Date: Thu, 14 Apr 2005 10:30:28 -0400
From: carl5de@netscape.net
Subject: HIGH PLAINS DOCTOR - 9

HIGH PLAINS DOCTOR - 9

Copyright 2005 by Carl Mason and Ed Collins

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the authors.  However based on real events and
places, "High Plains Doctor" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  If you would like to read other Mason-Collins stories, you
might turn to "Out of the Rubble," "Castle Margarethen," and "The Priest
and the Pauper" which are archived in Nifty's "Historical" section.
Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the authors
at carl5de@netscape.net

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands that anything other than safe sex is sheer insanity!


CHAPTER 9

(Revisiting Chapter 8)

In the morning, he did manage to make coffee.  Everyone sat around sipping
the strong brew, wrapped in his own blanket and his own dreams.  If anyone
remembered the details of the night before, no one was saying much beyond
an occasional grunt.  Indeed, the only sound seemed to be the rustle of a
naked arm as it parted a blanket and held out a metal cup for more coffee.

Captain Culpepper and his party arrived in late afternoon.  They were
obviously not happy about conditions on the northern plains.  Over supper,
thankfully cooked by Heine, Sam said rather curtly that they would have to
leave in the morning for Shiloh.

(Continuing Our Story - The Widow Schmidt & Son)

Arriving from Scott's Bluffs, Ben found several wires from contractors
interested in bidding on the hospital project, as well as others interested
in bidding on the new house and renovations on the surgery.  He also had a
wire from the Omaha attorney that indicated Bear-Who-Walks- Upright had
been contacted and had been "receptive."  He promised a written report in
the near future.  "Good man," the doctor thought as he organized himself
for the next day.

Ben and the boys had no sooner opened shop on Monday morning when a
carriage clattered up in front of the surgery.  As a rather thickset woman
of indeterminate years talked forcefully to the youngster who sat beside
her, Ben was able to provide Jon and Kelly with a little background.  "The
widow Norma Schmidt and her son, Hans," he murmured. "He should be twelve
or so, I think.  Her husband just dropped dead about a year ago.  Heart
attack...  Brave woman...four children, three of them girls.  Even though
she has a maiden sister who lives here in town and runs that little
millinery shop down the street, she has refused to give up the farm.  They
live way out in the Rijo Valley.  I wonder what brings her into town at
this hour."

After several minutes, the woman climbed down out of the carriage and
strode in near military fashion towards the surgery door.  An obviously
resistant youngster followed behind...seemingly as far behind as he dared.
She paused at the doorway and, when Hans caught up, gave him a vigorous
shove into the office.  "Goot morning, Herr Doctor," she greeted Ben in
broken English with a heavy Teutonic accent.  "It is goot...Ach! good...to
see you again after all these months.  This is Hans, my son.  May I speak
with you privately for ein Augenblick...ah, for ein moment?"  "Of course,
Mrs. Schmidt," the doctor answered.  "These are my sons and assistants, Jon
and Kelly.  Perhaps, boys, you might take Hans out back and show him the
experimental animals.  Just don't get too close to that rattler's cage.
She's striking at everything this morning."  At the mention of a "rattler,"
Hans broke into his first (faint) smile of the day and willingly followed
the boys towards the workroom.

Brave woman that she undoubtedly was, Norma Schmidt was not the soul of
delicacy.  Slightly embarrassed, trying her best to communicate, she burst
out, "Hans has come into heat!  The sheets are..."  When she came to a full
stop, obviously frustrated by this "verdammte Englisch," Ben smiled
reassuringly and said simply, "I understand."  Smiling sardonically, as if
a sergeant speaking to a slightly dense recruit who had finally spoken his
first halfway intelligent word, Frau Schmidt continued.  "I want him to be
well.  After Johann, I worry about his heart, but there are also things he
must understand.  A mother cannot tell him these things.  He has no big
brother, only big and little sisters.  My sister has never married.  I do
not know why.  She was very pretty.  My hired man cannot tell him.  I am
sure he has slept only with bad girls and cattle.  He is very stupid.
Perhaps, he only knows sheep!  I think" - and she gazed at the doctor as
does the wolf who finally has her prey in sight - "that YOU must tell him."
As if speaking to the wife of the most important banker in Boston,
Dr. Cabot smoothly assured Frau Schmidt that he would give Hans a complete
physical examination.  Further, he would not leave the surgery ignorant of
what was involved in becoming a man.  Reassured by being
treated...properly, the proud widow woman gathered herself together,
promised to be available at her sister's shop when they were finished, and
swept out of the surgery.

