So don’t be too good or too wise!  Why destroy yourself?  On the other hand, don’t be too wicked either–don’t be a fool!  Why should you die before your time?”  –Ecclesiastes 7:16-17(NLT)

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

     The heavy snow never came but there had been a light, cold snow for two days.  We arrived in Durango right after dusk the second day.  I stopped immediately at Doc Jones office.  The man that I was told was Davy Logan, was as pale as the snow that dusted his coat.  He looked more dead than alive, but he wasn’t stiff.  I untied Billy Blackhand so he could help me get him off his horse and into Doc’s.  I’ll give that young buck credit, he didn’t whimper or cry out the whole way.  That busted up arm must of hurt something fierce.

     I didn’t bother knocking, but turned the knob on the door and kicked it open.  I just hoped Doc was in.

     There was a short scream.  “My land!  Oh, what do we have here?”  Edith came to her wits.

     “Where’s Doc, this man’s bad hurt.”

     “What?  What is it?  Miles, is that you?”  I heard a voice coming from the other room.  “You gave Edith quite a scare, say…  Well, bring him in and lay him on the table.”

     When we placed Davy Logan on the table, he groaned.  That was the first sound he had made.  Perhaps it was because it shifted his arm into a different position.  I had tied it tight against his chest, but didn’t know what to do about the bone.  I covered it the best I could and had to use a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.  I did my best to loosen it from time to time, but with the looks of that bone sticking out I don’t think he’d be able to keep that arm anyway.

     “Sit down out there!” I ordered Blackhand.  I went out to the office and this time I used my handcuffs and hooked him to a chair.  He could escape, but he’d have to drag that chair with him.  I just hoped that he honored his friendship with Logan enough to stay put.

     Going back into the operating room, I saw Edith helping Doc remove the Indian’s bandages.  “Miles, hold him while I cut this off….”  Then he muttered something I couldn’t make out and was shaking his head.  When they finally cut off my makeshift bandage off his arm and cut off his shirt, Doc looked at the wrist, the hand dangling there, the fingers white the blood having drained from them.  “My, my…” he muttered.  “He’s more dead than alive.  You were smart Miles to use the tourniquet.  I couldn’t have saved his arm, but he might live, but he’s going to be in a lot of pain.”

     He looked at Edith, who had turned some pale herself at the sight.  “Miles and I can handle this.  Why don’t you go tell Molly that he’s back in town.”

     An hour later Davy Logan laid in the bed unconscious, missing his arm from the elbow down.  Molly had sent someone up to the jail, but when they tried to take Blackhand he put up a scuffle.  I had to leave Doc for a moment to tell Lucas to let him stay.  He told me that they had taken Hawk up to the cabin, fed and rubbed him down, and the other two horses over to the livery.

     We left Davy lying there, sleeping, more dead than alive.  Doc joined me with Billy Blackhand.  “Your friend is in bad shape.  There’s a good chance he might die,” Doc explained to him, and when he said that Billy glared at me with vengeance in his eyes.  “Miles, why don’t you get your prisoner fed and taken up to the jail.”

     “No!  I will stay with my friend!”  I looked at Doc who gave his head a slight shake.

     “There’s nothing you can do for him.  Tell you what.  You eat, get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see that the Marshal, uh, Ranger brings you down in the morning.  Don’t worry I’ll be with him through the night.”

     He wasn’t happy but he acquiesced and went peacefully.  It was cold, with a few flakes still falling.  I thanked the Lord as we started walking for holding off the storm.  “Who is that you talk to?” questioned Billy when he heard me.  

     “I’ll tell you all about Him when I get you tucked in your cell.”  

     Passing by Solly Vendor’s tobacco emporium, he rushed out without a coat.  “Miles, a man was asking about you.  He rode a palomino…”

In this meaningless life, I have seen everything, including the fact that some good people die young and some wicked people live on and on.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:15 (NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

     The last statement caused me to look up.  Yep, snow would most likely be coming tomorrow if not sooner.  I sure didn’t want to spend a night out in it, so I needed to get this taken care of now.  Breathing a little prayer then I put the Greener in my left hand, I didn’t want to slaughter those boys, just arrest them.  Pulling my Schofield, a pistol I had grown quite attached to since I purchased it several years ago.

     Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the doorway.  I was careful not to look at the fire they had blazing in the room.  “Hands up!” I ordered.  As always, there has to be one who doesn’t understand that command.  The man to my left went for his gun.  I fired, there was a funny sound, a pinging noise then I saw him clutch his hand as his gun dropped.

     “You shot me!” he cried, but my attention was on his friend.  

     Smiling, I said, “Take your chance or unbuckle your gunbelt.”

