"It's not what you take when you leave this world behind you,

It's what you leave behind you when you go."

(From the song, 'Three Wooden Crosses' written by Kim Williams and Douglas Johnson and recorded by Randy Travis.)

The Diary 10. The Final chapter

I know that over the last few months I have grown weaker and for a few days now I have not felt so well. I feel my heart missing beats, and sometimes there is a pain in my chest. I have to hurry if I want to finish my diary. I manage to gather up my papers and several short notes I have written to put them together in this old leather brief case. About a week ago I made out a will, not that I have much to leave to anyone, but there are a few sentimental objects that I want to go to certain people

I asked Ben to get my buggy brought up from the stable for me. He starts to object,

"Its alright," I tell him, "I know what I'm doing – just one last time."

He asked if I wanted him to come with me, but this was something I wanted to enjoy alone.

I headed the buggy out to that bend in the river where I had so often gone fishing. I knew I did not have the strength to get out and walk to the waters edge, but I could see the spot quite well from here. As if it were yesterday, I remembered the first time Matt and I came here to fish, so many years ago. I had been waiting to leave for California, but in spite of all my plans, that journey never happened. That was over a third of a century ago now. Things had changed so much in that time. For a start Dodge was no longer the wild town it had been. The buffalo trade and then the cattle had gone, along with the cowboys that drove them. The Long Branch was still there, but I knew very little of the owners and only a few of the customers now. There was still a US Marshal's office at the end of Front Street, but Matt Dillon was no longer there. Even old Jonas's Hardware Store was under different management, and I had seen a so-called Horseless Carriage on the streets on the streets of Dodge.

I took out my pen and ink, just a few more words to write and then it would be done.

I have documented so much of the lives of my family of friends, and some of my own. There were many other people that touched our lives during those years. They all deserve a mention.

There was Quint Asper. His father was a white man and his mother had been a Comanche Indian. His father had been killed by rogue white men, and he had turned back to his native tribe for comfort. Eventually that did not work out either and Matt persuaded him to come to Dodge. He stayed for several years, running a successful blacksmith shop. He and Matt became close friends. Quint had a great knowledge of the local Indian tribes, and could track anything that moved. Often he would ride out with Matt if his skills were needed. He would have put his life on the line for the big Marshal if necessary.

Then there was Thad, Clayton Thaddeus Greenwood to be accurate, the young straw haired boy that Matt took on as a deputy for several years. As innocent and naïve as he was when he first arrived in Dodge, he had definitely turned out to be a good friend to us all. I think Matt taught him a lot about life and people, as well as the law.

Louis Pheeters inhabited our town for many years. He had a terrible drinking problem, but beneath all that he was a decent man, probably well educated and affluent at one time. Like most people in Dodge his story remained a mystery. Matt kept an eye on him whenever he could, giving him odd jobs from time to time, even leaving him in charge of the jail when he had no other help. Louis would straighten up for a while, but the bottle always called him back. Many nights Matt would call me down to the jail where he had Louis laid up on one of the cots, suffering from the demons that were either the cause or the result of his addiction.

Moss Grimmick who ran the stable, Joe who waited table at Delmonico's. Then of course there were the stage drivers that came through on a regular basis. So many people I cannot remember them all.

Last there is Newly – last because he is still around, the last connection with my family of friends that had made Dodge what it was in my day.

It is getting difficult to see now. I must put my pen away and get these papers back in the case. Maybe I can try to take one more look at the fishing hole. I can see us there now, plain as day, the young ambitious marshal and the somewhat tarnished physician, just like we were all those years ago.

If I turn the buggy round and flip the lines maybe this horse can take me home.

Epilogue Added by Dr. Ben Hollister.

About ten days after Adams's last entry I added the following words. It seemed to me that his diary needed a satisfactory ending, an epilogue so to speak.

I heard the old buggy stop in the street by the office. Looking out the window I saw him slumped in the seat, the lines lose in his hands.

I rushed down the stairs. Jumping into the buggy I found his wrist. There was still a pulse, not a healthy one, but it was still trying. I got one of the men on the street to help, and we carried the elderly physician upstairs and laid him in his bed. The man left saying he would take the buggy back to the stables. He returned a while later with an old battered brief case.

"This was in the buggy," he said handing it to me. "How is he?" he asked me

I removed the stethoscope from my ears and shook my head.

"He was a good man," the man said shaking his head as he left.

