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…

In the last episode, the outlaw Fred Dover had passed out and was being carried to the doctor’s office having just come through an appendectomy.  Clem Donor was in jail, while his brother, Lige, was still on the loose.  Let’s go back to those exciting days of yesteryear and see the continuing saga of Miles Forrest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       “There’s a little community, ’bout ten miles west of here.  I don’t recall the name, but north, on the creek right at a mile we came across an abandoned cabin.  We stayed there for a couple of nights.  That’s the last place we were before coming here,” Clem paused, scratching at his cheek.  “He might have gone there.”

       I stood up to leave, when Charlie hollered, “Where are you going?”

       Stopping, I turned to face him.  He had left the cell and was standing in the doorway.  “Miles, that’s my job.  I’m the sheriff,” he said curtly.  I was sort of stunned by his brashness, but I gave a slight shrug of the shoulders then moved out of the way as Charlie passed.  He knew the country as well as anybody, and would easily find the cabin if it was indeed where Clem Donor had said.

       When Charlie went out the door, I went back to the cell.  Peering down at Donor, who was sitting on the edge of the cot, I asked, “Do you think your brother will try and break you out?”

       “Marshal, I don’t rightly know.  Lige has always been impetuous, just like when he got shot in the eatery.  He might stay and think things through.  He might try and check on Fred, or he might take a notion to break me out.”

       “He’s your brother, what do you think?” I questioned with a little more force.

       “Will the sheriff kill him?” came the meek inquiry from Donor.

       I stared intently at Donor.  “That all depends on your brother.  Now answer my question.”

       “If anything, he’ll come to get me,” replied Donor then with pleading in his eyes, “Don’t kill him, please I’m beggin’ you.”

       “Donor, he may bring it on himself, but I won’t purposely try to kill him.  That’s all I can promise.”

       I turned to walk out nodding with my head that Lucas should follow.  “Lucas, you heard me in there.  I can’t ask you to not do your duty.  If there is an attempted jailbreak you do what is needed,” I admonished him, then smiled.  “I know you can handle this.  Now, you go down and get something to eat and I’ll stay here.  After that we formulate some kind of plan.”

       Lucas didn’t say anything heading for the door.  “If’n you see Mateo, send him by here.”

* * * * *

       Sheriff Gold stopped by the diner to tell Marta where he was going.  While they were talking, Molly went to fix him a poke of food to carry along.  “I should be back in a day, no later than two.  If the kid isn’t at the cabin, I’ll head on back,” he said, then gave Marta a kiss and went out.

       There was a good chance that Lige Donor was holed up in a cabin north of Hesperus.  The are was more of a farming region, as the gold was higher up in the mountains.  The community here was small and mostly Mexican with some Indians living nearby.  Mancos was further up the road, a day’s ride, but most likely the kid was somewhere around Hesperus.  

       The road was good to Hesperus as it was well traveled, but the road to the north at the turnoff was not as well traveled.  It was easily passable, but it was not as worn from the travel as the main road.  Sheriff Gold slowed his pony to a walk after taking the road.  There were few cabins dispersed, but he decided to go on up the creek a mile like Clem Donor had said.  He allowed his horse to walk at a slow gait, as he moved his rifle from the scabbard holding it ready.

       A mile up the road, there was a cabin snuggled in with some aspens.  A small stream moved behind the cabin that downstream moved into the larger creek.  Gold sat his horse looking the situation over.  There wasn’t a horse in front of the cabin, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be one behind.  Someone was there, as he could see smoke rising from the chimney.  That didn’t mean that it was Lige Donor, but on the other hand, he needed to be ready.

       He was just getting ready to nudge his horse, when the door opened and ….

Who’s gone?” returned Charlie as he took hold of his cup.

       The Parson had concern written on his face, “Dover.  I went to pray with him this morning and he wasn’t in his room.”

       Doc Jones rubbed his chin.  “Not good, not good at all.  Why if he rips open that suture, well, let’s say I probably won’t be able to help him.”

       “I have two guesses,” I interjected into the conversation.  “One, he is wanted for more than he told us, and…”

       “I don’t believe that,” snapped the Parson.  “I’ve talked with him.  He’s not killed anyone.”

       Looking at the preacher, I continued, “Either that or he’s out looking for Lige Donor.”

       “Or down to the jail to break Clem loose!” exclaimed Charlie who was up in a flash out of his seat and out the door heading for the jail.  I followed right behind.

       I was but a step behind Charlie when he burst through the office door of the jail.  He stopped abruptly, causing me to run into him.  “What’s…” I started to say, when I looked toward the cell opening and saw Lucas standing there with a shotgun in his hands.  On the floor was Fred Dover, unconscious.

       We all relaxed, especially after Lucas lowered the shotgun.  Charlie bent down to check on Dover, then looked up at Lucas, “What happened?”

       “This man,” he said, pointing at Dover, “came through the door sorta wobbly.  I grabbed the shotgun from the desk where I keep it, and held it on him.”

       Lucas looked at me, then back down to Charlie and Dover.  Before he could start again, Doc Jones and the Parson entered the office with Doc going immediately to Dover.

“Help me turn him over.”

       Charlie helped Doc turn the unconscious man onto his back.  Doc immediately checked his wound making sure that the stitches were still holding.  “Only one broke loose,” he informed us.  “I’ll need to stitch him up again.  He passed out most likely from loss of blood and just plain being weak.”

