Thirteen Tombstones Chapter One - Part One By: David K. Montoya


Thirteen Tombstones
Chapter One - Part Two
By: David K. Montoya

“All right,” he said and ripped the sheriff’s button-up shirt open to get a better view of the gunshot wound. “Boy, fetch me some whiskey.”

I turned and saw a group of men who where seated at the nearby table, and saw a full bottle of whiskey toward the edge of the table. The men appeared to be engrossed with their poker game rather than having a drink, so I grabbed up the bottle and quickly handed it to the doctor.

“Thank you son,” the doctor said with a weak smile. He brought the bottle to his mouth, yanked the cork out with his teeth and took a long drink from the bottle. Once the old man finished with his taste-test, he approved with a loud sigh as he looked at me. “Give me a second son,” he said. “I need to sober up a bit more before I get started,” and then he took another long pull from the bottle.

I noticed that the men who were at the other table all stood up and each one of them appeared quite angry. The one closest to me took a step forward as he glared at the three of us and rested his fingers on the handle of his pistol. He was a short in height, but had the girth of two men and was dressed in all black, which caused me to question his mentality as I watched streams of sweat pour from his forehead and down into the stubble on his round face.

“Hey ole man, are you the one what stole our whiskey?” the man shouted.

The doctor did not turn around, but continued to focus his attention on Sheriff Henry. I slid fingertips along the edge of my guns while I kept one eye on the large angry man and the other on the Doc and Henry. Doc helped the Sheriff swig down some whiskey before he poured the rest on the open wound. Henry let out a howl when the liquor hit his skin. The old physician pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket and stuffed it into the Sheriff’s month.

“Bite down on this Henry and leave the rest to me,” the Doctor said as he positioned himself to proceed with the extraction.

All the while the large angry man continued his ranting in the back ground. My attention shifted back toward him when he finally threatened the doc. “All right, ole’ man,” he shouted. “You have to the count of five to explain yourself, or I’m gonna put a bullet in ya!”

The doctor did not appear to have heard the threat as he finished preparing for the bullet removal, and then he summoned four other men in the bar over to hold down Henry’s arms and legs. The large angry man was at the count of three when the doc dug the knife’s small blade into his wound. Each of the four men struggled to keep the Sheriff restrained, but he bounced around like a bucking bronco out of Oklahoma.

“Okay, have it your way…” the fat little man said. “Five!”

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