Do you think they’re the ones who have been doing all the terrorizing?” came the sincere question from Molly as we sat in the diner drinking coffee.  The morning rush was over and I had been to the jail to check on the occupant and found him in a sour mood.  In a few minutes I planned on going to see Doc Jones and his patient, hoping that he would be able to talk.

     I took a long swallow of my coffee finishing the cup before answering Molly.  “I’m almost positive.  I’m hopin’ that this Lester Feakes will shed some light on it.”  Pausing I stood to grab the coffepot from the stove to fill my cup again.  Molly declined, putting her hand over the cup.  Sitting back down, I continued, “They may be doin’ the threatenin’, but I want Martin.  He’s the instigator.”

     Molly was shaking her head.  “Why is he so set against his daughter’s happiness?”

     Taking a sip of the almost scorched coffee, I grimaced, then answered, “Because he’s a mean, bigoted man.  He cares only ’bout himself.”

     “This is terrible,” I muttered, taking another sip.

     “You made it, and besides you don’t have to drink it,” laughed Molly looking at my expression.

     I took one more deep swallow, finishing what I had poured, then said, “Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

     There were two tables with customers and I watched as Lola went around filling their cups.  I smiled, thinking of the coffee I had just tasted hoping that the big pot from the kitchen wasn’t as bad.  Lola was working out well.  Though young, she had a mind to work, and her smile was an aid to her work.  

     She came by as I stood to leave.  “Senor Marshal, can I fill your cup?”

     I hesitated for a moment before Molly jumped into the conversation.  “Miles, don’t you have to go see Doc?”

     Winking at Lola, I remarked, “Next time.”

     “I will clean your pot so it’ll be ready for you when you come back,” she said in her soft tone.

     Going out the door I almost bumped into Cecilia Baxter, one of the town’s widows.  Excusing myself, I watched for a moment as she walked towards Molly, then went out and across the street.

     Doc was in his office when I walked in.  He didn’t look up from what he was doing; looked like he was counting pills.  “How’s the patient?”

     He put up a hand, continuing to count until the bottle was full.  “He’s in bad shape, Miles.  I don’t know if he’s going to make it or not.”

     “Has he come to?”

     Doc nodded, “He’s in and out of consciousness.  You can go check.”

     Feakes lay there, pale as the sheet that was covering him.  Doc followed me in and went up by his head.  “Mr. Feakes, this is Doc Jones.”  I saw eyelids flutter, but they didn’t open.

     I sighed in frustration.  “Doc, if he comes to try to find out if Amos Martin is behind this.”  I turned to walk from the room, “I already lost one witness to death, I’d like to keep this one alive.”

     As I left the room I heard a feeble voice, “Is Bart dead?”

Doc went to work on the man, shaking his head and muttering as he cut to get the bullet out.  Barstow and I stood by watching, there was nothing either of us could do.  Sometime during the operation, I heard someone come in the door, it was Mateo.

     “Miles, you need to come with me,” he said, touching me on the shoulder.  I looked at Barstow and Doc, then walked out with Mateo.

     “Take a look in the wagon,” he advised me as he pulled a tarp away from some gear and boxes.  One caught my attention–dynamite.  I looked at Mateo, who gave a grim smile, then pulled something from the corner that I thought were rags.  Instead, it was a sack with two holes in it for eyes; just like the ones that the men were wearing who attacked the Parson.

     I reached out my hand for the mask, placing it in my belt behind my back.  “Let’s go an’ have a talk with Mr. Barstow.”

     Going back inside, I told Barstow to come out with us.  He hesitated, but Doc said that he didn’t need any help, the man was out cold, and Doc had also given him some chloroform.

     When we got back outside, I took him to the wagon.  “You’ve got dynamite,” I stated.

     “What’s so unusual about that?” he asked warily.  “We use it in the diggin’s.”

     “We?” questioned Mateo.  “Who’s your partner?”

      “Uh, well, I meant I use it.  I had a partner, but he left an’ went off somewheres.”

     Reaching behind my back, I pulled out the mask, “Do you normally wear a mask while workin’ your claim?”

     He started to say something, but decided against it.  “You’re under arrest,” I informed him matter of factly.

     “For what?” he shouted.

     “Right now, suspicion.  When Doc’s patient comes to, I reckon we’ll have more reason to hold you.  Mateo, cuff him an’ take him to jail.”  I pulled his gun from the holster and checked him for other weapons while Mateo applied the handcuffs.

