In the few days of our empty lives, who knows how our days can best be spent?  And who can tell what will happen in the future after we are gone?”  –Ecclesiastes 6:12 (NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     McBride made his train and went home for Christmas and things had settled down to normal, whatever that is, after the incident in the diner.  Two men walked in, catching me by surprise.  With one on each side of me there was no way I could get both men.

     But the Lord intervened.  I remember throwing myself off my chair to my left, drawing my gun at the same time.  When I looked for my assailant all I saw was the pot-bellied stove.  Then the voice of McBride rang out as he came from the kitchen.  “You touch that gun and you’ll never see another Christmas.”

     The man threw his hands in the air, but either the other man didn’t hear or see, or was just all-fire ready to do something stupid, and he jerked his gun.  I didn’t see what happened, but I heard a shot, and a thud as the man hit the wooden floor.  Slowly I pulled myself up, looking first at the man with his hands in the air, then to the one on the floor as I finally made my way to my feet.

     McBride came up behind the man to lift his pistol from his holster.  Then he pushed him with the barrel of his gun to a chair commanding him to sit and not move.  I watched as he checked him over for any other weapons which produced a knife from his belt.

     “You mentioned Lem Collins.  Who is he to you?”  I had shot Collins when I was arresting him for rustling cattle.  He resisted, but he couldn’t resist the piece of lead.  I didn’t kill him; he was spending time in the pen, but he does have a nice hole in his right shoulder.

     He wasn’t defiant with his answer, but he wasn’t overly joyous either.  “Lem was my cousin.  My aunt was heartsick when she heard the news, and I reckoned I should try to make it up to her,” he said with in monotone voice.

     “You got a name?” asked McBride as the two of us looked at him carefully.  McBride shook his head, and I went over to the man lying on the floor to check on him.  He hadn’t moved an inch, so I figured he was dead.

     As I was stooped down over him, Mateo and Doc came through the door.  “Get away!” ordered Doc, as he bent down taking over my ministrations.  There was a lot of blood.

I could hear Doc muttering but couldn’t make out a word he said.

     “Never seen the like,” he muttered.  “Hand me my bag.”  By now Molly and Emelda had emerged from the kitchen as Doc took out a bandage and began to bind it around his head.  Then he took another one to put against the wound on the man’s shoulder.  When he was satisfied, he stood looking down at the still unconscious man.

     “He alive?” I questioned.

     Doc scratched his cheek.  “Oh, yes, very much.  The bullet hit the top of his collar bone then glanced upward taking off a piece of his ear and making a nice groove along the side of his head.  He’ll come to in a short spell.”

     McBride came over, and Mateo had handcuffs on the other man moving him on out of the diner to the jail.  “Man said his name was Lucius Feeney.”  He nudged the man on the floor with his boot.  “This is his brother Mort.”

     Doc proceeded to pour himself a cup of coffee, while McBride and I took a chair at the table with him, waiting for Mort Feeney to gain consciousness.

     Well, that was all the excitement, nothing amounted to anything the rest of the week.  A heavy snow did come in which put off my hunting trip until after it settled.  Folks had mixed emotions regarding it.  The kids were excited for now they would have a white Christmas, and I warned Mateo to be ready for an attack by those rascals with snowballs.

     Christmas…why a thing like what happened could put a damper on it, but then when a person took the time to look at the big picture it only made more sense why Christ came to earth.  It was to put an end to the death-grip of sin.  Sure, it was still around, but now with the sacrifice of Jesus there was hope of redemption.

     Molly and me, why we hope to spend the morning at the diner feeding the derelicts and out of work miners, then sit in front of a cozy fire back in the cabin.  Maybe sneak a piece of pie from the diner, and drink some coffee.  Mainly relax, with her by my side, reminiscing and thanking the Lord for all He has done for us through the years.

The more words you speak, the less they mean.  So why overdo it?”  –Ecclesiastes 6:11 (NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

     “Dave Cook told me that you rode with McNelly down in Texas,” said McBride, matter-of-factly as he sipped his coffee.  Emelda made us one of my favorite breakfasts, I call it huevos verde, but it is really green chili that she makes, not just a sauce.  It’s right under biscuits and gravy as my favorite breakfast.

     I had to wipe some of the chili from my moustache before answering him.  “My, that was ages ago.  It was not long after the war.  I was driftin’ as many were, tryin’ to find a way to begin life over.  Both my folks were murdered during the war,” I paused, took a sip.  “Sort of a vendetta by some folks in Virginia as we went with West Virginia in her succession.  They burned everything.  I sold the land and came West.”

