Being wise is as good as being rich; in fact, it is better.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:11 (NLT)

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

     After she turned and hurried out the man at the bar followed.  I continued eating, wanting to talk with her again.  By her actions she indicated that she knew something.  When I had finished they still had not reappeared; I could have walked out without paying, but I reached to the pouch in my vest pocket and pulled out a half dollar.  It was probably double the price of the meal, but I figured she could use the money.

     A wind had come up bringing a chill that I quickly noticed when I stepped outside.  Two other places of business were in my view, the trading post and livery.  I didn’t know what shepherds would use a livery for, so I chose the trading post.  Walking across the street I saw that the sky was beginning to darken.  I might have to cut this trip short and go back to Durango; it looked like one of those March snows was ready to drop its load.

     “Welcome,” came the voice from a man sitting by a pot-bellied stove towards the back of the store.  “Saw you ride in an’ figured you’d come over for something.  Last stop until Moab.”

     I picked up a couple of cans of beans.  I was still amazed that they could actually put food in cans.  Then I saw peaches and grabbed two cans.  I put them on the counter and the man hesitantly got up from the warmth of his chair.  

     “Anything else?” he asked, stepping up behind the counter.

     “Do you have any green ribbon?” I questioned as I looked around the room.

     He smiled and I noticed that he was missing a front tooth.  A fight perhaps?  “Just so happens I do,” he replied.  “How much do you want?”

     “Give me a yard, and…” I hesitated, “what can you tell me about three Navaho who were killed?”

     He stopped, then moved on to where the material was on a table.  “Nope, I don’t interfere with problems with the Indians.”

     That stopped me for a moment to ponder, then I asked, “Tribal affair?”  Then I added, “Or intertribal?”

     Coming back with the ribbon, the smile had left his face.  “Total, is sixty cents.”

     “Listen, I’m not after anyone.  I was asked to investigate the killing of three sheepherders, that’s all.”

     “Sixty cents,” was all he said.  Then he asked, “You a bounty hunter?

     “Ranger,” I said gathering up my goods watching him.

     “You might want to check down at a village they’re calling Towaoc.  Ask for Charlie Two-Face,” he said, then smiled and I nodded thinking of the significance of that name.

     Moving to the door, I stopped and turned.  He was walking back to his comfortable position by the stove.  “How about a man on a palomino?”

     He just pointed…

Don’t long for ‘the good old days,’ for you don’t know whether they were any better than today.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:10 (NLT)

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

     I stayed with the Jorgensens for a couple of days.  My head had stopped pounding on the day I left so I took that as a good sign.  I found that they had moved from Wisconsin to make their fortune in the gold fields.  Ha, like many before them, they learned that it was not to be.  Anders had a good head on his shoulders, and I found him to be a God-fearing man raising his family in the fear and admonition of the Lord.  He quickly saw that mining was not for him or for his son, Axel.  Nor did he like to expose his wife and daughter to the vices so prevalent in the mining camps.

     He purchased half a dozen guernsey cows from a friend back in Wisconsin and was now operating a small dairy farm.  I asked why he didn’t move closer to Durango as there would be a larger market for his goods.  He smiled, “Ja, and more work, and more worries, and more stress.  No, I’m satisfied.  I pay the bills with what I make, I am content and what more could I ask for.  The Lord, He is good to us.  Ja?”

     Axel took milk to Mancos twice a week to a grocery there who bottled it then sold it to customers.  Anders gave or sold the rest to neighbors around.  He had a nice family.  Axel, a hard worker, Britta who never lost her smile and the fine cook in his wife, Tuva.  I told him that whenever I came this way I would stop in to see them.

     “You go to look for this man who shot you?” asked Anders as I was cinching up Hawk.  

     “Not directly, but I will search around the area where you found me.  I don’t know much about him except that he rides a palomino.  There are few of those in this country, so I’ll sure keep my eyes out for one.”

     I mounted, then tipped my hat and smiled at Britta and Mrs. Jorgensen.  Axel shook my hand, and I thanked them all for the care they had given me.  “We’ll be prayin’ for you,” cried out Mrs. Jorgensen.  “You are doing the Lord’s work, keeping the scoundrels and riff-raff at bay.”

