The gunsmoke was still in the air after the attempt of Lige Donor to free his brother, Clem, from jail.  Young Lucas had been shot, and was perhaps dead.  Lige was dead, killed by the hands of his brother.  Now, let’s go back to those thrilling days of yesteryear to see what Miles will do after all this calamity.

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

       Clem Donor was sitting on the floor holding the head of his dead brother in his lap.  He was weeping not only due to the fact that his brother was dead, but that it was Clem that forced the action.  They were fighting over the pistol when it when off sending a bullet under the chin and through the head of Lige Donor.

       “Marshal,” cried Clem, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.  I told Lige to leave, but the boy had already been shot.”  Clem sobered up for a minute from his emotional state staring straight into my eyes.  “Was the boy dead?”

       “I don’t know.  Sheriff Gold picked up the body so fast and was out of here before I had time to check.”

       Donor began to weep again.  “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  It was just to be a simple holdup, take some money and go south toward Santa Fe,” he paused to wipe the slobber off his mouth and chin.  “None of us had ever kilt no one before, not me, not Fred, not Lige.  Why, did it happen this way?”

       “Clem, when a person turns towards evil ways, there’s no tellin’ what may happen.  A lie becomes a landslide, a holdup becomes a murder.  Why, because of evil,” I paused to look him in the eye.  “If you had not tried to rob the diner, your brother would still be alive.”

       He dropped his head continuing to weep.  “I need to get you back into your cell,” I said and started to reach underneath his arm to hoist him up.

       “Marshal, could I stay with Lige until they take him away?” he pleaded.  “I won’t try anything.”

       I didn’t reckon it would do any harm, Parker would be here in a few minutes.  It was then I heard the shuffling outside the jail.  Folks were trying to peer inside.  All I felt was disgust as I went to the door and slammed it in their faces.  I even hoped that perhaps a couple of them snoopers got their noses smashed up some.

       It must have been ten minutes before Parker arrived.  He had to push people away, many were gawking through the windows trying to see a dead man, lying in his blood on the floor.  I gave a wry smile, as the undertaker of death arrived at the same time as the giver of hope in Rev. Chapman.

       Parker had two men with him carrying a stretcher and he quickly had them take the body of Lige Donor out of the office.  I pulled the parson to the side while Parker did his work.  He pronounced the body dead, then the men left.  I didn’t move as Clem slowly pulled himself to his feet and went back to his cell dragging his feet.  He shut the door then went over to the cot and slumped down on it.

       I could see the concern in the Parson’s eyes, so I briefly told him what happened.  He grabbed my arm with his hand.  “The man is distraught, Parson,” I said quietly.

       “No wonder,” came his soft reply.  “May I go speak with him?”

       Nodding I told him he could go in the cell with Donor.  I’d stay in the office until things settled down.  I didn’t hear what the preacher was saying.  He was holding onto the hand of Donor, and after a short while, he began to pray with the man.  I turned to look out the window, thinking I should give them some privacy.  I knew for a fact that only the Lord could help the poor man.

       Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, I saw Alejo, Mateo’s oldest son running toward the jail.  By this time the crowd outside had dispersed, and he came on through the door.  “Senor, Marshal, come quickly.  Lucas…”

Doc Jones was trying to save the life of a young man that was brought to his office by Sheriff Gold.  Shots had just been fired from the area of the jail.  Pandemonium is apparent.  Come with me now to those thrilling days of yesteryears with the Saga of Miles Forrest.

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

       Clem looked from the jail cell to the kid lying on the floor.  “Lige, you killed him!”

       Clem’s brother, Lige Donor was pulling the keys to the cell from the hook in the office.  Within seconds he had the jail door open.  “Come on Clem,” he yelled.  “Let’s go.”

       Clem stood there, looking back and forth from his brother to the kid.  “No, I’m not going,” he barked.

       “I’ve no time to argue, now come on!”

