I almost hated to tie the burned man up; I said almost, but I did and then went out to find the one I cold-cocked with my pistol.  The snow was falling harder and the wind was beginning to kick up.  He was laying where I left him so I grabbed him by the legs and dragged him to camp.  When I got him there, I handcuffed him just as he was beginning to come to.  I looked at the dead man.  I really didn’t want him in camp, and I didn’t have the means to bury him.  I dared not leave him outside as he might draw wolves and I didn’t want that encounter either.  It was cold enough that he would probably freeze overnight so I decided to keep him on the edge of the camp.
Then I went to rigging up a tarp.  The way it was snowing, if it didn’t cease soon there would be plenty of snow.  On one hand that would be good, for the temperature wouldn’t drop as much.  On the other hand, if it kept snowing I might be stuck there for a few days and I really needed to be back for Thanksgiving.  Plus the tarp would keep us a little dryer along with the wood. 
Both of the men were laying there moaning and I was getting tired of that.  I went to the one that I handcuffed and gave him a swift kick and told him I didn’t want to hear a word from him unless he was asked.  Then I knelt by the man who I shot and fell in the fire.  Parts of his pants were burnt off and there were blisters.  Gathering up some snow I laid it on the burns.
“Untie me,” he muttered.
“Nah, don’t think so.  You can still use your hands.  Do you think you can ride or will I have to flop you over the saddle like your dead friends?”
All I got from him was a groan.
“Either of you want to venture a name?” I asked.
“Name’s Harry Fortune,” he said. 
“You?” I said putting more snow on his legs.
“Jack Wooldeen,” he paused.  “Dead man’s Collins.”
“Never heard of either of you,” I paused.  “Why were you so dead-set on killin’ me?”
“The Wooldeen Gang was going to be the richest gang in history.  We were going to be better known than the James Gang.  You were getting in the way.”
“Yeah, well, outlawin’ is a hard life.  What you have now, four, five dead, and you may be a cripple for life and are facin’ a nice prison term.”
I fixed some bacon and boiled coffee.  Releasing their hands I cocked the Greener and pointed it straight at them.  “Don’t get no foolish ideas like throwin’ grease or hot coffee on me.  I’ll release both barrels.”  After they ate I secured them again and then checked on the horses and brought them to the tarp.  I was able to get Hawk partially inside.
The next morning brought a bright white landscape.  The wind had stopped so I figured even with the snow I could find the road and get on back to Durango before too late.  I reckoned we were only a mile or so from the road that went from Durango to Cortez and from there it was only about six miles.  If I was too late Molly would be having a conniption fit.
Wooldeen was able to ride, but I knew he must be in pain.  I’ll give him credit; he didn’t whimper or gripe.  Stopping first at Doc Jones I let him have a look-see at Wooldeen.  He told me that Molly was starting to fret.  Then I took Fortune down to the marshal’s.  Now, he was a complainer and I had to smack him a couple times to keep him quiet.  After unloading him I hurried over to the eatery.
I made it by three o’clock, in time to get a hug, grab my table, and pour a cup of coffee. “See,” I said to Molly.  “I told you I’d be back in time for the fixin’s.”
Setting a nice piece of mincemeat pie in front of me she put her hand on my cheek.  Then grabbed my hat and gave me that look.  “It’s one thing for the restaurant to be a shooting gallery, but even though you’re hard-headed,” she poked two fingers through holes in my hat.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”  Then she leaned down a gave me a hug.

I started out toward Animas City.  Just before arriving there I got a hunch in my gut; Silverton was the wrong way.  Call it gut-feeling, but I call it the Lord.  I learned a long time ago to go with my inner feelings, so I cut across and headed for Placerville.  I wasn’t expecting to find those fellows, but I wanted to get the word out that I was out looking for them now.
Stopping first in Parrott City, I went to the saloons and asked around.  There were many claims throughout the mountains and along the way up to La Plata.  The miners in this area were mostly working for themselves, but there were some working for a couple of larger mines in the area.  I did the same thing here as in Parrott City.
There was this one saloon, the Boar’s Gut, (how’s that for an enticing name?), that I entered.  I was really hesitant about this place.  It looked grungy on the outside, and when I entered it was even more so.  I edged up to the bar and asked the barkeep if he had heard of a gang riding with 3-5 members. 
“We don’t take kindly to folks askin’ ’bout our friends,” came a voice at the bar who had overheard the conversation.  Mercy, he was a scruffy looking fellow.  In fact this saloon hosted the type of folk that probably didn’t work for their living; their simply stole the wages of those who did.
