It had been a while since I had Star on the trail; it was all I could do to hold him back, he wanted to run so badly.  I would have taken Hawk as he was a better horse when I had to trail somebody simply for this reason.  Star, being partly thoroughbred, wanted to run and I needed to move slowly so I didn’t lose Martin’s tracks.  The last time I had Hawk out he was sort of sluggish, plus he was still recovering from that nasty brand put on him.

     I had thought about going over Wolf Creek for it would save a day on the trail, but this was mid-October and I could get caught in a storm up on the pass.  Mainly I went the way I did because I hoped to catch up to Martin on the trail.  It was nigh on to a week’s travel to Taos, and the ranch was south of the town.  I reckoned that Martin would be in a hurry and the road was fairly well traveled from Farmington on over to Taos with few places that would be feasible to cut off.  He would have to spend two nights camped out, but if I didn’t catch up to him he might stay the night in Dulce.  Between Durango and Dulce there wouldn’t be any hotels, but he might find some generous soul who would put him up for the night.

     With that thought I had to chuckle.  As bigoted as Martin was I doubt he would sleep in the house of a Mexican or an Apache wickiup.  Speaking of Apaches, I was riding into Jicarilla country.  Though mostly peaceful they still had a big mistrust of Americans and it would not be past them to attack a single rider.  I had only dealt with them one other time, but they were like most Indians, peaceful unless riled.  They believed they were people who came from below the earth.  We would call it the underworld.  They had been hit hard by disease, especially consumption, but as of this day they were not confined on a reservation, which made them somewhat more dangerous.

     If Martin had not had any dealings with them, he could be in for a world of hurt.  Some young buck, or a small group, might just decide that he was easy pickings.  With that thought I pulled my rifle from the scabbard, checked the load, and carried it across my saddle.  They might think this lone rider was easy pickings as well.  

     With the decent road, and since I knew where Martin was going, I decided to let Star trot.  He could follow the road whilst I kept my eyes out for anything that might be unseemly.  That night I stopped to make camp just this side of the San Juan River.  The next morning we would cross it, and then head into higher elevation.

     Molly had put together a rather large bag of vittles.  I ate a ham sandwich for lunch, but tonight I will be dining on cold chicken.  I could heat it, but I rather like a cold drumstick, but I did make a fire if for no other reason to make coffee.  Sitting there munching on that chicken and eating biscuits, I thought of the many, many nights I spent like this.  Molly had put in half a chicken so I ate a drumstick and thigh planning on eating the other half for breakfast.  I smiled when I saw that she had put in half a dozen hand pies.  I’d eat one, well, maybe two, tonight and save the others for tomorrow.  I wasn’t worrying about running out of supplies, and Dulce was only two days away.

     Eating the last of my apricot pie and sipping my coffee, I smiled.  This was the life I had been used to, and it was a life that I enjoyed.  The ground would get hard along come morning as I had gotten tame sleeping in a bed with a soft mattress.  I went ahead and put more wood on the fire, and had several pieces I could add to it should I waken during the night.  I knew it would be quite a bit cooler in the morning.  “Lord,” I whispered, not really knowing why since I was the only one there, “I sure do want to thank you for findin’ this ol’ broken down cowboy those many years ago.”  I chuckled to myself.  “We’ve been through some times, ain’t we.  Thanks for seein’ me through them, and helpin’ me along the way.”

     It was sometime early morning that I woke up.  I didn’t move, but laid there and listened.  There was a slight breeze and I could hear it moving through the tops of the trees.  The night was clear with thousands of stars appearing, but there was something.  Star snorted, then tramped his hooves, that’s when I moved quickly to the shadows near him.   I stood motionless near Star and he calmed down with my presence.  It could have been some varmint, wolf, even a bear or lion…it could have been an Apache as well.  I stayed with Star for maybe half an hour before going back to my bedroll.  Since I was awake, I decided to go ahead and stay up.  

     Picking up the pan that I made coffee in I went down to the stream to rinse it out and fill it with water.  After rinsing it I filled it with that cool mountain water and took a long drink.  While it was at my mouth, there was noise in the brush across the stream and to my right.  Dummy me, I left the rifle in camp.  Then…

I went up to saddle Star, then would head down to see Moses Vexler at the livery.  He should know if Martin left town or not, at least if he took a horse from the livery.  He was outside filling up the trough when I rode up.  

     “Figured you’d be by sooner or later,” he muttered standing up still holding the bucket.

     He didn’t say anything more, so I jumped right in.  “Amos Martin been by?”

     “Yep.”

     “Did he happen to say where he was goin’?”

     “Nope”

     “And you don’t know?  Am I right?”

     He smiled, spat a mouthful of tobacco juice on the ground.  “Nope, I know.”

