Doc Adams thanked the mail clerk at the post office as he collected the mail for the jail, the Long Branch and himself, something he didn't mind doing, first thing in the morning. The doctor quickly sifted through his mail to see if there was anything of importance, but nothing leaped out at him. Doc stuffed Kitty's mail into his coat pocket as he glanced through Matt's mail as he slowly made his way along the boardwalk toward the Long Branch Saloon – every now and again he's look up to make sure he was still on track and not about to be run over by cart, wagons, horses or people.

Dodge was quickly waking up; milk carts and other delivery vehicles were busy up and down the street. The doctor had to pause every now and then to allow a wagon to pass, as he wove his way across the street toward the saloon.

Louie Pheeters stood out front to the Long Branch, and Doc smiled at the old man, knowing full well that Louie would much rather be on the front side of the bar rather than the back. For the old man's sake, he hoped that Matt and the posse returned soon and that Sam could take his rightful place behind the long wooden bar.

Pheeters looked tired; the late nights and early mornings were not usual for him, "Morning, Doc," he sighed as he half swept the boardwalk.

"Good morning, Louie," the doctor smiled. "You're doing a fine job," he said ticking his head, while watching the older man brush the broom across the wooden planks of the boardwalk.

Louie stopped sweeping, "Miss Kitty is inside," Pheeters said proudly. "I made her some coffee," he smiled wearily as he continued to poke at the sand on the wooden walk.

"That was very good of you, Louie," Doc said as he stepped past Louie and entered the saloon. The doctor stepped down into the establishment and crossed the floor, stopping at the bar, almost testing his boundary with the saloon owner.

Kitty sat at her table at the back of the room, "Come and have a coffee with me, Doc," she said as she poured coffee into a second cup on the table, as if she expected someone to visit.

"Don't mind if I do," Doc said as he ambled across the floor taking a seat next to Kitty. "How are you doing today," he asked in a more professional tone, his eyes studying Kitty's bruised face. He blinked his eyes as he did when he was concerned.

Kitty sipped from her cup, "Better. You know I'll manage," she said looking over to the physician.

Doc nodded in approval before he took a sip from his hot cup of coffee, "Just don't forget that you have a lot of help if and when you need it," Doc softly stated.

Kitty tried to smile, "I know," she whispered. "It's just such a personal thing, Doc," she said with hurt and sorrow in her voice. She knew what Doc meant, and rightfully so, but she was the one that had to deal with the pain, terror and anxiety, and she was the one that had to control her emotions – encouragement helped, but it didn't take the reality away.

The doctor studied Kitty a while longer. He thought he was surprised that Kitty felt the way she did, but he knew her character well. Kitty Russell was an incredibly strong woman. With a long silence, Doc took another sip of coffee and quickly made a face, "Louie's coffee is..." he said as he snacked his lips together.

"It does leave a little to be desired," Kitty as she looked down at her own cup, with a slight twinkle in her deep blue eyes.

Doc hid his smirk, "Oh, I just about forgot," he exclaimed as he pulled Kitty's mail from his coat pocket and placed it on the green felt covered table near Kitty.

"Thanks, Doc," Kitty said as she picked up the pile and glanced through it. Slowly her eyes then lifted to Doc's, "Have you heard anything from Matt?" she asked.

Doc sighed and shook his head no, while staring into his cup, "Not a word from anywhere or anyone," he then huffed. "Believe me, I wish we knew something. Anything," he said looking up from his coffee.

Kitty stared down at the table trying to keep her thoughts and emotions in check. Her lips were drawn into a thin line. Doc heard her sigh, and gently place his hand on her forearm hoping to easy her angst– he felt Kitty flinch and tighten. He quickly pulled his hand away, only to have Kitty take it, "I'm sorry Doc," she said looking into her dearest friend's eyes.

"No, I should have thought," Doc apologized, looking down at Kitty's hands wrapped around his.

"I just need time," Kitty smiled, tenderly squeezing the doctor's hand. Doc nodded and smiled back as he stood. "I'll be back later," he said as he slowly pulled his hand away.

"We'll have a drink together," Kitty said. "I look forward to it," Doc said as he brushed his right hand across his moustache. And with a tick of his head he bid the saloon owner adieu and left the Long Branch in search of Festus Haggen.

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Bret Ashley trashed around on the doctor's examination table, "Hold him down, will you?" doctor Bancroft ordered his assistant, even sheriff Wells stepped in to help. Finally the two men had Ashley pinned to the table, "Let go of me," Ashley growled.

"Not right now, son. You've taken quite a tumble and by the looks of your leg you've been shot," Bancroft pointed out.

Ashley was too weak to argue and finally when limp, "I wasn't shot," he mumbled.

Bancroft looked up at the sheriff, "I've seen a lot of wounds in my day, and I know a gun shot wound when I see one," he stated firmly. Wells made a face, knowing the doctor was referring to him as the target he dug most bullets out of.

Sheriff Wells folded his arms across his chest, "Care to explain?" he asked Ashley.

"I said it isn't a bullet wound. I caught my leg on barbed wire," Ashley hissed.

Bancroft shook his head no, "I'd sure like to see that wire," he huffed. "You were either running into something or running away from something," the doctor suggested looking up at Wells.

"People just don't get shot in the leg, do they?" sheriff Wells mused. "How about telling us what really happened. Are you in trouble? We can help," he offered.

Bret Ashley looked up at the sheriff, "It ain't a bullet wound," he snapped again, this time he draped his left arm across his eyes, "My side hurts," he mumbled.

"The way you fell, it's a miracle that you didn't break your neck," Bancroft said as he cut Ashley's trousers away from the wound. Infection had set in, "This will take a while to clean up and heal," he said looking up at the sheriff. "It's only a few days old," he added.

Wells pursed his lips, "See what you can do for him and get whatever information you can. This doesn't sound right to me," he stated as he walked to the doctor's office door.

Bancroft looked up, "Thanks," he grunted sarcastically.

Walls shot the doctor a look and pulled the door open just as his deputy Dan O'Connor reached for the knob. Wells noted the look on O'Connor's face, "What's up?" he asked stepping through pulling the door closed.

"There's a marshal Dillon and a posse at the office wanting to see you," O'Connor huffed.

"Is that a fact?" Wells said as he slowly looked over his shoulder to closed door of the doctor's office, now wondering more about the man with the bullet wound. Wells' eyes narrowed in thought, "Let's go see what Dillon has to say."