I looked at him.  “From the looks of you I’m sure surprised that you have a friend.  Now, don’t interrupt when I’m speakin’ to the barkeep.”
Turning my head to continue my conversation, letting the barkeep know I was a marshal looking for this particular gang, when the scruff yelled, “You’re a stinkin’ lawdog!”
“Mister,” I replied.  “If anyone stinks in here it’s you.”
He pulled a knife and lunged while I countered swinging the Greener and caught him flush across the face.  I could hear the crackling of teeth and maybe his jaw and he fell in a lump to the floor.  Then I turned to the room, and cocked the shotgun; that got their attention.  I repeated my conversation and told them that I would be on the trail back to Durango.
“Marshal,” said the man standing who had been standing next to the scruff now in a lump on the floor.  “That’s Jean LaPage.  He’ll be a-comin’ for you.”
I pointed the Greener at him.  “How ’bout you?  Will you be comin’ with him?”  I saw him gulp, and he shook his head “No”.
Hopefully my plan would work.  I planned on camping down the road a piece and having that outlaw bunch come looking for me.  I gave them an open invitation.  I would wait two, maybe three days.  I was only a day’s ride out of Durango, and wanted to get back by the weekend.  Then it dawned on me–Thursday was Thanksgiving.  That’s one of the reasons that Molly was upset this time.  Well, I could leave early Thursday and get in some time in the evening.  Hmmm, no better to leave on Wednesday; she didn’t need to be worrying about me.  Plus, she’d have a feed for the miners on Thanksgiving and would need some help.
Nothing the first day.  I was a little anxious waiting around the camp to be attacked.  My time was spent working out the best scenario for an attack.  They were a reckless sort, but I figured they would come in the evening.  Spent quite a bit of my time reflecting on my life, and thanking the Lord for all of my blessings and how He had gotten me out of some bad scrapes.
The second day, a long toward evening, I had the coffee on and had built up the fire a mite.  I fixed my bedroll to sort of look like I was sleeping there along with the Greener.  If they came in fast as they did at the eatery, they may not notice.  If they came in easy-like they would spot the ruse immediately.  I moved to the left into the brush.  Sure didn’t hanker to sleep out there.  This was November in the Rockies and it was cold.
Hearing the sound of something moving in my direction I saw a man.  He wasn’t paying much attention and I cracked his head with my Schofield.  Then I heard shots in the camp.  I moved the direction that this man had come, hoping to come up behind them.  Upon nearing the camp I heard cussing and griping and the throwing of camp good around.
There were three of them, and as one reached down to pick up my shotgun I figured it was time to let them know I was there.  “Uh-uh, I wouldn’t.” 
They turned and the commotion started.  I was back in the brush so they couldn’t see me well while they were in the firelight.  I fired first at the one reaching for the shotgun.  Bullets were whizzing by and I hit the man on the far left in the chest, he was out of it.  The other man started to run; I shot and he fell in the fire.  He started screaming, and I ran to pull him out watching to see if he would lift his gun.  Pulling him out and snuffing out the fire, I saw that I had shot him in the hip.
It was then that the snow started to fall.  I hadn’t taken notice of the skies and this looked like it could be a blizzard beginning.  I needed to make it back to Durango tomorrow…

We sat there, sipping coffee when Molly asked, “Miles, what’s wrong?  You’ve been sullen and quiet for a week now.”
“Doc’s right; this is a shooting gallery.  It should be a place to relax, enjoy a meal, a piece of pie and coffee and some laughter and conversation.  I’ve made it a target.”
Placing her hand on my arm.  “We are what we are.  That is something can’t change.”
“We can move,” I ventured.  “I know a place in northeastern New Mexico.  Great land for cattle and horses.  We have Star, we could start a horse ranch, run some cattle.  Move away from this death.”
“That’s not like you,” she said.  “You’re a man to stand up to trouble, not run from it.”
“It’s not me, but those around me, you.  Greta and Hannah have already left.  Smart ladies.  Now, there are others, innocent.  It could happen with the place full; others could be killed.”
“What is it the Lord tells us?  ‘He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?’  Miles, you help bring justice to this land.”
“Maybe, but what about mercy?  A chest-full of lead isn’t showing much mercy.”
“Now stop it right there! exclaimed Molly.  “You continually show mercy.  By bringing down evil and wickedness you keep it from harming others.  You constantly have protected your friends, me.  That is mercy.  You deal out justice, but not because of vengeance or for the sake of killing, but for protecting what is good, and right, and lovely.”