     “Moses, don’t make me get off my horse and thump you.  Tell me!”  I exclaimed, getting a little exasperated.

     Chuckling, he remarked, “He went off to get his daughter and bring her back.”

     “How’d he know where she was?” I questioned to which I received a shrug.

     “Get on down, I want to show yuh something anyway.”  He then started walking toward the corral gate.  I did as requested and followed after him.  Opening the gate, he stooped down and motioned for me to join him.  “See that?” he pointed to a hoof print.  “That’s the horse Martin’s ridin’.”

     I reached out to touch the print as if it would help seal it in my brain.  Then I looked at Moses, smiled and nodded.

     “Cost yuh a dollar for that information,” he said jokingly to which I completely ignored him and mounted Star again.  Tipping my hat, I had another stop to make before starting out on the trail.  Just before I turned Star, Moses hollered, “Oh, by the way, he headed south!”

     I waved then headed down the street towards the diner.  Loosely tying Star to the hitching rail, I walked in to see a commotion at my table.  Molly, Charlie, Mateo, Father Cisneros and a woman were all there.  The woman was sobbing, and speaking so fast I couldn’t catch a word.  She kept repeating “apenado” over and over.

     Mateo saw me enter and motioned for me to stand by him.  He whispered as Molly and the Padre were trying to console the woman.  “This is Camila Vasquez,” he informed me, with a frown on his face.  “She told Martin where Agatha and Javier were living.”

     Camila glanced to where I was standing, then started outright bawling.  “Por favor, Senor, lo siento, por favor perdoname.”  Father Cisneros stepped away from the hysterical woman to join me with Mateo.  “Marshal Forrest,” he began and I could tell he was in distress.  “Camila is part of my flock,” he paused to look at her, the crying now turning to heaving sobs.  “She was afraid for my life,” he paused again.  “You may recognize her as she was one of my nurses.  She overheard us talking one time and sent a message to Mr. Martin.”

     “She thinks you’re going to throw her in jail,” offered Mateo.

     “Can either of you assure her that she’s not goin’ to jail, an’ that I understand why she did it?” 

     Father Cisneros went back to her and while he was talking with her I motioned to Molly to come see me.  “I need some food for the trail.  Make it a couple of days, if I’m out longer than that, I’ll get something somewhere.”

     Mateo came over to join us.  “It shouldn’t take me long to track him.  Moses showed a shoe the horse was wearing.  As long as there’s not any bad weather I can easily follow it.”

     “Get yourself a cup of coffee while I throw you a lunch together and a bag of food to take along,” she ordered then headed for the kitchen. 

     A few seconds after entering the kitchen, Emelda emerged to come to Camila.  It seemed she knew the woman and began to speak softly to her.  After I poured a cup of coffee I saw Camila look my way.  I gave her a smile and a nod to which she partially smiled.  Father Cisneros was nodding his head in approval.

     Thirty minutes later Star and I were on our way after Martin.  Such a stubborn fool.  What was it the Lord said in His Word, “Stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry.”?

     I had been debating whether or not to have those affected by Martin’s schemes to go with me to arrest him.  That really wasn’t their job, but it would be good to have witnesses with me in case Martin decided to do something.

     “I have no animosity towards him,” remarked Father Cisneros when I spoke with him.  “Truthfully, I pray daily for his soul.”

     “Father, if’n yur up to makin’ it, I’d appreciate it if you’d come with me.  I understand if you can’t,” I said with concern.  He was still some beat up from the Feakes and Barstow.  “I’d like to have some witnesses when I confront Martin.”

     He acquiesced only if Rev. Chapman would be willing to go with him.  I hoped the Parson would see his way to doing so, but he was still concerned about Betty and the what might have been, plus knowing that he killed a man weighed on his mind.  However, within the hour I had both men of God walking with me up the street towards Martin’s Hardware.

     “Miles?” questioned my pastor, “You’re not going to pronounce judgment on Martin, are you?”

     Scowling at him, I replied, “Parson, my job is to arrest, hopefully peacefully, then it will be up to the people to decide guilt or innocence under the law.  Unless I am protectin’ the two of you, or myself, then I’ll not harm the man.”

     The preacher, bowed his head, not in prayer, but in shame for doubting my integrity.  “Sorry, Miles, I know you better than to think that.  Forgive me?”

     “Nothin’ to forgive,” I stated, then when we stepped up on the boardwalk, I moved the Greener from my right hand to the left.  Standing outside the store I looked at each man, nodded then tried to open the door.  It was locked.  This time of day Martin should have been open for business.

     “Martin!  Amos Martin!  Open up, this is Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest.  Open up!”

     “Miles, there’s no light on in the store,” declared Rev. Chapman who had been peering through the window.

