the room with Fred Dover when we heard the door burst open and the commotion in the outer office. I jerked my pistol and hurried out with Parson Chapman on my heels.
I was surprised to see Charlie standing in the room holding a lad in his arms. “Charlie!” I exclaimed, holstering my gun. Taking in the situation I moved to the table where Doc did his surgeries. “Put him here.”
When Charlie laid the kid down, I noticed the blood on his shirt, then saw the tourniquet on the young man’s leg. “Where’s Doc Jones?” he asked, exhausted. For the last few miles he had held the man on his horse in front of him. “Kid’s name is Pea Wheatly,” he informed us, pausing before continuing. “I thought he was Lige.”
The preacher came over and began to pray, while I rushed out the door to find Doc. “Stay here,” I ordered. “I’ll get the Doc and be right back.”
I thought Doc might be over to the diner, so I went there first. Sure enough, there he was with Mateo, drinking coffee. “Doc, Charlie’s brought a man in and he’s in bad shape. You need to hurry.”
He placed his cup down with a thud on the table, then hurried out, Mateo following right behind him. I lingered and went over to speak to Molly. “What’s wrong, Miles? You seem concerned,” she inquired.
“Charlie shot a man he thought was Lige Donor. A man, I should say he’s little more than a kid. I haven’t heard the whole story yet, but Charlie seems quite upset.”
“Should I go get Marta?” she asked.
“Not now, let’s see what happens. I want to hear the story, then you can decide if you want to see her or not.”
I trudged back over to Doc’s office. Upon entering Doc was pulling off the lad’s pants, with Edith hovering over the kid, cleaning off the wound with water that she always kept hot on the stove. The lad was pale, almost white as milk. When his boots and pants were removed, Doc looked at the wound, then began to loosen the tourniquet.
“How long has this been on?” he asked, turning to look at Charlie.
Charlie rubbed his whiskered chin. “Not sure, three, three and a half hours. We rode hard from the cabin.”
I had noticed that Charlie’s horse was all lathered up. He needed a rest and a good rubdown. As soon as I had the story I’d take him over to Moses’ livery.
Doc pulled at his ear, then scratched the side of his head. Looking at Edith he had a grim look on his face. “I don’t know,” he muttered, then rubbed down his chin a couple of times. “The tourniquet may have saved his life, but I’m not sure I can save his leg. Not sure if he’ll live anyway. The surgery might kill him; plus he’s lost a lot of blood already. I just don’t know.”
Rev. Chapman was there and looked up. “What happens if you just try to remove the bullet?”
Doc gave a great heave of a sigh. “That’s what I’ll try first. If he survives that I’ll let him rest a day or two, then decide on the leg. If gangrene hasn’t set in I might be able to save it.” He looked over at Charlie. “You did right. He’d bled out if you hadn’t stop the bleeding. But the tourniquet stopped all the blood flow to his leg.” Doc sighed again. “Right now, I just don’t know.”
I could tell Charlie was distraught. “I wouldn’t have shot,” he said, explaining to no one in particular. “He pulled his gun and fired at me. I then shot at him, hitting him. He crawled through the doorway of the cabin, hollering something like, ‘I didn’t kill the old man.'”
Charlie went over to stand by the window. “If he hadn’t shot at me.””
I went to stand beside him. “But that’s the answer, he did. You can’t be blamed for shooting back.”
“He’s just a little older than Lucas,” Charlie said, turning toward me with tears in his eyes.
“Sheriff, sit down,” came the voice of the Parson. “We don’t know the number of our days, nor do we know how our end will come. Rest in the solitude of the Lord. Let the Doc do his work.” He took Charlie by his arm and led him to a chair near the desk away from where Doc was preparing to remove the bullet.
Doc looked at his wife, who gave him a nod indicating that she was ready and that there was plenty of water and cloths. “Dale, could I get you to hold his shoulders just in case he moves. He’s out now, but when I go to probing for the bullet he might come out of it.”
I started for the door. “I’ll take care of your horse.” I’d just picked up the reins to lead him to Vexler’s livery when shots were fired.
Mateo hollered, “The jail!” Then took off running. I had forgotten that Mateo was with me, but when he started running toward the jail I followed…