     “I’m bleeding,” hollered the other miscreant.

     “Doesn’t sound like much of a warrior,” I said looking at the man who dropped his belt.  “Step away.”  

     I reached down with the Greener to pick up his belt by the barrel and bring it to where I was standing.  “Is that why Ignacio sent you two away?  You cry like babies?”

     He stiffened, but the other man was now stooped over holding his wrist.  I could see by the light of the fire that he was badly bleeding.  “Best be seein’ to your friend before he bleeds to death.”

     I picked up the gunbelt and tossed it by the entrance, then glanced over at the young buck’s hand.  It was torn up severely, one of the bones, maybe both broken.  “You boys have names?”

     “I am Billy Blackhand, he is Davy Logan,” he said with a sneer to his voice.  Then he looked at me with defiance, “We are not of Ignacio,” he spit, “who acts like an old woman.  We ride with Colorow.”

     “Yeah, an’ he’d be real proud of you, howlin’ like that.”  I knew that Ignacio was fighting to keep the Ute lands for the Southern Ute, but he was also a wise chief understanding like Ouray did that the days of his people were numbered if they continued to fight.  I understood also, that Coloraw was very active in his hostility.  “I thought Coloraw was mostly with the Northern Utes.  I do know this, that both Ignacio and Coloraw are honorable warriors.  They would not kill defenseless Navaho sheepherders.”

     The wound was still bleeding, so I thought it was time I took over.  An artery must be severed.  Holstering my gun, I pulled some pigging strings from the pocket of my vest and tied Billy’s hands behind his back, and pushed him down to sit.  Then I turned my attention to Logan.  I immediately saw part of the problem.  My bullet had hit the hilt of his knife and knocked off a piece of wood which sliced through the man’s hand followed by my bullet.  Bones were broken at his wrist with one poking out.

     “Son, you’re in bad shape.  You might want to consider singin’ your death song, or better yet turn to the One who died on the tree for your soul.”  I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt to wrap his hand.  Then I reached for another pigging string to tie up his arm in a tourniquet.  I knew that it was dangerous for he could lose his arm, and that was not good for a Ute warrior, even a wannabe one.  Finally, I was able to get the blood to stop, but he needed a doctor and the nearest one was back in Durango.  I’m not sure I could save his arm to get him back, much less his life.

     He had passed out, and I was hesitant to tied up his arm, but I did tie his feet together.  He still had one good hand.  I moved him while he was unconscious and tried to make him somewhat comfortable.  Then I glanced around the room.  “Any more wood around?” I asked the other man.

     “Outside,” he replied defiantly.

     Picking up the gunbelt, I went outside to see to Hawk and bring him up to the adobe.  After I unsaddled him, I rubbed him down, then grabbed an armful of wood to bring inside the adobe.  There was no other shelter, so I dropped the wood on the far side of the fire.  The man hadn’t moved and the other was still unconscious.  I sighed, then went back outside. 

     Grabbing the reins, I led Hawk inside the room.  “No need for you to stand outside when the snow starts.  Just mind your manners.”

     I fed the fire, made a pot of coffee, then settled down for a long night.

     Then, sometime during the night…

Enjoy prosperity while you can.  But when hard times strike, realize that both come from God.  That way you will realize that nothing is certain in this life.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:14 (NLT)

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

     “I will not help you, Ranger,” declared Charlie Two-Face.  “Even though they are Ute half-breeds, they are still Indian.”

     Lifting the cup to my lips I finished the rest of my coffee, then replied, “Charlie, you say you want to help your people.  If that is true, then help me arrest these two men who are enemies, not only to your people, but to all men.  Evil knows no boundaries, it knows no friendships.”

     He was pondering, then touched the bottom of the scar on his chin.  “Go maybe two hours ride south towards the great rock.  When you get to the Mancos River go upstream perhaps a mile.  There are some ruins, that is where they are camped.”

     I reached in my vest pocket for my coin pouch.  Pulling out two double-eagles I handed them to Charlie.  “For you to help others.”

     He scowled, “I do not want your charity or payment of my knowledge!”

     “Not for payment.  You are helping those in need; I want to help you with that.  Take them….for your work.”

     Nodding, he reached out for the money.  “We are brothers,” he said, putting his hand over his heart, “in here.”  Then he got up, pulled on a woolen poncho and left the little cantina.  

     I sat there a few moments thinking.  The weather was going to get bad.  Should I continue, or go on back to Durango.  The two men I was looking for were within a few miles, but then I remembered there was still an unknown assailant–the man on the palomino.  