Having found the conversation deliciously funny, Ben went into the depths
of the surgery and retrieved Hans.  Having found the animals interesting
(and his mother having departed), he turned out to be a pretty nice kid.
"Your English is excellent," Ben allowed.  "Thank you, sir, Hans replied
politely.  "We have a little cooperative school out in the Rijo.  It's too
far to get into Shiloh every day.  Some of the mothers and older girls take
turns teaching in different homes.  If I ever missed a day of class - you
know...to take off fishin' with my friends - my mother would kill me!"
"Well, you're learning, Hans.  Why do you think your mother wants you to be
examined?" he asked abruptly.  "Well," the lad, murmured, "there was Dad.
I think she's worried that we might have heart problems, too."  "And..."
the doctor persisted.  The boy blushed and looked down at his clodhoppers.
"No problem, Hans.  Let's go into the back room where it's more private and
I'll check you out."

Having stripped down to his cotton drawers, a nervous and slightly
embarrassed Hans fidgeted as he sat on the edge of the examination table.
(Like most late Victorian males, his drawers had a buttoned waistband and
were between mid calf and ankle length.  Other than when they were riding,
both Jon and Kelly hated the long drawers and always had a girl at the
Chinese laundry cut and hem most of theirs at mid thigh length.  In the
western Nebraska winters, of course, everyone wore woolen longjohns.)
"When's your birthday, son?" Ben asked.  Hans mentioned an October date
slightly less than two months hence.  "Oh, so you're almost 13?"  the
doctor commented quietly as he took a careful, professional look at the
lad's physique.  "How does it feel to be almost a teenager?" Ben continued
as he informally ran his trained hands over the boy's upper body, pausing
occasionally to examine an organ or body part more seriously.  Hans blushed
and giggled.  He already felt some changes that were well underway!
"You'll be interested in this instrument," the doctor smoothly continued,
as he took his new stethoscope - the "state of the art" instrument he had
purchased in Boston just before leaving for the West - from around his
neck.  "Here, listen to my heart."  The youngster listened for a moment,
his face screwed up in concentration.  "Wow!" he exclaimed.  "It sounds
just like a big drum.  That's your heart?"  "Yep.  You get different sounds
out of a heart and, sometimes, they tell me what's going on.  Let me listen
to yours and then I'll give you a report."  Skillfully, he listened
intently to the boy's heart, as well as to his lungs.  "Sounds good, Hans,"
he reported.

"Roll your drawers down...just a little...and let me listen to your guts.
(Pause.)  "Ah, yes," he humorously commented, "you had oatmeal, a piece of
newly-baked bread, and an apple for breakfast!"  "NO!" the boy laughed.
"You're all wrong!  Were you wrong when you listened to my Dad's heart?" he
asked, just a touch of anger coming into his voice.  Ben inhaled sharply
before answering.  "Yep.  I didn't hear a thing wrong before it happened -
which just goes to show you that I can make a mistake like anyone else.  Do
you forgive me?"  An impressed twelve (almost 13) year-old mumbled, "Yeah,
I guess.  I make 'em, too.  I didn't see anything coming either.  Me and my
dad were working the south field and he just dropped...like a stone."
(Silently, he thought that this adult was a little different from most of
the ones he had met.  They wouldn't admit it if they added two and two and
got five.  As a matter of fact, he had seen one mother do just that on the
blackboard - and she never would admit that she was wrong!  I just wasn't
seeing well that day!)  Ben put his hands around the boy's head and drew it
into his chest for a moment before he continued.  "Ok, Hans, I'm going to
pound you to death."  "Huh?"  the wide-eyed youngster exclaimed.  "Lie back
on the table and prepare to die!" the doctor laughed as he pressed the
snickering kid back onto the table.  Educated, talented fingertips tapped
all over the boy's upper body, sending information to the doctor's brain.
As he prepared to finish, he tapped directly on some of Hans' "tickle
spots."  Naturally, the boy exploded into laughter and just about squirmed
off the table.  In the process, he threw his arms around Ben and hung on
for dear life.  Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he hastily dropped
his arms and turned a fine shade of "passion pink."  Ben simply
play-growled, lightly twisted an ear, and grinned.

