Moving On Chapter 7 9:00 THAT NIGHT Ezra was walking down Main Street when something was sharply jammed into his lower back. He immediately knew what it was. A gun. 'Great. Just great!' he thought. He was roughly shoved into an alley between two buildings. There was a sliver of light from a gas street lamp, so he was able to make out the features of the three men. They were the same men that he had been playing cards with earlier. 'I knew that Mister Jackson's remark was going to come back and bite me in the ass,' he thought with a silent sigh. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" he politely asked. He was hoping that he would be able to talk himself out of his current situation, but he had serious doubts. "Give us back our money, ya no-good cheatin' bastard!" hissed the one with red hair. "I did not cheat you out of anything. I won that money fair and square. I told you to ignore that gentleman, it was just an inside joke." The man that had a white beard snorted. "Ya 'spect us to believe that?" "It's the truth, gentlemen. Now, I'm sure that we can work something out..." "Yeah," said the man that had a patch over his right eye, "we can. You give us our money back and we might not kill ya." "Sounds fair to me," said Red-Hair. Ezra couldn't let them take his money. He hadn't cheated and he wasn't giving the money back! He needed it for the casino. "It does not sound fair to me," he stated. One-Eye chuckled. "Well, there's only one choice left." With that said, One-Eye hit Ezra in the stomach with his fist. Ezra grunted in pain and doubled over. The next thing Ezra knew, he was on the ground. Kicks and hits were raining down on him. He felt his boots being pulled off, which was where he kept his money, but he was too weak to do anything. A sharp searing pain was all he felt before he lost the fight and let darkness claim him. THE NEXT MORNING--6:00 Damon Wilshire, the owner of the Wilshire Goods store, paused before opening the door to his business. He was sure he had heard a faint noise. Walking a few steps, he entered the alley between his business and Chang's Laundry. About midway into the alley, his breath caught in his throat. There was a man, a once well-dressed man, lying on his back. He looked like he had taken one hell of a beating. There was also blood on his lower stomach. Quickly making his way to the man, Damon was sure that he was looking at a dead man. Kneeling on one knee, Damon reached out a slightly shaking hand. As he was getting ready to put his hand under the man's nose, to see if he was breathing, Damon heard a faint moan. It was coming from the man. The man was alive! Quickly standing up, he ran across the street to one of the many hotels on Main Street. Rushing up the stairs, he barged into a door marked DOCTOR without even knocking. "Doc, there's a man that needs your help. Now!" Damon said to the startled doctor, Ian Welsh. Ian was a young-looking man, but he seemed to know how to do his job. Ian nodded, grabbing his black Doctors' bag, and followed Damon at a run. When they reached the alley and Ian saw the man, he was surprised that he was even still alive. After a few minutes, Damon and Ian noticed that they had attracted an audience. "I need a couple of strong men to help me carry this man over to the hotel." A few minutes later, Damon, Ian, and two townsmen were carrying the injured man to the hotel that the doctor worked at. There was a small room, in the back of the hotel, that Ian worked out of. The four men laid the injured man on a long rectangular table. Damon and the two townsmen had to leave and get back to their own jobs. Ian set about examining the man on the table, throwing the man's clothes onto a nearby chair. The man had two broken ribs, bruises all over his face, scratches on his arms and neck, and a serious knife wound to his lower stomach. He was also running a high fever. As the doctor set about trying to fix the knife wound and keeping the man cooled down with wet rags on his body, he shook his head in amazement. 'This man should be dead!' But the man wasn't dead. Not yet, anyway. And, if the doctor had his way, the man wouldn't die. He hated to lose a patient! Return to Moving On
Moving On
Chapter 7
9:00 THAT NIGHT
Ezra was walking down Main Street when something was sharply jammed into his lower back. He immediately knew what it was. A gun. 'Great. Just great!' he thought.
He was roughly shoved into an alley between two buildings. There was a sliver of light from a gas street lamp, so he was able to make out the features of the three men. They were the same men that he had been playing cards with earlier. 'I knew that Mister Jackson's remark was going to come back and bite me in the ass,' he thought with a silent sigh.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he politely asked. He was hoping that he would be able to talk himself out of his current situation, but he had serious doubts.
"Give us back our money, ya no-good cheatin' bastard!" hissed the one with red hair.
"I did not cheat you out of anything. I won that money fair and square. I told you to ignore that gentleman, it was just an inside joke."
The man that had a white beard snorted. "Ya 'spect us to believe that?"
"It's the truth, gentlemen. Now, I'm sure that we can work something out..."
"Yeah," said the man that had a patch over his right eye, "we can. You give us our money back and we might not kill ya."
"Sounds fair to me," said Red-Hair.
Ezra couldn't let them take his money. He hadn't cheated and he wasn't giving the money back! He needed it for the casino. "It does not sound fair to me," he stated.
One-Eye chuckled. "Well, there's only one choice left." With that said, One-Eye hit Ezra in the stomach with his fist. Ezra grunted in pain and doubled over. The next thing Ezra knew, he was on the ground. Kicks and hits were raining down on him. He felt his boots being pulled off, which was where he kept his money, but he was too weak to do anything.
A sharp searing pain was all he felt before he lost the fight and let darkness claim him.
THE NEXT MORNING--6:00
Damon Wilshire, the owner of the Wilshire Goods store, paused before opening the door to his business. He was sure he had heard a faint noise. Walking a few steps, he entered the alley between his business and Chang's Laundry.
About midway into the alley, his breath caught in his throat. There was a man, a once well-dressed man, lying on his back. He looked like he had taken one hell of a beating. There was also blood on his lower stomach. Quickly making his way to the man, Damon was sure that he was looking at a dead man.
Kneeling on one knee, Damon reached out a slightly shaking hand. As he was getting ready to put his hand under the man's nose, to see if he was breathing, Damon heard a faint moan. It was coming from the man. The man was alive!
Quickly standing up, he ran across the street to one of the many hotels on Main Street. Rushing up the stairs, he barged into a door marked DOCTOR without even knocking.
"Doc, there's a man that needs your help. Now!" Damon said to the startled doctor, Ian Welsh. Ian was a young-looking man, but he seemed to know how to do his job.
Ian nodded, grabbing his black Doctors' bag, and followed Damon at a run. When they reached the alley and Ian saw the man, he was surprised that he was even still alive. After a few minutes, Damon and Ian noticed that they had attracted an audience. "I need a couple of strong men to help me carry this man over to the hotel."
A few minutes later, Damon, Ian, and two townsmen were carrying the injured man to the hotel that the doctor worked at. There was a small room, in the back of the hotel, that Ian worked out of. The four men laid the injured man on a long rectangular table.
Damon and the two townsmen had to leave and get back to their own jobs. Ian set about examining the man on the table, throwing the man's clothes onto a nearby chair. The man had two broken ribs, bruises all over his face, scratches on his arms and neck, and a serious knife wound to his lower stomach. He was also running a high fever. As the doctor set about trying to fix the knife wound and keeping the man cooled down with wet rags on his body, he shook his head in amazement. 'This man should be dead!' But the man wasn't dead. Not yet, anyway. And, if the doctor had his way, the man wouldn't die. He hated to lose a patient!
Return to Moving On