"Why didn't . . . you marry . . . Rose?"
It was a reasonable question, and if the man that asked it hadn't been bleeding all over the saloon floor I might have taken the time to answer it. But this was no ordinary man, and no stranger to me. This was my old friend Anderson Garrett, and he was bleeding heavily while Willie hurried up the street after Simon Petry.
We'd been trying for over a week to prevent this, or something even worse, from happening, and we'd evidently not succeeded. And as I leaned over Anderson and encouraged him to hang on, I felt like I hadn't done enough for the man that at one time wanted to be my father-in-law.
That was a long time ago, and my entire life had changed since then. Anderson's had changed, too, not necessarily for the better, and so had his daughter's, the aforementioned Rose. But we were in my hometown, Little Bend, Texas, and we thought Anderson was safe.
Doctor Simon Petry got to the saloon and took a quick look at the bullet wound, then turned his attention to me. "Help me get him back to my office, would you, Bart? I need to take the bullet out, and I can't do it here."
"Sure, Simon. Come on, Anderson, let's get you up," I suggested as I got on Anderson's uninjured side and helped him to his feet. He draped his arm over my shoulders, and we began the walk to Simon's office, four doors up the street. Into the exam room, which I'd seen too many times to count, and then out to the waiting room. I sat there for more than an hour before I got any word from Simon, and I thought back over this visit, and wondered what Anderson's next move was gonna be.