"Ok, Kamerad, let's finish up.  Lift your butt."  Without dropping a beat -
or giving the lad time to think about it and become embarrassed - he rolled
the boy's drawers down off his long thin legs.  "Wow!" he exclaimed, taking
a step back from the table.  "Something's wrong?" Hans asked nervously.
"No...it's just...it's just that the last time I looked at you, you were a
boy."  "What's different?" Hans asked, fear flooding his voice.  "Last
time, you were a boy," Ben continued, "but today you are DEFINITELY a young
man.  Congratulations!"  "Oh-h-h-h-h..."  Hans growled, embarrassed beyond
words, but vaguely proud of the doctor's reaction.  "May I touch your body
in order to complete my examination?" a very experienced doctor asked.
"Yeah," mumbled the youngster, having decided that the "doc" was a good
guy.  (Besides, he was getting tired and wanted the examination to end.)
The physician separated his long colt- legs and gently fingered his
developing scrotum and the large grape-sized balls that it contained, as
well as the lengthening penis surmounted by a few dark wispy hairs on the
pubic mound above.  Slowly, he ran a finger up the seam of the scrotum and
the back of the penis, resulting in a solid grunt from Hans as his shaft
immediately erected to full staff.  "As I said, Hans, 'DEFINITELY a young
man!'"  No longer QUITE as sure that he was all that tired, the young man
blushed proudly.  Examining his buttocks, lower stomach, legs, and large
feet, the good doctor rapidly brought the physical to a close.  "You'll
live," he grunted.  "I have to tell you that you're one of the most
cooperative patients I've had in my surgery for a long time.  Thanks,
Hans!"  "Thank you, sir," Hans responded.  His mother might be
rather...Teutonic, but the boy had clearly learned some manners.

"Now what's the problem at home?" Ben smoothly asked.  There was no
question about Hans' wanting to tell him, but his face was beet red, his
throat had suddenly become congested, and his stress index was going
through the roof.  "Want me to take a guess?" Ben asked.  Clearing his
throat and hanging onto the sleeve of the doctor's white coat, he weakly
mumbled, "Yeah."  "Everything's fine when you go to bed, but sometimes when
you wake up in the morning, everything - you, the sheets...EVERYTHING - is
covered with a sticky, milky goo."  "Yeah!"  Hans breathed, relieved that
he had finally found SOMEONE who understood.  "What's happening to me,
doctor?" he asked in his most mature, business-like tone.  "Well you'll
remember those balls...testicles, yes?...that are growing in
your...scrotum.  As a guy gets older, they make that goo.  We call it
semen.  It's needed to make babies...later on," the doctor answered.  "If
you don't empty them now and then, the semen comes out of your body on its
own."  ("HA!  That little bastard Calvin was wrong," Hans thought.  "His
brains WEREN'T liquefying and coming out through his cock!  Besides, he now
understood a great deal - and, unlike the teacher, he could add 2 and 2!
After all, he had seen horses, and dogs, and cats on the farm.  He had even
watched his older sister and her boyfriend one night before his Dad had
caught them and fired a shotgun over Robbie's head as he ran for his
life!")

