Clem Donor quickly relayed to us that he had worked with the surgeon for a few years while stationed with the army at Fort Scott.  I looked at Doc who nodded and I removed the handcuffs.  He then moved down next to Doc.

       He went through the procedures, making sure that we knew what we were supposed to do.  Molly had placed a large pan of hot water on the stove where I normally kept the coffeepot.  Along the back of the chair she had several pieces of cloth.

       “Mister Dover, listen to me,” said Doc sharply.  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

       Dover opened his eyes, the pain was apparent, but there was something added to it–fear.  “I’m being straight with you,” divulged Doc.  “If your appendix has burst, I give little hope to you living.  There’s two other major problems.  One is that of bleeding.  Once I start I need to move fast.  The second, which is always a danger, is that of infection.”

       We hadn’t noticed that the Parson had moved up close to us.  “Mr. Dover, I don’t know you, but I would suggest with the information that the good doctor has given you that you get your heart right with the Almighty.  That will at least give you hope for eternity.”

       Dover tried his best to bring up a smile.  “You a Sky-Pilot?” 

       Rev. Chapman moved up closer to the man so he could look him in the eyes.  “I am.”

       “I never thought I’d be a-dyin’ this way.”  He moved his hand up and Parson Chapman took hold of it.  “Pray for me,” he moaned, then added.  “Please, don’t let go of my hand.”

       “I won’t,” replied the Parson and began to pray in a very quiet whisper bending down to Dover.  I grabbed a chair for the preacher to sit on.

       Doc Jones looked at Donor, “You know what to give me when I ask?” he questioned.  Donor simply replied with a nod.

       “Miles, I want you down here to hold his legs, just in case.  I’m not expecting any reaction from him, but I want to be ready.  Molly, you stand by the head and be ready to hand me cloths as I clean the wound after surgery.  You might go ahead and remove the water from the stove.  I want it hot, but not too hot as to cause a burn.”

       There was a bottle on the counter behind the stove that Doc picked up.  “Let’s get this done,” he said, then looked down at his patient.  “This will put you to sleep.  You won’t feel anything during the surgery, I can’t promise you afterward.”  He then put a little mesh device over Dover’s nose and mouth and covered it with cloth.  “Molly, I’m going to put him to sleep with this ether.  If I nod at you I want you to pour a little more on the cloth.  Don’t get too close or the fumes might put you out as well.”

       Doc began the procedure and as soon as Dover’s breathing evened out and he was asleep, Doc picked up his scalpel.   Doc and Clem Donor worked together, and then Doc exclaimed, “Oh my!”

       I couldn’t see very well from where I was standing, but Donor looked to where Doc was pointing.  Doc pointed with his head, “In my bag.”  Donor immediately went to the bag sitting on the next table, and pulled out something that I couldn’t tell what?  “Hold it right here, I’m going to tie this off.”  Within seconds, Donor was lifting what looked to me like a spoon from the body of Dover, then turned and placed it on the counter.  Doc was sopping up the blood.  “Now let’s close this off.”

       There was a lot of bleeding and it took the two of them to stitch the wound.  It wasn’t large, but there was plenty of blood.  Mateo had come in and was standing by me.  He said he heard a shot and came running.  Doc looked at me, “Miles, there’s a stretcher in my office.  Go get it so we can transport this man over there while he’s still unconscious.”

       When I got back with the stretcher, Doc and Clem Donor had all the utensils loaded in a metal bowl.  Molly and Emelda were busy cleaning up the rags.  Doc began ordering us around so that we could get the patient on the stretcher.  “It will take all of us to move him.  We’ll lift him up then slide the stretcher underneath him; Dale that will be your job.”

       “Miles, you and my assistant haul him over to my office.  Before you go, take a look at his appendix.  It is about five times the size of normal; it could have burst at any moment,” he showed us, then smiled.  “If infection doesn’t sit in, he should live.”

       “I’ll go with them,” spoke up Rev. Chapman.  “I want to be with him when he wakes up.  Would someone please tell Betty where I am?”

The bullet hit the wall behind me right after I heard the shot.  Lige Donor then plunged out the door and was out of sight.  I had a notion to return his fire, but with no clear shot I held up keeping my gun on his brother Clem instead.  I saw Clem looking down at Fred Dover who was lying on the floor, curled up seemingly in severe pain.  I motioned with my gun for Clem to raise his hands.

       “Check on Dover, Doc,” I uttered, getting out of my seat and walking toward Clem.  “Just reach over with your left hand and take your gun by the barrel,” I said, watching him follow my commands.  “Now, gently lay it on the table, and come toward me.  Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”  When he had done so I pulled the handcuffs that I kept attached to my belt and cuffed him.