     Molly went out to the store ordering goods to carry over until spring.  It seemed almost a miracle the things they can put in cans to keep them from spoiling.  I like that term “miracle,” though it really was not.  It was using the good sense that the Lord gave us to progress.  The shame of it was that man often didn’t use much good sense in his progress.  I planned on going out on a hunt as soon as McBride left.  Ol’ Grizz crossed over the Great Divide and he did quite a bit of our hunting for the diner.  Of course, Mr. Thompson kept us supplied with beef, and once in a while Molly bought from Mike Fountain.  She purchased her chickens from Joe Dixon, and Greta still supplied eggs though Hannah had passed on a couple of years ago.

     “Well, if you’re half as good as Blasco and Cook say, you’ll make my job much easier,” remarked McBride as he used a tortilla to sop us the rest of the chili on his plate.

     Giving a little cough, I replied, “You don’t always want to believe everything those two gentlemen tell you.”

     McBride didn’t reply, but lifted his eyes to look over the rim of his cup as he drank.  I couldn’t quite tell if there was a hint of a smile on his face.

     “I don’t want  you out in the weather, but as soon as possible start making your rounds in the district.  Red Cower and Nick Jordan are Rangers for the Silverton and Ouray area.  Sim Jurgenson will be joining them come spring.  Introduce yourself to them.  One of them will be with any major ore shipments going out of the area.  Also Ab Loningr will be working over in Telluride.  We call him “Slick” and when you meet him you’ll understand why.  When he leaves with a shipment you might want to be in Telluride until he returns.”

     He paused for a moment, then added, “It’s up to you to inform me if we need anyone over in the western district.  I’ll be leaving tomorrow.  If I’m not home for Christmas my wife will send me on down the road with Santy Claus,” he said with a laugh.

     Molly came in at that time carrying two sacks of groceries followed by Jimmy Hopkins with a couple more.  McBride jumped to his feet to relieve her of her burden and followed her into the kitchen with Jimmy in tow.  I hadn’t paid any attention to the two men that followed them into the diner.  When my eyes finally went their direction I found that one was directly to my left and the other in front of me a little to the right of where I was sitting.  I felt a little foolish getting caught in this situation.  Now what to do about it.

     “I reckon that you two gents have something on your mind.  You might as well get it out.”

     I had to look at the man in front of me, and that made me vulnerable to the one on the left.  If I looked to the left I would lose contact with the other man.  The Greener was behind me leaning against the wall and I had a cup in my left hand.  My right hand was on the table.

     “You remember Lem Collins?” asked the man in front.  “This is for him.”

     As he pulled his gun, I fell backward, my hand going to my pistol, then…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     He stood before me, a solid dark figure with a heavy coat, scarf around his neck, and hat pulled down low.  However, his face was plainly visible, the deep-set eyes that were almost a gray color rather than blue, square jaw, heavy brown moustache, and a hint of a smile at his lips.  “McBride!  What in the world are you doing here?”

     Snow had started to fall, but I wasn’t noticing it as much as the man in front of me.  “Come in, get out of the cold,” I said opening the door wide to let him enter.  It was then that I took notice of the snow.

     Shrugging his shoulders, he removed his scarf, then looked toward the table where we had been enjoying pie, coffee, and conversation.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to bust up your party,” he said as he was unbuttoning his coat.  Then he saw Molly, Betty, Marta, and Luciana.  “Sorry ladies, my manners are on the poor side,” he apologized, removing his hat.

     I offered to take his coat, but he shook his head, then placed it on top of a table.  I saw the eyes of Charlie and Mateo go to McBride’s gun.  The sign of a good lawman.  He saw it too and the semi-smile appeared again.  

     “Here, let me introduce you to my friends.  Listen up, folks, this here is, uh, Hollister McBride with the Colorado Rangers.”

     He gave a little bow of the head to the ladies, then straightened up as I introduced all of the men present.  I sort of lingered when I came to Finegan.  “This is, Cop, uh, Boyd Finegan.”

     Finegan reached out his hand, but McBride simply nodded his head.  Rev. Chapman spoke up, Mr. Finegan is recovering from a severe blow and, I might add, a severe pounding by the Lord on his body and soul.”  That brought a chuckle from most of those around the table.

     The light revelry was broken up by Mateo.  “Sorry, to leave this cozy circle, but someone has to be walking the streets protecting fine citizens like you.”  Mateo put on his coat, then stopped next to McBride.  “Nice to meet you.  I would like to la chara with you, but duty calls.”  He turned, walking to the door.  

     After he left the diner, McBride turned to me, “He has a slight limp….  Results from the job?”