"You said, 'If you don't empty them now and then'," Hans continued
intelligently.  "How do you 'empty them,'" he continued with the slightest
hesitation.  "Well, Hans, that is something that's hard to describe.  You
have to see it happen and then have someone show you how to do it."  "Oh?"
Hans asked, immediately interested.  "You will instruct me, sir?"  Ben
reached out an arm and placed it around Hans' shoulders as he answered.
"That's a little embarrassing for me to do, Big Guy.  I think it would be
easier for me and, I think, more fun for you if the instructor were a
little closer to your own age.  What would you think of one of my sons
showing you?"  "That would be great, sir," the boy agreed.  "Which one
would you like me to call?" Ben asked.  "Well, they're both great guys.  If
only they were both my older brothers!  Jon was really kind to me earlier.
He even let me pet some of the animals and showed me some of your
experiments.  I think he wants to be a teacher some day."  Digesting this
little tidbit of information, Ben called up the stairs for Jon and had Hans
wrap a towel around his middle.

Several minutes later, his 17 year-old appeared, slicked up and wearing his
white doctor's coat.  (Had he a goatee, glasses, and a pipe, Ben thought,
he would probably have appeared with them as well!)  Very "professional" at
first, he loosened up immediately when he recognized Hans.  Ben explained
the problem and asked Jon if he would be willing to be part of the
solution.  "Well, hey, Hans," he replied, "I'm honored that you might be
interested in my helping you out.  I'm pretty much of an expert in these
matters."  ("Yeah," Ben thought, "so I've been hearing.") "How about it?
Want me to show you how it's done and then play the part of 'Big Brother'?"
However nervous and vaguely embarrassed, Hans found that the words "Big
Brother" settled the matter and he accepted Jon's help without delay.  As a
parting shot as he left for the workroom, Ben suggested that Jon show him
the use of the towel...which, as he put it, Kelly and he seemed to favor.
Casting a grunt and a look of teenaged indignation in his father's
direction, Jon turned to his new assignment.

"Ok, Hans, we need a model.  Do you mind if I strip off my pants and
drawers?"  "Oh, no, Jon," Hans breathed, minding not at all!  "Oh, wow!"
the boy exclaimed as Jon's drawers fell to the floor and he beheld the
largest cock he had ever seen.  "I saw my dad in the tub once, and HE
wasn't that big!  Will mine ever be that...enormous?"  "Well, young'un,"
Jon hrumphed - pleased as punch - "we're all different.  Besides," he
observed philosophically, "it's not how big it is, it's how well you know
how to use it.  Ok," he continued, "first thing you need to know is that a
man's cock kinda does what it wants.  Don't get upset when it just goes
hard at the worst possible time."  "Oh, yeah, Doc, that's happened to
me...in school.  What do you do?"  "Well, Doc Jon continued (seeing little
reason to correct Hans' slight misstatement), "an open book works pretty
well - and on the playground you can always drop to your knees and bend
over to retie your shoes."  (Next door, Ben just about let out an explosive
snort, but muffled it just in time.)

"But, now," Jon continued, "you want to know how to drain your balls
occasionally so as to stay out of trouble, right?"  "Yeah," Hans
breathed...with some difficulty.  "In that case you need to give your cock
a little help."  With that, the doctor laid his mighty weapon across his
palm and slowly squeezed it.  Cooperating, his schlong began to swell, the
foreskin retracting to show its reddened head.  Hans watched intently.  "By
the way, Hans-boy, always wash under there when you take a bath - you
see...where the foreskin pulls back off the rim.  If you don't, it can
smell bad and even cause an infection."  "Right!" Hans murmured.  Jon
whispered, "Now watch," as he began lightly to stroke his monster which was
cooperating beautifully.  "You can make it feel really good by taking a
little of that liquid - we call it precum - and rubbing it around the head.
See?  Also, see that little triangle where the two parts of the head come
together.  Hit that, too."  Within seconds, of course, Jon's cock was
extended in all its glory - precum flowing from the piss slit, every part
outlined in flesh so shiny that it seemed to illuminate the room with a red
glow.  Kinda like a tall lighthouse with a red lens...  "Ok, Hans, you've
seen me do it.  Now put your hand on my cock and show me that you know how
it's done."  Looking as if he might have the feared heart attack at any
minute, Hans gingerly reached out his hand.  Just as he was about to
pounce, however, Jon's cock gave a mighty lurch, causing Hans to jump about
two feet into the air.  "That's ok, Hans-boy; just grip it gently and
rub...rub...rub...oh, yeah!"  Not a minute passed before the explosion
came, an explosion that just about inundated the poor kid holding the happy
monster in milky white, sticky, goo.  "What do I do now?" Hans gulped.
"Well, you could lick it off," Jon advised - until, that is, he saw the
look on Hans' face.  "Personally," he continued quickly, "I prefer to take
a small towel to bed with me for cleanup.  It's a hell of a lot easier to
wash than a pile of sheets.  Just keep it where your mother or sisters
aren't likely to find it!"  "Wow!" Hans exclaimed.  "That's so easy!"

