Marshal!” the voice sounded frantic.  “Come quick!”

     Jimmy Hopkins ran up the hill to where Molly and I were standing.  When he got to us he couldn’t speak, he was so out of breath from his exertion.  “Slow down,” I ordered.

     He looked up at me, I could see that he was crying.  “Marshal, it’s terrible.  The…the preacher has been shot!” he said, still puffing hard.

     I grabbed the Greener that was against the stall and started to run, then stopped abruptly.  “Where is he?”

     Jimmy pointed, “At his place.”

     “Hurry, Miles.  I’ll be along shortly,” said Molly as she knelt before the quivering boy.

     I knew better than to run headlong into possible trouble so I slowed down about a block before reaching the little church where my good friend, Dale Chapman was pastor.  He and Betty had a small parsonage attached to the back of the church.  There was a flock of people outside, Theo Howell was at the top of the steps keeping them from getting in the home.

     Pushing people aside, I went on up the steps.  Howell nodded at me, “Go on in Miles!”

     Upon entering the little living room, I saw Betty lying on the sofa with Edith Jones attending her.  Pastor Chapman was sitting in a chair with Doc Jones tending a bloody wound on his shoulder.  I rushed toward him, then stumbled–there was a body on the floor.

     The Parson must have heard me for he looked up, tears in his eyes.  “I killed him, Miles.  I shot him down like a rabid dog…” he stopped – whether it was him catching the vindictiveness in his voice or Doc working on his shoulder, but I saw pain etched on his face.  There was a pistol lying on the floor next to the chair.

     “Let me finish Miles, then you can ask him your questions,” commanded Doc.  “Hush up now, let me finish,” he said, putting his attention to the Parson.

     I took a couple of steps to where Edith was with Betty.  Standing near here, I said in a hushed tone, “She all right?”

     Edith was holding her hand, Betty was pale and looked to be frightened most out of her wits.  When I spoke Edith nodded.  “Just a terrible scare.  She’s all right,” then added, “at least physically.”

     When I had that assurance I turned to the body on the floor.  He had a hood over his face that looked like a flour sack.  The preacher had shot him right in the throat causing a puddle of blood to be on the floor.  I pulled off the hood to look at the face of a man who would harm a preacher of God’s word.  I didn’t know him, possibly I’d seen him around town, but he wasn’t a common citizen.

     “There were three of them,” came the voice of Rev. Chapman.  “I shot him and one other.  I guess with the shots they thought they should get away before people started showing up,” he paused as Doc finished stitching him up.  

     “They were threatening Betty,” he said with tears flowing again.  “I didn’t have a choice, they, they were going to…”

     I went to him, putting my hand on his shoulder.  “You did the right thing,” I assured him.  “What did they want?”

     “Did I?” he questioned.  “I’m a preacher of the Gospel.  I didn’t turn the other cheek.  I just found my gun and started shooting.”

     He dropped his head into his hands, until he winced from the movement from his injured shoulder.  “Miles, they wanted to know where Javier and Agatha were living.”

     I took a couple of quick steps towards the door, when Doc jumped up between me and the door.  “Don’t do anything rash.  We’ll find the wounded man.  Pastor thinks his bullet hit him in the leg or hip.  He’ll be needing a doctor.”

     Theo came in the door, “Miles, you best be gettin’ out here to settle down this crowd.”  He glanced down at the body on the floor, “Why that’s Bart Feakes.  He and his brother Lester were in the store just yesterday.”  He paused, his eyes getting wide, “they were purchasing…”

The Bible says, ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself,'” the words of Rev. Chapman’s sermon kept running through my mind as I sat at the table.

     “Miles!  Miles!  Where are you?” the voice of Molly finally got through to me.  “You seem a hundred miles away.”

     Upon seeing that I was spooning my chili back and forth in the bowl I loaded several spoonfuls into a tortilla stuffing a large bite into my mouth.  As I chewed I glanced over at Molly who was keenly watching me.

     It seemed like it was several minutes, but I knew only a few seconds passed before I finished swallowing.  “Sorry, I was thinkin’ ’bout the preacher’s sermon.”  I paused to look at my bowl, then thrust the tortilla into the chili.  “Molly, I don’t think I can fit that bill.”

     She arched her brows, watching me bring the chili filled tortilla to my mouth.  As I bit into it, she asked, “What bill is that, may I ask?”

     After I chewed and swallowed, I answered.  “Loving my neighbor.  I don’t hold much love for Amos Martin right now.”

     A small chortle came from her, “At least you didn’t go give him a thump.”

     I finished the tortilla, wiping the rest of the chili in the bowl with it.  “Good chili,” I said, pushing the bowl away from me on the table.

     “Sorry, I didn’t make a pie, but there are some teacakes.  Fill your cup and go on out to the porch and I’ll bring you some.”

