What do people really get for all their hard work? I have thought about this in connection with the various kinds of work God has given people to do.” –Ecclesiastes 3:9-10, NLT
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Once in a while I get to aching. The cold weather just sweeps through my weary bones; bones that have taken a beating from riding horses, herding cattle, and mostly going after human strays. Then there are some spots that just ache. There’s a couple of scars on my upper shoulder where bullets tended to gather. I don’t know why outlaws seem to find that spot, but it sure is better that a few inches lower. I was sitting at the diner, rubbing a place on my side where some miscreant shot me while I was in the process of apprehending him, when Doc Jones came in the diner.
“What’s the problem, Miles?” he inquired, a smirky look on his face. He knew full well, what the problem was, he’d fixed enough of the holes placed in my body whilst doing my sworn duty.
“Don’t you have an old lady to attend with rheumatizm, or some poor cowpoke who broke his leg?” I muttered back.
“No, no, I just came over for a piece of chocolate pie and to watch you commensurate with your supposed ailments,” he cackled before pulling out a chair to sit. Upon sitting he continued with his jawing. “Miles, don’t you know that all those aches, pains, and scars are there for a purpose?”
I gave him a stare of disbelief.
“They’re there to remind you of how the good Lord kept you from a more serious ailment–dying,” he thought he was funny so he cackled again.
I had to nod my head in agreement. “You’re right, Doc. A few more inches in any number of them and yuh wouldn’t have no one to be makin’ fun of. You want some coffee?”
Molly had seen him come in and was coming from the kitchen with a piece of chocolate pie, Doc’s favorite. I stood to get a cup and pour him some coffee, and upon seeing her approach grabbed another cup.
After placing the pie in front of Doc, she joined us at the table. “Molly, I was just explaining to your thick-headed husband that he should be glad he’s got those scars.”
Her eyebrows arched with a questioning look on her face. “Oh, he’s just runnin’ his jaws like he normally does.”
“No, I’m downright serious. If those little holes were a few inches over in some spots he wouldn’t be sitting here complaining,” he gave a little laugh. “And he most likely would have fewer holes.”
“Doc, have you ever heard me complain? Honestly now? I may rub a little here and there, and jostle myself around to get more comfortable, but I don’t complain. I know the hand of the Lord has been protectin’ me all these years. I may even groan a bit…”
I was interrupted upon saying that by Molly. “Doc, he does his groaning while he’s sleeping.”
“At least I don’t snore. If anything I purr…”
Again I was interrupted, this time by Jimmy Hopkins who burst through the door holding a piece of paper. “Marshal, Mr. Offut sent me a runnin’ with this here telegram.”
“Sit down, Jimmy,” requested Molly. “Would you like a piece of pie?” She had caught him gazing at Doc’s half-eaten pie.
“Uh, uh, why sure, but I don’t…”
“The Marshal will pay for it,” Doc informed him, with a snicker.
Jimmy sat down, while Molly went to get him the pie. I read the telegram that was from Marshal Blasco. “Teeter not wanted — STOP — Without name hard to give information — STOP — Could be Hal Thornton, not wanted in Colorado — Wanted in Kansas, arrest him. JB”
The Lord works in mysterious ways. I was just getting ready to tell Doc what was in the telegram when Teeter and his friend, possibly this Thornton, came through the door and settled at a table. I smiled at him to which I received a nod. I didn’t want to cause a commotion in the diner, so figured I’d wait until they got up to leave.
Funny how life has its own way of thinking…