"One more part to the lesson," Jon said as he grinned fondly at his Little
Brother.  "Off with the towel and show me!  I'll help, but only if you need
it."  Proudly, full of manly confidence, Hans tossed his towel onto the
table and fumbled for his dong.  "Hey, man, that's a good one," Jon said,
one man to another.  "And you're only 13?"  (Hans wasn't about to correct
THAT mistake!)  Naturally, he was hard before the towel was off - and it
didn't exactly stretch across his palm...but what the hell!  He stroked; he
moaned; he hit all the right places; he groaned; and, in time, he produced
a pretty damned good sized load.  "Thanks, Doc," he breathed, his head
pressed against Big Brother's chest as Jon held him upright on his very
shaky colt-legs.  "If you have any further questions, you need only ask,"
Jon said earnestly.  "I don't normally do house calls, but someone will get
the message to me.  Ok?"  Hans grinned appreciatively.  He had a Big
Brother!  Within a short time, he was cleaned up, dressed, and off to find
his mother downtown.

As Jon stopped by the workroom next door, he found his dad bent over the
counter, his shoulders shaking, his hands covering his face.  "Nice job,
Doctor," Ben managed to choke out.  Jon looked at him in bewilderment
before he ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.  Fathers...

(Doctor Cabot's Sons)

When he had finally composed himself, Ben returned upstairs to find Jon
working on a project in his bedroom, yelled for Kelly to finish his bath
quickly, and set a few things out on the dining area table.  Hearing a
light knock on the outside door, he quietly opened it to find Barry,
Whitey, and a couple of other younger troopers from the Post.  Each carried
a small package.  They were quickly jointed by the Culpeppers, Sam having
pulled the wagon around to the side.  Linda Culpepper carried an enormous
cake.  Sam had two large parcels, an enormous tub of homemade ice cream
packed in ice, and a birthday tablecloth that was promptly put into
service.  Ben dragged sandwiches and other food and drink out of the cooler
and stacked it on the table.

"Lunch's on!" Ben yelled down the hall.  "Come and get it!"  Fortunately,
Kelly had put his pants on, though he still hadn't gotten to his shoes and
wore a towel around his neck rather than a shirt.  Seeing Mrs. Culpepper,
he let out a yelp and headed back to the bedroom on the double.  He was
back in a flash, buttoning the shirt as he ran.  As he screeched around the
corner, everybody yelled, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"  Reflecting that you don't put
one over on teenagers very often, Ben enjoyed every moment of the birthday
luncheon that followed.  By common agreement, the boys had always
celebrated their birthdays on the same day, even though Kelly's came
several days earlier and Jon's, several days later.  It was simply THEIR
birthday.  Having their friends about them pleased them both no end - and
the small gifts that they received simply capped their pleasure.  In some
ways, it was a good thing that there were two of them.  Ben wasn't quite
sure how she had accomplished it, but Linda's large, thickly frosted
three-layer cake held 32 candles, 17 for Jon, 15 for Kelly.  It took their
combined lung power to blow them all out in one puff.  Laughing at their
huffing and puffing, the company immediately broke into a...unique singing
of the birthday song.  Nevertheless, what it lacked in musical quality, it
fully made up for in sentiment and, not surprisingly, sheer volume!