     She didn’t have to tell me twice.  I was sitting on one of the two chairs on the porch that looked down towards the river.  It was mid-summer, but up here in the trees the air was cool, especially with the slight breeze.  She came out with a small plate with some teacakes on it, carrying a cup of coffee in her hand.

     “So, tell me more.  What are you thinking regarding his sermon?”

     I chomped into one of the little, cake-like cookies, chewed before I tried to answer knowing my manners.  “In my job, a person gets kinda hardened to what evil folks do to others.  I’ve seen some of the worst things that man can do to another,” I paused for a moment before continuing.  “Some things are downright atrocious.  Makes them sort of unlovable.”

     Nibbling on a piece of cookie, she spoke in a low voice, “What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” 

     Taking a sip, I answered, “This from Micah as well, ‘The good man is perished out of the earth:  and there is none upright among men:  they all lie in wait for blood; they hunt every man his brother with a net.'”  Then took another bite.

     For some reason she smiled.  “Miles, we’ve been over this before.  You are called by God to bring men to justice.  You don’t revel in their evil deeds and you let the court decide their guilt.”  She stopped to take a larger bite, chewed, then started again.  “You didn’t go thump Martin, but are waiting, hmmm, somewhat patiently for him to make a mistake.”

     She was right.  After what he had instigated regarding the beating of Father Damian and the marking up of the church along with scarring of Hawk it took all I could muster to not preach a sermon to him with the barrel of my Greener.  I was heading for Martin’s store that next morning but felt I should just pass on by.  It was not the time as I didn’t have any evidence except what I thought a dying man said.

     “Molly, it’s been over a week.  Somethin’ has to give.”

     Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone running up the road.  “Here comes Jimmy Hopkins,” I muttered, while shaking my head.  “He rarely brings me good news.  Go get him a couple of teacakes and we’ll see what message he has for me.”

     “Marshal, oh Marshal Forrest, come quick!  It’s…”

Since the wedding of Amos Martin’s daughter, Agatha, to Javier Ballesteros, a Mexican lad, there has been tension building in certain quarters in Durango.  The newlyweds were gone from the scene, but not before there was considerable confrontation.  Even on the way to Taos there was an attempt to break up the marriage.  Now, the priest who had performed the ceremony had been severely beaten, the parish church covered with paint and red markings of X.  There was even a warning given to Marshal Forrest in the form of the painting and marking of their cabin and the scarring of Hawk.  Join me, in another exciting tale from yesteryear…

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

     “Hurry, Marshal!  Doc says to come quickly; it’s the priest!” yelled young Jimmy Hopkins.

     I jumped up, saw Jimmy and Molly, then headed towards them to meet them in the yard.  “Here,” I reached out to hand the spur I found to Molly, “hold this!”  Then headed off jogging with Jimmy.

     “What’s wrong,” I asked as we hurried away.

     “Didn’t say, just said to get yuh down here as fast as possible.  Yuh need to run faster, Marshal.”

     I didn’t figure five or ten minutes would make much difference, plus I didn’t want to be completely out of breath in case something more sinister was waiting for me.  The Catholic church sat on the far side of town between the white section and the Mexican section.  Most of the time there was little squabble between the two groups; they seemed for the most part to get along fine.  

     Arriving at the priest’s quarters, I slowed, took in a few deep breaths of air, then entered.  Doc was sitting beside Father Damian who had one eye partially open.  When I entered he tried to move his head to see who I was, and I saw pain grip him by the countenance on his face.

     “Easy, padre,” whispered Doc.  “Don’t move, it’s the marshal.”

     The priest released Doc’s hand and feebly offered it to me.  “I’m sorry to be causing you so much trouble, Marshal.”  He murmured, then began to lick his lips.  Doc reached to the little table for a glass half full of water to which he helped the man drink gently reaching behind him to lift his head.

     “Now, father, do you know who did this?”

     A tear formed at the one eye that was open.  “Take it easy, Miles,” warned Doc.  “This man’s been through quite an ordeal.  He’s fortunate to be alive.”

     Before I knelt down beside him, I noticed that Jimmy was in the room.  “Get on home, Jimmy,” I ordered, reaching in my pocket for my coin bag. 

     He was shaking his head when I offered him a dime.  “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he muttered, then looked at me, eyes wide open in a state of shock.  “Will he live?”

     Doc reached out to pat the boy on the arm, nodding and adding a wink.  “He’s going to be all right.  Now you get along home, and thanks for helping out.”

     Jimmy started to back out of the room, then when he hit the doorway he turned and ran.  I turned my attention back to the padre.  Grasping his hand again, I asked in a softer voice, “Father, do you know who did this?”

     He started to shake his head, when a sound came from Doc, who added, “Don’t move your head, keep it still.”

     “No, Marshal, all I know is that there were three of them.  They wore some kind of sack over their heads, flour sacks I believe.”

     “Could you recognize their voices?  What did they say?”

     “Sorry, Marshal, I can’t be of any more help.  They asked where the beaner went, and Martin’s daughter.  When I told them I didn’t know they proceeded with beating me.”