     “Stand back,” I ordered, then kicked at the door, breaking it open.  “Martin!” I hollered again.

     “Stay behind me, in fact get down behind one of those counters, this might be an ambush,” I commanded, then began to move slowly down the long aisle of the store towards the back.

     There was no one in the store.  I glanced at the narrow staircase in the backroom.  I knew that Martin and his now married daughter Agatha, had lived upstairs.  Taking each stair softly and as quietly as possible I began to ascend.  This would be a terrible place if Martin would throw open the door and start shooting.  I would have no chance.  But nothing…I reached the door at the top of the stairs, turned the knob and carefully opened it.  I didn’t know what to expect.

     It was empty…  

     Both the men were waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase.  I shrugged, and was shaking my head when I got to them.  “Where do you think he went?” questioned Father Cisneros.

     “I’m not sure.  I’m goin’ to have a look out back, then if’n my suspicions are right, have a talk with Moses Vexler down at the livery,” I paused in frustration, then sighed.  “You men can go on home.  Thanks for comin’ with me.”

     “Miles, let us pray for you, before we leave,” requested Parson Chapman.  As was my custom I didn’t bow my head nor close my eyes as the two men of God put their hands on my shoulder and prayed with the Parson leading.  I nodded my thanks and appreciation to them then walked away.

     Opening the back door carefully, I peeked out then opened the door looking around before stepping down into the alley.  There had been a horse there.  I moved to where it had been tied, bent down to study the tracks…

When I opened the block door, Mateo was standing there with a wide, toothy grin holding paper and pencil in hand.  “Thought I told you to take a walk,” I barked.

     If possible, his grin got bigger and he replied, “I did.  I walked over to the desk to find some paper, figuring that you might want it.”

     “You mind standing by the cell watchin’ him?  I’m goin’ outside for a breather.  I need to think some things through.”

     He nodded then followed me inside the cell area.  “Barstow, write!  I mean write everything!  If I have to come back in here to remind you of something you left out…” I stopped there, and slightly lifted the Greener.

     “Just give me the paper,” he growled.

     “Now, don’t you be gettin’ feisty with me, or I’ll open the door and let Mateo have a go at you,” I said smiling, then paused for a moment.  “He’s worse than a cougar when he gets riled.”

     Barstow’s lip curled in a snarl, as he started to speak.

     “That wouldn’t be wise,” I informed him, then added, “Just write.”

     I walked out leaving Mateo at the block door and went outside.  The air was cool, much fresher than inside that cell room.  I sat down on the bench in front of the office.  My inclination was to go grab Martin and beat the tar out of him, but that wouldn’t settle anything except make me feel some better.  I could take Father Cisneros and Parson Chapman with me, but they’d already been through too much.

     As I was sitting there, I saw Doc Jones limping up the road.  I never really noticed that limp before.  He had told me that he was in the war and had been shot in the leg.  Wonder if the years weren’t taking a toll and it was bothering him some.

     He didn’t bother to ask, just plunked himself down on the bench beside me.  “Miles, you have a problem,” he muttered.

     “Looks to me like you’re the one with the problem.  What’s the matter with your leg?”

     He gave a wave of his hand and a look of disgust at me.  “Lester Feakes is dead.”

     My eyes widened at the news, “What happened?”

     “A fever.  There must have been an infection inside the leg.  I couldn’t see anything, but I did notice that his leg was swelling.  He was just too weak to fight it off; lost too much blood,” he informed me, then paused before adding.  “There goes your witness.”

     “You can write down what he said, and we can both sign it.”

     He grunted, “Second-hand information, it won’t stand up in court.”

     “It’ll still weigh on the mind of the jurors when they hear it,” I said, then continued, “But I think I’ve got the clincher.  Mark Barstow is right at this moment writing a full confession.”

     Doc’s eyes got wide, he scratched at his ear, then questioned me, “You didn’t thump him, did you?  That’s called coercion, you know.”

     It was my turn to smile.  “No, I didn’t thump him.  Wanted to, didn’t even threaten him.  In fact, I didn’t hardly talk to him at all.  I just asked Mateo for the keys when he blurted it was Amos Martin behind it all.  After I get the confession, I plan on goin’ up to have a talk with Martin, and then provide him a comfortable cell.”

     He was shaking his head.  “Miles, I just don’t understand the evil that gets in a man’s heart.  I can work on the outside body, cut out a tumor, remove a bullet, but I can’t remove the cancer that gets in the soul.”

     “No one can, Doc.  That’s up to the Great Physician,” I paused.  “Trouble is folks have to accept Him and many, because of that evil reject the grace and healin’ that He has to offer.”

     We sat there quiet for several seconds, when the door to the office opened.  There was Mateo who reached out handing me two pages of written paper.  “Read it over Miles…”