Finally, the Captain felt forced to tell his young troopers that they were
due back at the Post and, after repeated good wishes for Jon and Kelly,
they and the Culpeppers departed.  Ben looked down at his happy kids who
sat chattering excitedly among the few remaining bits of cake and food,
scraps of wrapping paper, and unwrapped gifts.  Before we go back to work,
guys, there's one more thing I'd like to mention to you.  You know you're
my sons.  Just about everybody in town calls you "the Cabot kids."  If
anything should ever happen to me, everything that I have would be yours -
but I'd like to do more.  Would you possibly consider allowing me to adopt
you legally, to make you my sons in the only way that you aren't at this
moment?

In his wildest dreams, Ben could not have begun to anticipate the results
of his question.  Kelly, his big, muscular 15 year-old simply collapsed
into tears, burying his head into his hands.  Jon, broad of shoulder and
big of heart, sat with a shocked expression on his face, tears slowly
trickling down his cheeks.  Misinterpreting their reactions, Ben said
quietly that it didn't HAVE to be, that they ALREADY WERE his sons in every
way that counted.  Hearing the note of sadness that had crept into his
voice despite his best efforts, the two big, beautiful kids instantly
recovered, jumped out of their chairs, and literally threw themselves on
their father.  As he fell backwards in the chair onto the floor, he found
himself inundated by joy.  "Does that answer your question, Dad?" Kelly
asked.  "Yeah, Dad, does it?" Jon echoed, adding that they'd just decided
that adoption wasn't going to happen and had made peace with it.  Trying
his damnedest to dodge their wet kisses and bone-jarring hugs, Ben allowed
that it did.  "Ok, monsters, I'll begin the process.  It'll take a while.
The Children's Bureau in New York has to give me a certificate, there's
bound to be more paperwork, and my lawyer has to ask the Court to hear my
request.  Sooner or later, however, a Judge will ask each of us if this is
what he really wants - and if each of us agrees, he'll make it happen."
"Just like a marriage ceremony?"  Kelly asked.  "Yep," Ben answered, "just
like a marriage ceremony."  Kelly grinned - and began thinking lecherously
about bedtime.

(The Shiloh National Bank)

Ezra Matthews sat comfortably in his office at the Shiloh National Bank.
The impressive new brick building on Main Street symbolized his
metamorphosis from the respected owner of the Emporium to the foremost
banker in far-western Nebraska.  It had been a good lunch at the Crystal
Palace - indeed, the heavy gold chain that stretched across his ample
paunch felt just a tad tight.  Still, it was important to demonstrate to
the local citizens that he was successful and worthy of their trust and
confidence.  Instinctively, he knew that his appearance was an important to
his life as a banker as, say, the feathered boas on the showgirls at the
Palace.

Inasmuch as no herds were expected in the stockyards until Thursday, it had
been a relatively peaceful day.  Yes, there had been the weekend deposits
by staff from the Crystal Palace and Kitty's Place, as well as the usual
walk-in customer business, but that was par for the course.  Come Wednesday
and Thursday, everyone would earn his paycheck!

Suddenly, the doors of the bank crashed open and three heavily-armed men
rushed in, one stationing himself near the door.  The apparent leader of
the gang yelled for everyone not to move and motioned for Ezra to come
forward.  "We want the money in the tills and in the safe," he said in a
low, ominous voice.  "Whether we get it or hafta hurt some people is kinda
up to you."  Ezra swallowed convulsively and told his two tellers to give
up the cash at their stations.  The third desperado snarled for the one
customer in the bank to get down on the floor and then moved around in back
of the tellers to supervise their loading cash into small sacks.  The
leader went with Ezra over to the great safe which stood in an alcove next
to his office.  "Your choice," the bandit growled.  Ezra removed the key
from a chain and opened the safe.  Ordering the banker to lie on the floor
- and stay there - the desperado rummaged through the safe, removing
several sacks of gold coin and large stacks of bills that he crammed into a
small sack.  "If you move, you're a dead man," he growled as he backed out
of the alcove.  Together with his partner, they backed slowly out of the
lobby.  As their concentration was broken by having to move around a
writing desk in the middle of the room, one of the tellers raised a
concealed pistol and fired, hitting one of the men in the shoulder.  The
other returned fire, hitting the teller and dropping him.  As Ezra rose and
hurried over to the teller who he feared was dead, the laden men reached
their horses, loaded the money in saddlebags, mounted, and turned down Main
Street.  The second teller reached the door and screamed, "Bank robbery!
Bank robbery!  Stop the thieves!" as they raced away.