     I got close to the padre, I could see that he was getting tired.  “Are you sure they said, ‘Martin’s daughter’?

     He squeezed my hand, and whispered, “Yes,” then his eye shut.

     Doc quickly moved me aside, then proceeded to check his heart and breathing.  I was now standing and Doc came up to me.  “He needs to rest now more than anything.  Unless there’s more damage to his head than I can see, he should recover.  Let’s move outside and let him rest.”

     “Did he tell you anything?” I asked.

     “No more than he told you.  He said he didn’t know anything about the red X except that the X is Saint Andrew’s Cross.  As far as he knew there was no symbolic meaning to it.”

     “Well, Doc. you watch yourself.  This has taken an ugly and more personal tone.”  Then I proceeded to tell him about the cabin, the oats, and the scarring and painting of Hawk.  “I’ll be waitin’ at Amos Martin’s door when he opens in the mornin’, you can be assured of that.  I have Father Damian mentioning Martin, and that was the last words of the man I shot on the train.”

     “You never mentioned that before…”

We cleaned up the place the best we could; it was going to take some paint which I didn’t have available.  There was whitewash thrown on all the walls along with red X slashed around it.  The door was still locked so when we went inside we hoped that nothing was damaged.  Molly’s not a crier, but when she sat down in the rocker in front of the fireplace I could see tears in her eyes.

     Touching her on the shoulder, I said, “Put some coffee on, I’m goin’ to check on the horses.”

     I walked up to the stable and was sure that I left Hawk inside, but he wasn’t there.  Looking out at the pasture I saw all three horses.  As I started walking towards them Star and Two-Bits trotted my direction, while Hawk was hesitant then began to follow the others.  I hugged both the horses around the neck then checked them over good.  

     Hawk finally joined in with the other three, but it seemed that he had a look in his eyes, as if to say, “Why did you let them do this to me?”  It was when he nudged me that I saw the red X painted on his forehead.  Then I looked him over and to my chagrin there was a red X slashed on his right hip.  I touched it tenderly, noticing that the blood had dried.  

     “I’m sorry, Hawk.  I promise you I’ll find the ones that did this.  Come on, let’s get you to your stall so’s I can doctor this up.”  The three horses followed me, Star and Two-Bits going right in while Hawk lingered outside.  It was in the stall where the men got to him.  He stood there whilst I got a bucket and filled it from the rain barrel, pouring it in the troughs for the other two horses, after which I started to give them some oats when I saw that red paint had been poured on the open bag.  Not taking time to examine it, I ripped open another bag to feed them.

     I didn’t see Molly walking up the little hill.  “Everything all right?” she asked upon reaching me, handing a cup of freshly boiled coffee to me.  

     It was hot, but I took a long swallow anyway.  It burned all the way down through my gullet.  I took another sip, then sat the cup over by the trough.  “They whipped Hawk,” I blurted.  “He’s not bad, but, but…”

     Molly was holding the cup in both hands taking small sips, but when I told her she placed the cup on a shelf.  “Let me look at him,” she said, and I showed her the mark on his hip, then the red X on his forehead.  She looked at his forehead closely, “Not paint,” she uttered, then grabbed a rag from the shelf, went to the trough to wet it.  When she came back she rubbed on the red spot.  It began to come off with the water.  “Blood,” she murmured, going back to wet the cloth some more.  

     She worked on Hawk for several minutes, talking calmly to him.  He seemed to know that she was trying to help.  Finishing that job she went to his hip.  “Let me clean it off before you put any salve on it.  You just hold him still.”

     The blood had congealed so Molly worked slowly and as tenderly as possible.  Hawk knew we were helping, but once in a while a tremor would flow down his muscles.  It took us close to thirty minutes before the wound was clean and I had covered it with a salve.  Molly refilled the bucket to pour in his trough while I looked around for any type of clue.  Nothing, that is nothing until Hawk nudged me to a corner.  He pawed at the ground, snorting.  I bent down and found a spur covered with dirt and straw.  Hawk gave a whinny nodding his head, and I thought for a moment he smiled.  It wasn’t a whip, or rope, but a spur that was used to cut him.

     “Easy,” came a voice.  “Don’t get riled up, just find the man.”  Molly was standing with hands on her hip, looking at the object in my hand.

     I turned my head her direction, “Don’t worry, I will.”  

    She came up to me placing her hands on my shoulders, then said a little prayer.  “Nothing more to do here.  Let’s go in.”  She then picked up the two cups and started for the house.  

     “I’m goin’ to stay out here a while longer.  Hawk needs some company.  Maybe he’ll be able to tell me who the culprit was.”

     Nodding she went on down to the house.  I took a seat on a pile of straw and must have dozed off.  I don’t know how long I was asleep, but when I heard the voice hollering my name it was dark.  

     It was Jimmy Hopkins running toward me, Molly now close behind.  “Marshal, it’s the priest…”