       “That’s what I was saying, He came through the door.  I had the shotgun pointed at him when I saw he wasn’t wearing a gun.  He gave out sort of a groan then fell to the floor.  I heard his head hit pretty hard.”

       “Dale,” blurted Doc, “grab a couple of men passing by and get Dover back to my office.  On top of the surgery he might now have a concussion to deal with.”

       Preacher Chapman bounded out of the office and quickly reentered with two men who were walking by on the street.  They grumbled some, but they got right to the task of carrying Dover out.  When they reached the street two other men joined them.  Doc hollered at them to take the man to his office, then he led the way.

       I nodded at Lucas and Charlie went over to him, slapping him on the shoulder.  “You did good, son,” he exhorted.     

       A smile appeared on the face of Lucas, but only lasted for a moment and was replaced by a puzzled expression.  He knew he had a prisoner, but had not heard the whole story.  For the next twenty minutes Charlie and I filled him in on what had happened.  I let Charlie finish while I went back to see Clem Donor.

       Upon opening the outer door to the cells, I saw Donor standing, holding on to the bars of his cell.  “What’s going on?  What happened?”

       “Pipe down, and I’ll tell you,” I ordered.  He quieted, but kept looking toward the now open door.  “It seems that your outlaw companion came to get you out, and fell flat on the floor.  They’ve taken him back to Doc’s office.”

       Clem looked at me incredulously,  “He wouldn’t try to break me out.  Why he didn’t even have a gun.  Is he alright?”

       “Donor, do you know where Lige may be hiding?” I asked, coming right to the point.

       He went back to sit on the cot.  He thought for a minute, then started shaking his head.  “We don’t know the region,” then he stopped, “but…”

Ah, see you’re back among the living.  How are you doing, my friend?” inquired Rev. Chapman of the patient.  The man didn’t say anything, but just stared upward.  Finally he moved his head some to meet the gaze of the preacher.  “Providence sure took care of you this time.”

       “If what you mean by ‘Providence’ is fate, I’ll agree with you,” came his quiet, yet tart reply.

       “Oh no, God was involved.  By rights you should be dead, either from the appendix bursting in the next few seconds, or a bullet by Marshal Forrest.  No, God was involved in your destiny.  You should accept that.”

       The man, Fred Dover, started to move then moaned.  “Be still!  You don’t want to break open that wound,” commanded the preacher.  “Would you like something to drink?”

       A smile appeared on the man’s face.  “Whiskey.”

       Rev. Chapman let out a little laugh.  “Sorry, this establishment does not carry such refreshments as, uh, whiskey.  But there is a pitcher of water waiting to be poured for you when you woke.”

       The preacher rose from where he was sitting and went to where the pitcher of water was located, picked up a glass and poured it half full.  “Here, lift up your head some.  Drink this.  You lost a lot of blood, and you’ve been out for a little over four hours.”

       He did as he was told, finishing the glass, then handing it back to the preacher.  “Want more?”

       Dover shook his head, “Not right now.”  He then moved his eyes up and down the preacher.  “You’ve been here the whole time?”

       “I told you I wouldn’t leave your side,” stated Rev. Chapman, shaking his head.  “The Lord surely must have something for you to do besides robbing hardworking women trying to make a living.”

       The man didn’t say anything, just turned his gaze back toward the ceiling.  “Was, was anyone hurt?  I heard a shot.”

       “Your friend, Clem stayed and helped Doctor Jones with the surgery.  He’s sitting down in the jail right now.  His brother?  Lige?  He shot, but fortunately the bullet didn’t hit anyone, after he fired, he ran out the door and rode away before anyone could go after him.  We all helped take care of you,” informed the Rev. Chapman.

       The man gave sort of a half moan and a sigh.  “I’m tired, but I don’t hurt like before,” he said as his eyes were begging to close.  Quickly they opened again, and with a half-smile he said, “You can go home now Preacher-man.  I’m going to sleep.”

       Patting him on the shoulder, Rev. Chapman said softly, “You rest.  Tell Doctor Jones if you would like to see me.”

                  * * * * *

       Sheriff Gold was sitting at the table having returned from Silverton.  With him was Doc Jones, Mateo, and Molly.  “Heard there was excitement while I was gone.  I saw a prisoner in the jail.  Anyone want to tell me what happened?”

       He looked at each of us, finally I persuaded Doc to tell the story from beginning to end.  Charlie sat and listened intently.  When Doc was finished Charlie asked about the patient.

       “Oh, he’s doing fine, Charlie, ask Molly,” I remarked pointing at her with my now empty cup.

       She smiled the way she does with a slight laugh.  “Emelda has taken a liking to him.  Or maybe I should say that he had taken a liking to her enchiladas.  If she keeps feeding him the way she is, the man will have to roll out of bed.”

       Charlie turned his attention to Doc Jones.  “So when can we move him down to the jail?”

       “Tomorrow, maybe.  If not, then the next day for sure.  I just don’t want him breaking those stitches loose.”

       I stood up to grab the coffeepot and fill everyone’s cup again.  When I was pouring Charlie’s cup, he asked, “Think I should go looking for the other brother?”

       “I wouldn’t worry about it right now.  With Clem in jail, we’ll wait and see if he doesn’t come back to help him out.  We’ll get him then,” I said while finishing pouring the coffee.  “You’ve got your hands full with that situation up in Silverton.”

       Charlie just had a sip, and was just getting ready to tell us what was happening when the Parson burst through the door.  “He’s gone…”