 

     Rev. Chapman stood stoically behind the pulpit.  I could tell he was in pain, not only from the injury, but also in spirit.  “I’ll not keep you long today,” he began, “and you’ll not see my exuberant self as I have to keep my actions to a minimum, but I do want to speak to you.”

     He went on to tell the congregation of his and Betty’s ordeal, of the soul-searching he had been doing.  I thought his text was unique, he read from Hebrews the ninth chapter.  “And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.  So Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation.”

     “Friends, the Grim Reaper comes!  None of us know the hour of our death or, as in my case, the hour in which we might take the life of someone else.  I’m still not through seeking the Lord over my deed yesterday, but I am at peace knowing that my Lord knows and understands.  I am at peace knowing that I protected my dear wife from un-fathomable trauma.  However, the truth of the matter is that you, and I, will one day face the Lord.  The man who lay dead on the floor in my home went straight to the judgment.  ‘After this the judgment.'”

     I got to hand it to the preacher, he didn’t let any of us off the hook.  He told us that we need to search our souls to make sure that we are ready for we know not when our time may be up.  We don’t know when the Lord is going to call us home or allow the Reaper to take our lives.  “Be ready,” he exclaimed, “after this the judgment.”

     All that Sunday afternoon the chorus of the closing hymn stuck with me. “Foot-prints of Jesus that make my pathway glow; We will follow the steps of Jesus where’er they go.”  Thinking of that chorus, I decided to walk down to Doc’s.  Because of his patient he wasn’t able to attend services.  Molly had prepared a basket of fried chicken for me to take to him, and had even made a buttermilk pie for him and Edith to enjoy.  I thought of snitching one of the biscuits, but I was already full from the fare she fed me.  While I went to Doc’s, Molly was going to see Betty.  She was at church, but was very demure and didn’t visit after service.

     “Come in, Miles,” Doc greeted me.  “What’s that you’re carrying?”

     “How’s the patient?” I asked, not handing him the pie.

     “Bad shape.  Oh, he’ll live, but he’ll limp the rest of his life.  It’ll be a couple of months before he’s able to walk.”

     “He able to talk?”

     “Wait until tomorrow, Miles,” advised Doc.  “I will tell you this…”

It wasn’t unusual for men to buy dynamite since this was a mining hub, but it bothered me that three miscreants would be purchasing the goods.  Perhaps I was thinking wrongly, they might be working up in one of the canyons at a digging, but my gut instinct told me different.  I was hoping that Doc was right and a man would show up at his place in need of help.

     I stood back in the shadows of some pines at the little park about a block and a half from Doc’s office.  Darkness was starting to settle in as the last rays of the sun went down over the horizon.  Mateo, I was sure, had his position somewhere at the back of the office.  Now, we waited…but for how long?  I knew Doc was right, if that bullet hit the man in the hip or pelvis he was in a world of hurt.  Even if it hit only muscle, he would have lost a lot of blood.  But would they take a chance and bring him to the doctors; it was the only one in the area?

     Ten minutes later a wagon pulled up in front of the office.  It was too dark to recognize the man as he lumbered off the wagon and went to banging on Doc’s door.  In the quietness of the Sunday night, I could hear the man.  “Are you the doctor?” he barked.

     Doc’s calm voice responded, “I’m Doctor Jones.”

     The man turned toward the wagon.  “There’s a man hurt bad in the wagon.  I was ridin’ into town an’ happened to notice him lyin’ in the ditch.  I went to check on him, and when I touched him he began groanin’ somethin’ fierce.  I was most ‘feared to touch him, but I knew he’d probably die if’n I didn’t get him into see a doc.”

     Shuffling out to the wagon, Doc took one look.  “Let’s get him into the office so I can examine him.”

     The man put down the wagon gate, and I heard Doc ask him, “Do you know this man?”

     Quickly responding, the man answered, “Never seen him before in my life.”  Lifting the man out, Doc continued to ask, “You have a name?”

     There was hesitation, then the man stuttered, “Mark Barstow.”

     Doc looked up at him.  “Not sure if I’ve seen you before.  You work around here?”

     No answer came forth as they carried the man into the office.  When the door was shut I moved on over to the wall beside the office.  I could hear only pieces through the closed window.  I’d give Doc time to start examining the man then go in.

     “You’re right, this man’s in bad shape.  Left any longer and he would’ve died, might yet.”

     It was time for me to make my entry.  I entered nonchalantly.  “Evening Doc, I was makin’ my rounds and spotted a wagon in front of the office.  Anything wrong?”  I watched the man closely for any moves.  I did notice that he was some uncomfortable when he saw me enter.

