It wasn’t unusual for men to buy dynamite since this was a mining hub, but it bothered me that three miscreants would be purchasing the goods. Perhaps I was thinking wrongly, they might be working up in one of the canyons at a digging, but my gut instinct told me different. I was hoping that Doc was right and a man would show up at his place in need of help.
I stood back in the shadows of some pines at the little park about a block and a half from Doc’s office. Darkness was starting to settle in as the last rays of the sun went down over the horizon. Mateo, I was sure, had his position somewhere at the back of the office. Now, we waited…but for how long? I knew Doc was right, if that bullet hit the man in the hip or pelvis he was in a world of hurt. Even if it hit only muscle, he would have lost a lot of blood. But would they take a chance and bring him to the doctors; it was the only one in the area?
Ten minutes later a wagon pulled up in front of the office. It was too dark to recognize the man as he lumbered off the wagon and went to banging on Doc’s door. In the quietness of the Sunday night, I could hear the man. “Are you the doctor?” he barked.
Doc’s calm voice responded, “I’m Doctor Jones.”
The man turned toward the wagon. “There’s a man hurt bad in the wagon. I was ridin’ into town an’ happened to notice him lyin’ in the ditch. I went to check on him, and when I touched him he began groanin’ somethin’ fierce. I was most ‘feared to touch him, but I knew he’d probably die if’n I didn’t get him into see a doc.”
Shuffling out to the wagon, Doc took one look. “Let’s get him into the office so I can examine him.”
The man put down the wagon gate, and I heard Doc ask him, “Do you know this man?”
Quickly responding, the man answered, “Never seen him before in my life.” Lifting the man out, Doc continued to ask, “You have a name?”
There was hesitation, then the man stuttered, “Mark Barstow.”
Doc looked up at him. “Not sure if I’ve seen you before. You work around here?”
No answer came forth as they carried the man into the office. When the door was shut I moved on over to the wall beside the office. I could hear only pieces through the closed window. I’d give Doc time to start examining the man then go in.
“You’re right, this man’s in bad shape. Left any longer and he would’ve died, might yet.”
It was time for me to make my entry. I entered nonchalantly. “Evening Doc, I was makin’ my rounds and spotted a wagon in front of the office. Anything wrong?” I watched the man closely for any moves. I did notice that he was some uncomfortable when he saw me enter.
“Miles, got a wounded man here in bad shape. Shot in the hip and I think his pelvis might be broken. Bullet’s still in him so I’ve got to get that out,” said Doc all the time working on the man. “Where’s Edith when I need her?” he mumbled. “Mister, Barstow, right?” he questioned looking over at the man. “I’m going to need your help. Get a pot of water on that stove…I need it hot.”
Barstow moved to find a pot and added some wood to the low burning stove while Doc cut away the patient’s clothes. I stood there watching then asked, “Shot? Where’d you find him?”
“On the road in from Mancos,” replied the man, setting the pot on to heat.
“What are you comin’ into Durango on a Sunday night for? Everything’s closed except the saloons.”
“Comin’ in for supplies, thought I’d stay the night then get them in the mornin’.”
I glared at the man, then turned my attention to Doc. “Think he’ll live?”
“Tell you the truth, he’s in bad shape…lost a lot of blood. Listen, I’m going to need the two of you to hold him still while I dig for that bullet. I don’t want any more damage to his pelvis. He’s going to be out of commission for a long spell as it is.”
Doc had his tools near him and picked up a scalpel. He was moving it toward the wound when the man’s eyes opened wide and he hollered, “Bart!…”