Over the next few days several of the older citizens of Dodge came to check on their friend and physician.

A couple of times he spoke a few words to me, mostly about the old brief case. I managed to get him to sip a little water and on the couple of occasions he demanded whisky, I obliged. Once or twice when he seemed to be in pain I injected him with a little morphine. On the whole he was very peaceful, just lying there.

Almost a week had passed. I didn't think he would last the night. I heard footsteps on the stairs, there was a very tall man, probably, at one time he was even taller. With him a woman, she still carried the beauty of youth but her red hair had a few streaks of grey running through it. As they knocked and come through the door, I knew who they were even before the man introduced himself.

"Matt Dillon," he said holding out a large calloused hand. "This is my wife Kitty. We came to see Doc, I hope we are in time."

He looked towards the back room

"Yes he's still with us, but only just, go on in."

They go inside the room. The woman sat by the bed and took the frail old hand in hers. The man stood by her side with his hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"Doc it's us", she said. " Its Kitty and Matt, we came to see you."

The old man's eyes fluttered. I knew he heard.

I eased out of the room. "I'll be here if you need me," I told them.

They stayed all night, by morning the marshal called me to go in there. I listened with my stethoscope. Nothing, it was over. I pulled the sheet to cover his face.

Dillon arranged the funeral, not on Boot hill or at the church cemetery, but out by a small bend in the Arkansas River. He conducted the service himself. It was quiet, not too long, but very meaningful. The woman stood close by his side. I looked around and realized that there are other people there, a skinny man with a stiff leg, an old hill man wearing jangly spurs and a tall lanky man slightly grey but still with straw colored hair, and of course Newly. To my surprise I saw one of my professors from the medical college, I wondered what he was doing here. Before he turned to go I asked him. He smiled at me, "Why do you think I told you to come to Dodge? I knew Doc Adams from years ago. He was a special man and a great physician. I learned a lot from him and I thought you might do the same. Then, just maybe, there was a chance you would be good enough to fill his shoes one day."

He shook hands with the other people there by the bank of the river and quietly left. Someone had planted a simple grave marker. It said "G. Adams, Physician," and the date of his passing. I guess no one knew exactly the date of his birth.

I recognized them all from my old friends writings. These were the people that made Dodge what it is today.

Afterwards we went back to what is now my office. There was a will that needed to be read.

I get out a bottle of whisky and some glasses. Then I put the will on the table. "You read it I say to Newly."

To my dear friends and 'family,'

So my time has come. Just wanted to let you know what you all meant to me, and how you all made Dodge what it was in those days, and what it has become.

Thank you my friends, you all helped make my years in this city so meaningful.

I don't leave much behind, but Ben, this practice is yours now, and I know you will take good care of it. I leave you everything associated with it, except for my old bullet probe and forceps, not much call for them now anyway. I want Matt to have them. He will understand.

Matt, also take my black bag to remember me by. Kitty there is a pair of gold cufflinks engraved with my initials that you gave me many years ago. You don't know how much I treasured them. Please take them back and keep them safe.

Lastly there is my shingle. Kitty and Matt, I hope you finally got your place set up the way you wanted. Please take it and hang it over your fireplace, that way I will never be far from you.

Finally Chester, please take my pocket watch and remember the times we had, and Festus my spectacles, just in case you ever learn to read.

To each of you I have written a note. Please take it home and read it later. (I know that Festus might be in need some help there!)

Goodbye from your friend Galen Adams.

It was peaceful after that, no one said much. All the people left quietly, one by one, until only the Marshal and his wife remained. Doc had left a small envelope especially for me to hand to these people privately. He had never had a significant amount of money, but he had taken his last two hundred dollars from the bank. He wanted it to go to Matt and Kitty's son. One day he hoped he might want to study medicine and this would help him on his way.

Dillon came over and shook my hand. "Just you take good care of the people of Dodge," he said, and then they both shook my hand.

As quietly as they had arrived, they left. I never knew who had told them to come, but I guessed it had to have been Newly.

I have read the diary, and written the final scenes. I thought the ex marshal and his wife would appreciate a copy, also the man with the stiff leg and several of the others.

I will send this to some friends in Baltimore, where I can get it printed and several copies made. The original of course will go to Dillon and his wife. Newly will see that it gets to them and the other people, I'm sure.

I looked out of the window at this city. I was proud to be part of it and honored to have known these people that contributed so much to its very existence, especially my friend and teacher, Dr. Galen Adams.

The End