     “Miles, got a wounded man here in bad shape.  Shot in the hip and I think his pelvis might be broken.  Bullet’s still in him so I’ve got to get that out,” said Doc all the time working on the man.  “Where’s Edith when I need her?” he mumbled.  “Mister, Barstow, right?” he questioned looking over at the man.  “I’m going to need your help.  Get a pot of water on that stove…I need it hot.”

     Barstow moved to find a pot and added some wood to the low burning stove while Doc cut away the patient’s clothes.  I stood there watching then asked, “Shot?  Where’d you find him?”

     “On the road in from Mancos,” replied the man, setting the pot on to heat.

     “What are you comin’ into Durango on a Sunday night for?  Everything’s closed except the saloons.”

     “Comin’ in for supplies, thought I’d stay the night then get them in the mornin’.”

     I glared at the man, then turned my attention to Doc.  “Think he’ll live?”

     “Tell you the truth, he’s in bad shape…lost a lot of blood. Listen, I’m going to need the two of you to hold him still while I dig for that bullet.  I don’t want any more damage to his pelvis.  He’s going to be out of commission for a long spell as it is.”

     Doc had his tools near him and picked up a scalpel.  He was moving it toward the wound when the man’s eyes opened wide and he hollered, “Bart!…”

They were purchasing,” Theo’s voice dropped to an almost whisper, “dynamite.”

     Doc and I looked at each other, then my eye caught that of the Reverend, who was still sort of moping.  

     After checking the dead body, Bart Feakes according to Theo, I stood up and went to the preacher.  Molly was there now with Edith consoling Betty, but it was time to get the preacher thinking straight.  Doc said that his shoulder would be fine, so I grabbed Parson Chapman by his jaw and turned his head where he could see his wife.  “There is your priority, not that man on the floor!  You did right!”

     He pulled away from my hands.  I could see he tried to smile at his wife, but then he turned his eyes towards me.  “But I didn’t have to kill him.”

     “No, he could have killed you, but worse, he would have made you watch while they took your wife,” I barked, then stooped to look him in the eye as he had dropped his head.  “Could you live with that?  Could she?”

     It was at that time that Betty stood up going over to her husband.  She knelt before him and they embraced, both breaking out in tears.

     Doc tugged at my arm and we stepped away from the two consoling each other.  “Miles, if Dale is right, then that man is going to be needing a doctor.  If he was shot in the hip he’ll need more than someone just taking the bullet out.  There’s a chance his pelvis or hip could be broken, plus he would have lost a lot of blood.  Let me head on back to my office and see if he shows up.”

     “Good idea, I’ll walk along with you,” came my quick reply.

     “No, no, let me get settled, and say, oh, maybe thirty minutes you can start to monitor the area.  They may be watching and if you’re with me, they might not show their faces,” urged Doc who then went over to Edith.

     I stood by as Doc talked to Edith and Molly who both agreed to stay with the Chapman’s as long as needed.  Doc nodded at me when he left, Edith was up and going to the kitchen to make some tea.  As Doc went out the door, Mateo entered.

     Theo was still standing there, so I thought I’d get him busy.  “Theo, tell those folk out there to go on home or go about their business.   I pulled Mateo aside to tell him the situation and what Doc and I had planned.  He said he would leave ten minutes after I did and take the long way around to Doc’s and come in from the back.  That way no one could enter or leave the office without being seen.  We wanted one of those men alive.

     Mateo said he recognized Bart Feakes and would Lester if he saw him, but he didn’t really know them.  They worked the mines from time to time, ran freight and did other odd jobs.  He didn’t know where they were staying, but would work on that.

     Edith was bringing the tea when I went over to the Chapmans.  “Pastor, this most likely won’t help, but I’ve struggled with what you’re thinkin’ in the past.  Sometimes we have to do unsavory things to save those we love.”

     He looked at me nodding, then took the cup from Edith whispering a thank you to her.  I went over to Molly to explain what Mateo and I were going to do.  She nodded, then embraced me.  “I’ll stay here as long as they need me,” she said, then looked at the body on the floor.  “It might be a help to all of us, if someone would cart that carcass out of the room.”

     “Parker should be here anytime,” I said, but got that look.  “Theo, help me move the body out of the house.”

     It was time for me to head out.  I glanced one more time around at those in the room.  I’d find the men who did this, and they would pay to the full extent of the law.  As I walked down the street, a thought struck me, “But whose law…”