       Grabbing him by the shoulders, I jerked him around.  He didn’t seem to pay any attention to me tussling him around, but he looked at his friend.  “Is he goin’ to be alright?” he asked very concerned.

       “Miles, come here and help Brother Chapman lift this man to a table where I can examine him better,” hollered Doc in an agitated manner.  Molly rushed over to remove salt and pepper shakers from the table and swooped off the table cloth. 

       “Doc, if possible don’t let any blood get on the table,” she requested as she hurried.

       The man groaned as we picked him up, with Doc instructing us to lay him on his back.  He then began to poke and prod him.  The man, Fred Dover, was conscious but because of the pain, kept his eyes tightly shut.  The preacher and I watched Doc work on the man, and when he poked him in the lower stomach, the man let out a yelp that would make any Comanche proud.

       “Mister, look at me,” ordered Doc to his patient.  “I ain’t going to lie to you, but you’re in bad shape.  I have to get you over to the office where I can operate on you, but even then, if that appendix has burst I don’t give you much hope.”

       Sweat was pouring off the man’s face as if he had been working out in the hot sun.  He gave a slight nod to what Doc said, then asked, “Do you have to move me?  I don’t know if I can stand it.”

       Doc scratched at his head, then brought his hand down rubbing his chin while looking around then to place his gaze on Molly.  “Up to you Molly.”

       “Which would be best, Doc?” she quickly replied.

       He rubbed down his chin one more time.  “Best would be over in my office.  However, if his appendix has not already burst, moving him might cause it to happen.”  

       “Emelda, put up the closed sign!” ordered Molly.  Emelda immediately went over to place the sign in the window.  

       Doc was looking around the room.  “I need light and I need for him to be completely stretched out.  Move him on the table over there where it’s the brightest and pull a table up where he can stretch out his legs.  Emelda, get some water heated, I’ll go for my equipment.  Dale, you best start praying for this lad now.”

       In all of the commotion, I had never heard Rev. Chapman referred to by his first name.  With Doc scurrying out the door heading for his office, the preacher and I lifted the table and placed it where Doc had suggested.  We pulled another table close, but hesitated in trying to straighten the man’s legs out; it seemed to lessen the pain with him curled up.

       Within a few minutes, Doc had returned with Edith along with him.  He glanced at the location, then nodded, “Help me.  Miles, you hold his shoulders, Brother Chapman, grab his leg and I’ll take this one.  We need to lift him up slightly and make sure he is completely stretched out and on his back.”

       We went to our positions.  Doc looked down at the man, “Mister, we have to move you so grit your teeth, cause it has to be done.”  The man did his best to keep from yelling out, and we were able to get him positioned where Doc wanted.

       “Molly, I need a sharp knife to cut away his clothes.  I don’t want to hurt him anymore by pulling them off,” Doc said, then looked down as if reconsidering.  “Get the knife, we’ll try to take off his boots.”

       With a grunt and groan from Dover the boots came off and Molly was back with the knife.  Emelda was seated at a near table praying, and the preacher went to join her.  “Doc, let me help!” hollered my handcuffed prisoner…

The man was leaning toward one side, and grimaced as he took a step.  As he got to the table where we were sitting he opened his coat revealing a rifle cocked and ready to fire.  Nodding at Molly, he said, “I hear that you’re the proprietor of this establishment.”

       Molly nodded, then the man continued.  “I don’t want to hurt anybody or cause any trouble, but I’d like some grub for me and the boys to take along with us,” there was a pause.  “And I hate to have to ask, but I want all the money you have on hand.  It’s nothing personal, mind you, but me and the boys are in a bad fix.”

       I noticed all the time he was talking to Molly, but he kept his eyes on me.  “Now, Marshal, I know that you’re a-hankering to pull that hogleg you’re carrying.  Please don’t.  I really don’t want to bloody up this establishment needlessly.”

       “Mister, what’s your problem?  Maybe I can be of help.” I replied, placing both hands on the table.  Looking around the room I saw where the men were placed.  There was no way I could get all three men.

       He laughed at my suggestion.  I continued to talk as Molly got up and went to the kitchen.  “If you’re hurt, this here is Doc Jones.  He’s a fine doctor.  If it’s your soul that needs healing, the other man seated here is the Rev. Chapman.  Between the three of us we should be able to help in one way or another.”

       “Marshal, you’re mighty considerate, but there’s not much any of you can do to help the likes of me or the boys.  As soon as we get a bite to eat, the money, and some food to take along we’ll leave your fair town.”