Within seconds, Main Street became a blazing gauntlet of fire.  Several
cowboys had been on the street; three homesteader wagons had been in front
of stores, the men waiting while their wives shopped for necessities.  Like
all prototypical westerners, they had their guns with them - and they and
their sons knew how to use them.  One shopkeeper ran out into the street
with a heavy shotgun and blazed away!  As Ezra ordered the second teller to
"Got get Doc Cabot...  quick!" two of the desperados and their horses
dropped to the ground, riddled with bullets and shot.  A third managed to
get away, but his body was found the next day, his head and upper torso
submerged in Lodgepole Creek.  (With five bullets in his body, it was a
wonder that he made it that far!)  Under the eagle eye of the sheriff's
deputy, the money - other than for, perhaps, a coin here and a coin there -
was recovered and returned to the bank.

As Ben Cabot rushed into the bank, he found the Sheriff talking with Ezra.
"What's up, gentlemen?" he asked.  "Gunshot victim, Ben...unconscious," the
Sheriff said, motioning towards a man who lay nearby on the floor.  "Ezra
can fill you in on his background after you've checked him out."  "Tyler
Coleman..." Ezra blurted out.

The young man (probably in his mid twenties) was still breathing, although
he had lost a good deal of blood.  Ben examined him as best he could,
although under present circumstances it was impossible to tell what damage
the bullet had done in his abdomen.  Ben was saddened by the thought that
Shiloh's hospital was still but an idea inside his brain...a mere promise
of things to come.  Ezra brought two husky lads to his side who had come
over from the Emporium with a door from Building Supplies.  Carefully, they
lifted Tyler onto it and headed over to the surgery.  After Bed had cut and
otherwise removed the clothes from his body, they lifted him onto the
examination table and left with his thanks and a few coins.

Having just returned home and cleaned up, Kelly immediately took over
preparing Tyler for surgery as his father probed his abdomen and intently
listened with his stethoscope.  He could feel the bullet.  "Was it possible
that it was spent and hadn't done any lethal damage?
Infection...infection...that could kill him," Ben mumbled to himself.
Making a quick decision, he removed the bullet and thoroughly irrigated its
path with solutions from his workroom.  Its condition immediately told him
that its force HAD been partially spent before it could do even worse
internal damage - possibly by one of the light bars on the teller's window.
Finding no organ that seemed to have been damaged, he bandaged the wound
and did nothing more surgically.  Turning to Kelly, he said, "We'll know
more in the morning, Big Stuff.  How about going upstairs and fixing us a
little chow?"  As he moved towards the door, Kelly gently kissed his dad on
the back of the neck and left to do his bidding.

For the first time, Ben "saw" the young man who lay pale and unconscious on
his operating table.  "Tyler Coleman from Laramie..." he mumbled to
himself.  "Twenty-five, maybe 26...and no professional bank teller!  This
man has spent a lot of time in the outdoors."  And so it appeared.  A
shaggy mop of strawberry blond hair surmounted a face that had to be
handsome under lesser stress...a beautiful jaw line...and a thick, athletic
neck.  His well-defined shoulders and arms were heavy as were his pecs and
abdominal muscles.  His upper body was lightly haired; his lower body, more
heavily so.  A long, heavy cock peered out from his thick public bush of
slightly darker reddish hair.  A substantial scrotum that held two large
testicles lay between a pair of muscled thighs and calves that again
suggested a vigorous outdoor life.  "He's done his share of rough hiking,
"Ben thought.  "All things considered, Tyler Coleman, you are one
good-looking hombre!  Wonder what you were doing in a bank?"