     “Anything else I can get you?” asked the proprietor.  I hadn’t heard him approach.  He wasn’t a friendly sort, maybe it was because I had tried to trick him into selling me whiskey.  There were several who sold liquor to the Indians which was definitely against federal law.  Shaking my head, I placed a dollar on the table.  I’m sure the chili and coffee was no more than two-bits, but it would ease his mind some.

     Pulling on my coat I went outside.  It was still, not even a breeze.  Looking up the clouds looked as if they were ready to drop a heavy load of snow.  Well, early spring was known for at least one heavy snow, I just hoped it held off until I could be back home.  Picking up the reins, I mounted Hawk.  “Let’s go boy, we’ve some miles to travel before dark. 

     There was a trail, not much of one, but it looked as if wagons had passed on it a few times.  As Charlie had said, two hours later we arrived at the Mancos.  It looked as if this side of the river would be easier to travel so I turned Hawk to go upriver.  I could see that there had been horses on the dim trail.  I didn’t cotton to sleeping outside with the threat of the weather but Charlie said the ruins were not far.  

     Hawk stepped easy.  He was used to this type of travel.  Hmmm, how many trips have we made together searching for bad men, or riding just to see what was on the other side of the hill.  The river made a slight bend towards the north where I spotted some old, broken down adobe ruins.  Hawk stopped, his ears straightening.  Something, or someone was there.  He sensed something and I learned a long time ago to trust him.

     Dismounting, I left Hawk to munch on some brush by the river and I walked up towards the ruins.  As I approached I heard a boisterous voice, “Amigo, tomorrow the snow comes, we should leave now…”

Notice the way God does things; then fall into line.  Don’t fight the ways of God, for who can straighten out what he has made crooked?”  –Ecclesiastes 7:13(NLT)

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

     The man was almost grotesque when he smiled.  Somewhere back down the line in his life there had been someone take a knife or hatchet to his face splitting it in half from top to bottom just to the left of his nose.  Hence his name, Charlie Two-Face.

     “You are disturbed by my appearance, white man?” he questioned while touching the scar where it ended at his chin.  “Many years ago, when I was young, a fight with the Ute.  He swung at me with his tomahawk, splitting my face in half.  He thought he had killed me,” he coughed a laugh, “in fact, I thought he had killed me.  Fortunately, the Great Spirit kept the blade from splitting my skull and head in half, just breaking through the skin.”

     I didn’t say anything while he told me the story.  The pain, both physical and mental he went through must have been tremendous.  The large scar came about, he said, because of the blade, but also there were white men, mountain men, in the camp with him.  They used horsehair to stitch him up.  “Ranger, I wanted to die, it hurt so much.”  He became very quiet when the proprietor came with more coffee.  He offered some to Charlie who shook his head.  “I would not die!  I had to find the Ute who did this to me.”

     “Pard, I can’t even begin to imagine,” I said, then he cut me off.

     “No, you can’t, you can’t imagine.  I was no longer the name I cannot mention, but became Charlie Two-Face.  A man scorned by all.  It was not until I had begun to heal that one of the men who fixed my face told me that the one who did this was not alive, but was killed in the skirmish.”

     “Why live?” I asked myself.  “Vengeance was taken from me.  Blood rite was taken from me.  Then I went to a little village in New Mexico.  There was a family who needed help.  I would hunt and bring them food.  It was there that I was introduced to a padre.  My heart was black, my mind was sick with hatred and bitterness and remorse, for I was no longer a full man.”  He grunted a laugh again.  “It was this padre who told me that I was now two men.”

     I held the cup in both my hands, sipping from it as I listened to his story.  “I was told the story of a Man who was beaten beyond all recognition.  One so severe that He was torn apart, yet still living and placed upon what the padre called, a cross.  Ranger, I could relate to Him, the pain, the agony, the suffering.  What I could not understand with my black heart was how I was told when He was on that cross, He cried to the Great Spirit in the sky, for Him to forgive those who did this to Him.”

     Charlie looked up for several seconds then brought his eyes down to meet mine.  “I stayed with the padre, helping him around the little village.  He showed me the way of helping others, those who had so little.”

     Placing the cup on the table I reached out to clasp his hand.  “Charlie, I cannot feel your pain, but I also know this Man.  This Jesus, and He helped me understand how to walk this path of life.”

     His face was solemn, unreadable.  No smile, no emotion.  Then his eyes flickered, one side of his mouth smiled, the other remained.  “Utes, half-breeds,” he spoke, breaking the silence.  “They have some kind of vendetta against the Navaho.  Maybe it is old, tribal, but I think it is that their hearts were like mine, black and evil.”

     “Do you know where these men are?” I asked, releasing his arm.  

     He was silent, I nodded, understanding.  “I will not kill them.  I help the families of the ones who are now in eternal rest.  But…”