     “I could surely use plenty of those,” I replied, waving then giving Hawk a nudge with my heel.  I had the reins of the pack mule in my hand and we moved back down toward the road.  I looked back to wave once more.  The Lord had that family ready and waiting for me and I thanked him as we went up the road.

     There was no sign left of the man.  I didn’t figure it was worth the time to check the area for a casing, so we headed on towards Cortez.  The man most likely went back to Durango, but I would be wary on my travel, especially if I saw a palomino.   

     I had been over this road many times when I worked for Wells Fargo.  Not much to this country, so I wondered why some Navahos were being attacked.  I needed to find out more of the story.  When I arrived at Cortez, which now had a saloon with a sign attached noting that there was a cochina inside, a trading post, and a small livery attached to the stage station.  The last time I was through this way there was only the stage station.

     It was just after noon, so I rode up to the saloon.  I hoped to get some food and possibly some information.  There was no need to take Hawk and the mule to the livery as they had been living high with the feed from the Jorgensens.  I stopped, took a step to my right, but looked down first.  Letting my eyes adjust I thought back to the time in Texas where the saloon had a rattlesnake in the corner of the saloon.  It made me think of Elias and Hidalgo.

     There was a couple of men sitting at a table, eating.  I walked up to the bar where there was a man, maybe forty years old or so.  He was a short, stocky man with a scar on his face from older days in his life.  He was dark complected, Mexican or Indian, I couldn’t tell.  He didn’t say anything, just nodded as I approached.

     “I’d like something to eat,” I said.  

     Pointing to the tables.  “Take a seat,” he replied with a Spanish accent, then he hollered out, “Maria!”

     The menu was stew, chili, or carne guisada.  I figured the meat was all goat, so I ordered the guisada.  The meat was slim, but there were plenty of onions, peppers, and tomatoes in the sauce.  I took a tortilla and spooned some of the mixture in it then rolled it up.  Maria stood by watching me take a bite.  After chewing and swallowing I smiled.  It was not Emelda’s but it was good and quite spicy.

     “Don’t go,” I uttered as she turned to leave.  “I’m looking for some information regarding some Navaho who were killed near here.”

     Her eyes widened, and she began shaking her head…

Don’t be quick-tempered, for anger is the friend of fools.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:9 (NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

     What is that arguing?  Well, it’s not really an argument, just a whiny, shrieking voice simmering over a command given to him.  I’m lost, I don’t understand.  Then I heard a scream, and I recognized the sound of that voice.  It had, thankfully, been a couple of years since I had heard it.  The smell came to me, causing me to retch.  It was the enemy trying to take my soul one more time.  Then a calmness came over me as He walked over to me.  Smiling, I felt His hand on my brow, and my restlessness and ftifulness stopped.

     “Papa, he’s coming to.  Look, his eyelids are fluttering.”

     When I opened my eyes I saw a young girl touching my forehead with a cool, soft hand.  She smiled down at me.  I started to sit up, but she put her other hand on my shoulder, “Shhh, rest easy.  My Papa is here to take care of you.”

     I tried to lick my lips, I was so thirsty, but couldn’t.  Slowly I lifted my hand to touch my lips with my fingers, hoping she could see the pleading in my eyes.

     “Britta,” I heard a husky voice speak to her.  “He is thirsty, fetch him some water.  I will watch over him.”

     The hand left my brow, which I disliked, then I looked upward to see a stout man with a light-colored yet full beard, and intense blue eyes looking down at me.  “Ja, good, you are awake.  Hurry, child, he is thirsty, I’m a-betting.”

     I tried to lift my head and the pain hit me in a swirl.  I had to grit my teeth trying hard not to pass out.  I wanted that water.  “Easy, easy, you have a nasty wound on your huvud.”  He moved behind me then to lift me from my shoulders while the young girl brought a cup to my lips.  I slobbered at it trying to get it all in my mouth at one time.  

     “No!” she ordered.  “Drink slowly or I will give it to you in a spoon.”

     I smiled and winked, causing her to smile.  She brought the cup back to my lips.  This time I did what she told me.  I didn’t want her to remove that refreshing liquid from my mouth.