The night was long.  When Jon returned, he and Kelly spelled their father
for a while so that he could get a short nap.  They knew well when to wake
him.  When Ben returned downstairs, he was told that Tyler had been uneasy
on a couple of occasions and seemed to be a little warm, but he had relaxed
without regaining consciousness.  Sending the boys upstairs to bed, Ben
took over.  At first light, he answered a light knock on the front door to
find Ezra standing in the rain.  "How's Tyler?" his friend asked nervously
as he stepped inside.  "He's obviously better, Ezra.  Right now he's
sleeping soundly, and I'm inclined to let him sleep until he wakes up
naturally."  At that point, a sleepy-eyed Kelly, evidently awakened by the
knock on the door, staggered into the office.  "Mornin', Dad," he grunted,
"Mornin', Mr. Matthews."  "Ben, I need to talk with you for a minute," Ezra
said after nodding to Kelly.  "What's the chances of our grabbing an early
breakfast at the Palace and letting Kelly watch your patient for a little
while?"  "Kelly?" Ben inquired.  "No problem, Dad," his 15 year-old
mumbled.  "Go."

The bar at the Crystal Palace was still going full swing as Ben and Ezra
entered, but there were a few free tables over at the side.  In only
minutes, they were munching on bacon and eggs and sipping some good coffee.
"Ben, I'm sorry that we didn't get to talk yesterday," Ezra began.  "No
problem, Ezra," Ben responded.  "We were both a little busy.  What's the
problem?"  Ezra gave him the obviously "short version" of the story.  Tyler
had ridden in some weeks before and asked him for a job.  Nothing was open
at the Emporium, but he did have an unexpected opening for a teller at the
bank.  Tyler, the son of a Laramie acquaintance he had known for most of
his adult life, didn't strike him as quite the type, but the young man
turned out to be intelligent, polite, and hardworking.  On one occasion,
Tyler had let it slip that he left Laramie when he had troubles with his
boss.  This, in turn, had led to a big row with his family.  Ezra thought
he seemed...troubled, but had asked no questions.  "I don't know why, Ben,
but I just like the young man.  Take care of him, will you?  I'll take care
of any charges that he can't handle."  Ben nodded and rose.  "Gotta get
back," he said affably.  Looking at his rapidly expanding friend, he added,
"By the way, watch those rich foods and cakes.  I don't want to see you
stretched out on my table for a few years yet!"  They grinned as Ben threw
his slicker back on and departed.

Resuming his place beside the table, Ben settled back.  In less than half
an hour, the young man from Laramie began to stir.  Slowly, he came awake,
grimacing as he tried to sit up on the table.  "Am I alive?" he grunted as
he saw Ben.  "Sorry, Tyler, but I'm your doctor.  As yet, no one has ever
accused me of being an angel!  Lie back now and tell me how you feel."  "My
middle is sore as hell, Doc, but otherwise I feel pretty good.  What's the
chance of a little something to eat?"  "I'll have one of my boys bring down
something light," Ben answered.  "If it goes down easily - and stays down -
I'll do a bit better by you at suppertime.  Ok?"  "Yeah, ok, Doc - and
thanks. (Pause.)  I'm not a very good shot, am I?  Never could hit a Griz
[Grizzly Bear] at three paces!" he laughed in a way that almost approached
a very youthful giggle.

At around ten o'clock, a youngster who worked for the telegraph company
splashed down the street from the train station and handed the good doctor
a wire.  After giving him a nice tip, he stood in the office reading it.
His Boston attorneys reassured him that they had weathered the New York
stock market crash of eighteen September.  His money was safe - indeed, the
mansion had already been sold for a handsome price.  They were prepared to
transfer funds at his request - perhaps to his local bank?


(To Be Continued)