       The office door burst open, Lige fired two shots at the person forcing him to back out.

 

       Mateo and I began to run toward the jail.  I soon out distanced him with his limpy leg, but stopped at the door.  Mateo went to the wall between the windows.  I looked at him when Charlie went bursting through the door.  I tried to yell at him, but he was soon forced back out by shots.  One of the bullets had hit the door frame showering Charlie with splinters some of which were embedded in the side of his face.

       Charlie’s ashen face was beginning to have blood trickle down the side from the splinters.  He glanced at me on the other side of the door frame.  I just gave a slight shrug of my shoulders.

       “Lucas!”  Lucas!” yelled Charlie, with no return answer.

       I tried to see through the window, but the glare was so that I couldn’t make out anything.  “Mateo, can you see anything?” I asked, and received a shake of the head.

       Charlie hollered again, “Lucas!” which brought another shot hitting the door.

       He looked desperate and I was afraid that he was going to try to barge through the doorway again.  Instead he looked my direction.  “You have any brilliant ideas?”

       I had been going through the lay-out of the room in my mind.  Upon entering there was a little space to the left.  Nothing was there.  To the right set a desk, with another one next to it with an aisle down the middle going to the main office.  There was no way two of us could get through the entrance without one of us being a target.  The windows were barred, so we couldn’t get in that way.  There was another door, but that one was kept barred from the inside.

       Panic was starting to work its way onto Charlie’s face.  I had never seen him like this before.  I know that Lucas was Marta’s brother. . . perhaps it was that along with shooting the kid he carried into the office, but whatever it was not working him into a good frame of mind.

       Looking over at Mateo, “Charlie and I are going in.  I want you to fire shots through the window to draw his attention.  Hopefully that will give Charlie and me a chance to get him.”  He nodded, then took several steps back so that when he fired into the glass, the shards would not hit him.

       Turning my attention to Charlie I said, “You go for the desk, I’ll hunker against the wall.”

       Before I could nod at Mateo, Charlie hollered, “I’ll hunker against the wall,” and thrust himself into the room.  Mateo started shooting when Charlie went through the door, while Charlie was firing his gun.  I went in next, then to the right.  We had not heard the shot, but saw two men clenched together, on the floor next to where we spotted Lucas.

       Seeing Lucas lying on the floor did something to Charlie.  He went up to the two men, neither of them moving, pulled back the hammer on his pistol and aimed it at them.  “Charlie!” I yelled.  He hesitated, kicked one of the men, I couldn’t see which, then went to check on Lucas.

       The kick caused the one man to roll away from the other.  Clem Donor’s eyes were wide in shock.  “Lige,” he whispered, then began to weep.  “Lige, I’m so sorry.”

       It was then that I noticed that Lige was holding a gun, but the barrel was pointing up under his chin.  His shirt was soaked with blood, and the light had gone from him.  Bending down, I took the gun from the dead man’s hand, then reached over to touch Clem on the shoulder.  He looked at me with tears streaming down his face.  “Marshal, I done kilt my brother.”

       I reached down to help him up at the same time that Charlie was picking up Lucas and rushing back out the door.  Clem Donor never took his eyes from his brother as I placed him in a chair.  “He came to get me out of jail.   I told him I wasn’t going with him.”  He paused to look at the entrance where Charlie had just departed.  “I saw the kid on the floor after Lige shot him.”

       Turning his eyes upon mine, he continued, but couldn’t speak for a few seconds, then added.  “I jumped Lige, we fought, the gun went off.”  Thrusting his face into cupped hands he began to openly weep.

       Motioning for Mateo, who was standing at the entrance, to come help me.  Each of us reached under the arm of Clem and lifted him from the chair and took him back to his cell.  “I’ll go get Parker,” he said in a soft tone.  Paul Parker was the undertaker for Durango.

       When Mateo left, Clem lifted his voice, “Marshal…”

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.

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

       “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…

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…