     A sigh came from me when I emptied the cup.  “I will get you some more in a minute,” she said in a tender manner, the smile never leaving her face.  It was then I saw the same deep blue eyes that were on the man.

     “Where am I?” I asked in a low sounding voice.  

     The man had put a rolled up blanket behind my shoulders to keep me sitting up.  He then moved the girl aside.  “I am Anders Jorgensen.  My son, Axel, and I were returning from town when we heard a shot.  Coming over the rise we saw a body lying on the ground next to a horse,” he stopped to smile, then continued.  “That body was you.  There was a man on horseback aiming a rifle at you.  Axel shot in the air, the man looked our direction then turned his horse in a gallop to the west.”

     “Did you see what he looked like?”

     “No, there was only a glimpse of his face, and he was in a heavy coat.  Only thing was that he was riding a fine palomino,” came his reply.  “You rest, my hustra, uh, my wife is preparing some soup.  You will eat soon, then we talk some more.  Britta, some more water.”

     After drinking another cup, I was feeling much better but I had a severe headache.  “Mor cleaned your wound, it was bleeding quite badly.”  She chuckled, “Mor said you must have a hard huvud–head.”

     I smiled, “That and the good Lord was lookin’ after me.”

     Her eyes widened…

Finishing is better than starting.  Patience is better than pride.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:8 (NLT)

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

     Lucius proceeded to tell me that he thought he heard someone in the office after we left.  He didn’t think much of it, thinking that one of us came back for something.  He then looked down at his boots.  “I can tell you were thinkin’ that it was either me or my brother.”

     “Well, the thought did cross my mind.  I hated to think that way, but I had to follow up my investigation.”

     “Marshal,” cried Mort, “haven’t we proved ourselves?”

     “It’s called reputation, Mort.  It takes time to live down a poor one,” I told him, then added.  “It’s just my nature to be suspicious,” I smiled, “‘specially of someone who once pointed a gun at me.”

     The snow continued to melt as the days warmed up.  It was only the end of February so I doubted that we had seen the end of winter.  There was more snow and cold weather ahead of us.  I was sorta getting antsy wanting to hit the trail on my new position, but at the same time I didn’t want to get caught out in a snowstorm.  Perhaps I was getting a little too comfortable in my old age.

     I was down at the diner, enjoying the warmth of the stove and the taste of the coffee whilst chatting with Doc.  He was being his cantankerous self and slobbering over a piece of chocolate pie.  It seemed that Molly kept one for Lucas and Doc found out about it.  

     “I don’t know who is more spoilt–you or Lucas?”  I declared, then wiped some coffee residue off my moustache.

     Molly’s voice chirped up as she walked toward us.  “It’s you, Miles Forrest, and don’t you be denying it,” she barked then handed me a piece of berry pie.  “There’s one more jar left until next season, so you have better enjoy it.”

     Lifting my fork I had just cut into the pie when Jimmy Hopkins burst through the door.  He ran up to the table with his hand out holding a scrap of paper.  “Telegram, Marshal.  Mr. Offut said to hurry it down to you.”

     I reached in my vest pocket for my coin pouch and gave him a dime.  That brought a large grin to his face.  Then Molly asked, “Would you like a piece of pie, Jimmy?”  He hesitated then took a step to leave.  “It’s the last piece of chocolate.  Go ahead, sit yourself down.  I’ll bring it right to you.  Stanley can wait for a couple of extra minutes for you to return.”

     “Well, who’s it from?” barked Doc.  “Open it!”

     “From McBride,” I muttered then perused the note ignoring Doc causing him some consternation, which was my intent.  Molly was returning with the pie for Jimmy and tried to read over my shoulder.

     “Some trouble over towards the ruins.  Seems there has been several Navaho killed and McBride wants me to check it out.”

     I was on the trail early the next morning.  It seemed prudent to bring along a pack mule, just in case the weather turned bad.  I was riding Hawk; he was a much better horse for this type of weather.  I had been on the trail for a day.  The trouble was just outside a little place they were calling “Cortez.”  It happened about five miles outside of Mancos.  The impact hit me, then I heard the shot.  As I was falling off Hawk, I remember saying, “Help me, Lord,” then the ground rose up to meet me…