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…”

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…