     “Shot in the line of duty.  It was serious, but Mateo wouldn’t give up.  Weather like this,” I pointed to the windows.  “Causes him some pain, but like he told us, he has to make his rounds.”

     “Sit down, Mr. McBride.  Miles get him some coffee,” ordered Molly as she scooted back her chair from the table.  “I’ll find you a piece of pie,” she chuckled, then continued, “I always save Miles an extra piece in the kitchen.  He won’t mind sharing it with you.”  The information brought a groan, and an outright yelp from Doc.

     “Thank you, Ma’am, but call me Holly.”  He turned his attention to the men, smiling as if waiting for some remark.

     Doc pulled on his ear, then muttered, “Miles, as long as you’re up, why not fill our cups as well.”  It wasn’t a question, but a direction I was to take.  He then spoke to McBride, “What brings you to Durango, if I might inquire?”

     He smiled again, not at Doc’s question, but at the last piece of mincemeat pie that Molly set before him.  “Let me taste this, then I’ll answer you’re question, Doctor Jones.”

     It didn’t seem to bother him that all eyes were on him cutting the pie, scooping a bite up with the fork, bringing it to his mouth, which he hesitated, looking up over his fork at us, then stuffed it in his mouth and began to chew, then roll it around in his mouth then chew some more.  He turned to Molly, “Ma’am, this must be what manna tastes like an’ I sure hope the good Lord is takin’ note of this an’ is plannin’ on makin’ you one of the heavenly cooks.”

     That brought a good round of laughter, both because of the statement and the blushing of Molly.  “You didn’t tell me about Mr. Mc, I mean Holly, Miles.”

     He picked up his cup, took a sip, then asked, “And just what did Miles tell you about me?”

     “Uh, that’s a story for another time,” I sputtered.

     Charlie interrupted, “Mr. McBride, I really never heard of the Colorado Rangers until Miles told me.  Why is that?”

     “That’s a very good question, Sheriff.  The Rangers have been around since the War of the Rebellion,” he paused looking at each of us, I assume to get a reaction.  When none came he continued, “In the early years it was quite successful in its mission to protect gold and silver for the Union cause.  Since that time, it has been a hit or miss organization, sometimes used only on the whim of the Governor.

     He forked another piece of pie into his mouth, chewed it down, then took a deep swallow of coffee to wash it down.  “I, along with good men like Miles, plan to make it into a viable law enforcement organization….”

Enjoy what you have rather than desiring what you don’t have.  Just dreaming about nice things is meaningless; it is like chasing the wind.”  –Ecclesiastes 6:9 (NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

     “It was a grand day!”  I announced solemnly.

     “Yes, it was, thank the good Lord,” agreed Pastor Chapman.  “Whenever we work for the kingdom it is a grand day.”

     There came a chuckle from Charlie, “Now don’t you go preachifying to us, Parson.  One sermon a week is enough.”  That brought a laugh from all of us around the table.  Our little group met after church on Sunday to eat the leftovers from Thanksgiving and to discuss how the day went.  No elk stew was left but there was enough venison chili to go around feeding all of Mateo’s family, Charlie’s, Doc and Edith, Preacher Chapman and his wife, along with Molly and myself.  Molly had a couple of mincemeat pies hidden that she had made yesterday, and of course, the coffee was on.

     I looked at the crew, and then my eyes went to one newcomer.  “Copper, you did a right fine job.  How’re you feelin’?”

     He smiled at the remark then answered, “Doin’ fine, a little tired, but, uh, Marshal, can I ask a favor?  Please call me Boyd, or Finegan.  Copper was part of my old life and as the Preacher-man said, old things have passed away, all things have become new.”

     Nodding at him, I held out the coffeepot, “Want a refill?”

     Copper, or now Finegan, willingly held out his cup.

     The group was growing, growing up.  There was no one in the jail, so Mateo locked it up so Lucas could be with us.  Why, just a few years ago, he was working around town doing odd jobs, and now, my land, he was a full-fledged deputy marshal.  There were smiles on everyone’s faces and I’m not sure that it was because of the pie, but from the joy of the Lord.

     Doc held out his cup, “Go ahead, give me some more of that hideous stuff.”

     I was in the midst of pouring when there came a banging on the door.  I stopped mid-pour to look at Molly who had gotten up to go answer.  “Hold on, let me get it!”  I didn’t want her to answer the door not knowing who it could be.  After all, from my experience there have been some mighty strange, rough, and evil people enter through that doorway.

     My hand was on my pistol, ready to pull it if need be.  I opened the door.  “My mercy, what in the world…”