THE MAVERICK

"Doc," "Doc Luce," "The Maverick Doctor".... these are just some of the names people use when referring to Sam Luce. The names vary, but the regard is the same: Sam Luce is a legend down in the Blúe.

We'd have met Sam Luce much sooner had it not been for the dogs. Two of them - part German shepherd, part redtick coonhound - began barking as soon as we pulled through the gate at the end of Luce Ranch Road. They didn't stop. Not when we parked the cars. Not when photographer Scott Baxter called out for Luce. Not when we wandered into the shade to let the dogs settle, then attempted again our slow approach to the front door. We would be patient, though, because we'd heard about these dogs, Oso and Judy. Luce has them to keep wolves off his property. The dogs are beautiful and big. And loud. Besides, it was the kind of day you lock away in your memory for when the weather turns viciously hot or bitterly cold - the kind where the breeze stirs apple blossoms and the smell of earth mixes with the warmth of sun and you feel spring somewhere in your bones. We nuzzled a pony that grazed in a small patch of grass and made small talk as the minutes passed. And then Sam Luce appeared in his sunroom like a spirit. He called out to go ahead and make our way to the door. He would meet us there, and the dogs would be "just fine."

Several of Luce's fiddles line one of the walls in his living room. Luce put himself through medical school-in part -by playing in a dance band.

DOWN ALONG CAMPBELL BLUE CREEK,

Luce is a legend. “Doc.” “Doc Luce.” “The Maverick Doctor.” These are just some of the names you hear in nearby Alpine when you mention you've been down to visit him. Then the people there will spin their own story or two about the time Doc Luce ...

But when Luce answers the door in bare feet and handmade cowhide pants, running his fingers through his fine gray hair, there's a glimmer in his eyes that says his own stories will be the best.

At 85 years old and 5 feet, 5 inches, Luce moves in the manner of someone a half-century younger. He is neither slowed by age nor feebled by a life lived the way he wanted it. He is, if a person had to describe him, spry. Bright. Brave.

“My wife and I had medical practices in Estes Park, Colorado,” Luce says as he curls into a beige recliner that matches his shirt and pants. “But Julie was a pediatrician who decided to be a psychiatrist, and her practice just got busier and busier.” He, too, was in demand, as an emergency-room doctor.

They'd been in Estes Park because it afforded them a chance to ride their horses - she was a champion equestrian and horse jumper, he a former jockey and explore the outdoors during their time off.

“It started off being fairly nice - it was a small town,” Luce says. “But as time went on, the business got busier and busier, and we weren't able to use our horses and go riding. We ended up having three kids, and we liked to take them on trips, and we wanted more time. So, after the summer rush in Estes Park one fall, we decided to take a look and see if we could find a small area that wouldn't be very busy.” They found Blue.

And when they did, one of the residents said the tiny community needed a schoolteacher.

“I understand the two of you are doctors, so you went to school, didn't you?” Luce remembers the man saying. He laughs, and his blue eyes flash. “Julie said, 'Well, I'd like to teach at a school like this.' So, we decided there were possibilities.” The one-room school came with a house, and they imagined that life on the Blue could be a retirement of sorts. So the Luces gathered their children and went west.

After a while, people discovered that the Luces were doctors and would stop by with minor ailments, but, for the most part, the family had settled quietly into its new routine. And there were, of course, a few major traumas over the years.

As it turns out, the story about the man shooting himself in the kneecap is true. As is one about a man who battered his skull in a terrible Life on the Blue is simple. And it isn't. There is peace. The silence of space. the running of water: The colors of dirt and sky and field. There is a dull and lovely sense of isolation.