I looked at her and saw that her eyes were glistening.  “Another cup and I’ll be on my way.”
“Way?  Where are you going?”
“There’s still at least three of them out there.  I’m not waitin’ for them to make another attempt.  They’ve tried three times now.  You said ‘justice.’  Well, it is time to take justice to them.  I’ll be gone a week, maybe two.  I don’t plan to get caught up there in the high country with a winter storm.”  There was alarm now in her eyes.  “Don’t fret.  If the weather looks bad, I’ll come on home.”
“Go, and pack your mule.  I’ll get some food together for you for a week.  Any longer than that and you’ll have to hunt.” 
She got up and hustled to the kitchen.  She was upset I could tell, and that gesture told me it was time to get my possibles together.  I would take Hawk, pack the mule and be sure of my ammunition.  I also threw a tarp on the load in case of weather.
By the time I came back to the eatery Molly had composed herself.  She had a couple of sacks of goods for me and waiting on the table was a large piece of pie. 
“I better be seeing you before two weeks is up–understand?  Now finish your pie and get!”
“Molly,” I started.
“You don’t need to explain.  I understand; I just worry.  You need to bring these horrible men to justice and I’ll be here with the coffee ready when you get back.”
I mounted Hawk, tipped my hat and moved out slowly.  The weather was cool, and the nights would be nippy, but no sign of storm other than what might await me when I come upon those scoundrels.

It was sudden.  For a moment I thought it was just a customer coming in early, but as soon as he entered he began firing in my direction and walking toward me.  I didn’t look to see how many for I immediately flipped over the table.  Because of previous encounters in the restaurant I had this table reinforced with heavy oak.
I counted what I thought was five shots from the person approaching me.  From the side I heard a shot from a small caliber gun and a groan.  It was time, I shot up from my position and fired point-blank into the chest of the man who had been shooting.  His pistol was empty and he was only about three paces from me.  The blast from both barrels of the Greener took him full in the chest and knocked him back.
Then there was another shot and a man fell in the doorway.  It sounded like a rifle.  That would make three; were there more?  Another rifle shot and then I heard horses galloping away.  Looking around I saw Molly emerge from the kitchen with her pistol in her hand.  The man on the floor was groaning.  I didn’t even bother to look at the man I shot for he took both barrels.  I didn’t want to look for he might be lying there in pieces.
The sound came from the sidewalk and he burst through the door.  I pulled my pistol and only the good Lord kept me from firing.  It was Lucas, carrying a rifle.
“Senor Marshal, Miss Molly,” and then he saw what almost happened.  My .45 was looking him straight in the eyes.  I thought he was going to faint, but he composed himself, smiled, and said.  “Don’t shoot; it’s me, Lucas.”
“Lucas!  Do you know how close?” I stopped. He was scared and so was I. 
“I helped you.  I shot the man on the sidewalk, and shot at two others as they rode off, but don’t think I hit them.”
“Help me with the table.”  He came over and helped me flip the table over.  There were four shots in the table; where that fifth shot was I didn’t know.  “Sit down,” I ordered him.
Molly was down trying to stop the bleeding on the man she had shot.  By now the marshal had shown up, plus Doc Jones. 
“Get that man out of here!” I motioned to the marshal toward the one I shot with the Greener.  “Don’t drag him, pick him up!  I don’t want a trail of blood all the way out the door.”
The doc was working on the man laying there.  All I could hear was groaning, and was also thinking of Lucas shooting a man at his young age.  I motioned Molly over to him.  He was now starting to shake.
Doc rose and came over to us.  Molly asked, “Is he dead?”
“No, I think he’ll make it if infection don’t set in.  He’s just passed out.”  He stopped and looked at us shaking his head.  “Molly, perhaps you need to change the name of this eatery from ‘Molly’s Place,’ to the ‘Shooting Gallery.’  My mercy, I’ve never seen the like.”  He paused again.  “Everyone here all right?  How ’bout you son?”
Lucas nodded and said, “I saved the Senor and Senora.”  He looked at me.  “Senor Marshal, I wasn’t scared when it was happening, but I am now.  Why is that?”
I reached out my hand to shake his.  There are not words adequate at a time like this.  “Thanks, pardner,” I said.  He smiled and shook my hand.
Reaching for the coffeepot, I discovered where the fifth bullet hit.  Right in the middle of pot.  All I could do was sigh.