       Molly had Emelda bring out three plates of biscuits covered with gravy.  The man by the kitchen motioned for her to set one on the table in front of him, then told her to take a plate to the man at the door, and one over to the table next to us.  He then sat down placing his pistol on the table and began to eat.  The man at the door did the same while the one talking with us stood there watching and waiting.

       “What’s your name, Mister?” I asked, wanting to know who was holding a gun on me.

       A slight smile came to his face.  “Fred Dover, Marshal.  It mean anything to you?”

       I nodded my head.  “I’ve heard the name.  Robbed a bank up at Gunnison and another toward Montrose.  What I don’t understand is why did you come back south and not keep goin’ into Utah?”

       “The boys, Clem and Lige Donor, wanted to see their home down near Santa Fe.  Plus my bones don’t cotton to cold weather.  Usually warmer down toward New Mexico.”

       The other two ate in a hurry and were now back on their feet.  Emelda and Molly had packed three bags of food for them, placing them on the table by the man by the kitchen who I assume was Clem Donor.  Molly had a small sack of money that Dover motioned for her to place on the table by his plate and told her to sit there.  He glanced at the other two and they had their guns out.  Dover laid the rifle on the table picked up the plate and began to shovel the food into his mouth.

       When he finished, he nodded at Molly thanking her.  “Sorry folks for the inconvenience, but we have to run.”

       He started to back out, then gave out a shrill cry of pain, falling to the floor.  I jumped to my feet, pulling my gun as Clem Donor hollered, “Fred!”

       Fred Donor was on the floor curled up, his face etched in pain.  My gun was on Clem Donor.  I yelled, “Lige, don’t do anything stupid!”

       When I said that I saw him out of the corner of my eye…

Doc was sitting there waiting for Molly to answer him.  I pulled out her chair for her to sit down, while she pulled off her coat.  She winked at me then took a sip of the coffee I had poured for her.  I could see that Doc was getting agitated waiting for Molly to answer.

       “Oh, I’m sorry, Doc, did you ask something?” she said with a slight giggle.

       “Young lady, you know good and well I asked you something!  Now, if I may ask, and if it is any of my business, why did you go see Lester Morris?”

       It was then I decided to pipe in, “Molly, as ornery as Doc is, I’d just not tell him.  For that I received a scowl.

       “I was waiting until I could tell you and Edith at the same time.  “I’m giving thirty percent of the diner to Emelda.  I’m just going to work the books and do the ordering.”

       “Well, why didn’t you say so instead of playing around?  What does she think about it?”

       Molly glanced over at me.  “I haven’t told her yet.  I thought that we could all get together after the supper rush and I’d have her sign the papers.  Morris said he could be here then, and I want Charlie and Marta here after all she is part owner.  I’ve already shared it with her.”

       “Yes,” Doc nodded for her to continue.  “She didn’t know what to say.  She said it was too much, that I didn’t have to do it.  I told her if I had to do it, I probably wouldn’t,” then she laughed, handing me her cup to refill.

       Doc scratched at his ear, then on the side of his cheek.  “Let me get this straight.  You’re semi-retiring,” he said, pointing at Molly.  He then squinted his eyes to look at me, “And you’re retiring.  Have I got this right?”

       That brought a loud guffaw from Molly.  She started to reply when Doc held up his hand stopping her.  “What I want to know is, who will make the pies?  And you, you have no right to quit the calling that the good Lord has placed upon you.  So what if you’re a little heavier because of the lead you’re carrying in you,” he snickered, “they might even start to bounce off.”

       “What’s that I hear about retiring?”

       Rev. Chapman had walked up on us and none of us saw him approach.  “Sit yourself down, let these two tell you some of the foolishness that they’ve been thinking up,” quipped Doc.

       Molly proceeded to tell him the plans for the diner.  He nodded his head several times and once in a while smiled.  “That sounds wonderful, Molly, but I do have to ask, who will make the chocolate pies that I so favor?”

       That brought another laugh, but then the preacher grew solemn and stared at me.  “However, Miles, I trust that you have done some serious praying about your decision.  I believe the calling of an officer-of-the-law is almost as important as that of a minister.  You have better be sure you’ve heard from the Lord before doing so,” he admonished, almost making me feel guilty.

       I explained the situation to Parson Chapman.  He nodded, listening quietly and seriously.  “I can understand some of that reasoning, but hasn’t the Lord always pulled you through?”

       “There’s one more thing I think you should consider,” he began when three men walked through the door.  I was no longer listening to the preacher, but my instincts honed in on those three.  Two stood close to the door, while the third walked toward the table where we were sitting.  I loosened the thong from the hammer of my pistol and pulled it from the holster keeping it under the table.  Something wasn’t right…