In such cases, your mouth is making you sin.  And don’t defend yourself by telling the Temple messenger that the promise you made was a mistake.  That would make God angry, and he might wipe out everything you have achieved.”  –Ecclesiastes 5:6 (NLT)

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

     Looking toward the sound I saw Digger crawling toward me, leaving a trail of blood.  He had a look of resignation on his face along with a few pieces of buckshot.  Raising his pistol he fired, then groaned.  The bullet went over my shoulder smashing into the door frame.  There was a smile on his face as he tried to lift the gun again.  I took a step toward him, my foot coming down on his hand that was holding the pistol.  

     His face in his sleeve, I could hear him mutter.  “This wasn’t supposed to happen.  McGinnis had it all planned out, then you showed up,” he dropped his head and I figured he was dead.  Then I heard what sounded like chuckling.  Digger lifted his head and smiled at me.  “Dawson wasn’t very good was he?”

     I looked down at the broken man, “No, he wasn’t.”  Digger laughed, then his eyes went glassy and his head dropped.  This time I knew he wouldn’t raise it.  I went to take my boot off his hand when I noticed blood on it.  Another drop fell, then I remembered that I was shot.  Weakness came into my knees and I felt I was going to fall, so I grabbed a chair to plop myself down in.

     Suddenly I was tired.  I was hoping it was just the effects of the fight wearing off and not from loss of blood.  The door opened with Sparky Boyd arriving with Doc Minto right behind him.  Doc came to my side.  “No, check on Martin first, I’m alright.”

     “Stay beside him,” I heard him order Boyd, then he shuffled over to where Martin lay.

     When I opened my eyes, I realized I was lying on my back with the ugly face of Osian Beavin looking down at me.  “Glad to have you back with us, Marshal,” he said, with a smile.  “You lost some blood, and, I might say, you added to your collection of scars.”

     I started to sit up, but the pain hit me and Osian put his hands on my shoulders to keep me lying down.  I moaned, then asked, “How’s Martin?”

     “He’ll be all right,” he stated, then added, “I’m going to have to give him vacation pay as he won’t be working for a month or so.”  He looked away from me.  “Doc, get over here, he’s awake.”

     There was the presence of another man at my side.  “You settle down,” came the order, and I knew it was the doctor.  “You were shot in the fat under your left arm.  That bullet went right on through.  Then you have a nice groove just over the hip bone on your right side, so just take it easy.  You’ll be all right as long as infection doesn’t set in.  I cleaned the arm the best I could; just don’t move it around for a while.”

     “Osian, did anyone survive?  You said Bill was going to make it.”

     Doc Minton answered for him.  “Deputy Martin took a bullet in both shoulders, and another in the side which was stopped by his ribs.  He’ll be okay, but won’t be working for quite a spell.  He’s resting, in fact that’s what you should be doing.”

     Turning my head, I looked around.  “Where am I?”

     “It was best that you and especially Bill weren’t moved around.  I took the liberty of closing down Boyd’s Pool Hall to use as a temporary hospital with the help of Marshal Beavin.”  He started to turn away, then stopped, stepping back to me.  “I will tell you that Mr. O’Brian is still alive, but barely.”

     “I need to get back to Durango, I have to be at the trial on Monday,” I blurted to no one in particular.  “What day is this?”

     “Friday, you’ve been out for two days, and I’ll tell you that you’ll not make that trial.”

     “Marshal, you’ve got to get me on that train tomorrow.  I have to be there.”

     Osian came to me and we looked at each other.  A small grin appeared, and he touched my shoulder then moved away.  I was alone, when I felt the presence of someone else coming near me.  I reached to my holster for my gun; it was there.  But then I felt flowing from that presence a peace and I took my hand away from my gun.  I wouldn’t need it in His company.  I knew who was there with me and I closed my eyes…

It is better to say nothing than to promise something that you don’t follow through on.”  –Ecclesiastes 5:5 (NLT)

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

     I saw the welcoming committee.  My eyes first caught Dawson standing with his back against the bar.  When I entered he straightened up.  There were two men sitting at a table in front of Dawson slightly over to his left.  To the left of them was a man standing, then over to the far right were two more.  It was not a good situation.  I breathed a prayer.

     “Come in, Marshal.  We’ve been waiting for you,” came the words from one of the men sitting at the table.  He was the only one that was semi-dressed up, all the others were wearing range clothes, light jackets or vests.  And Dawson…he wore a black vest with a red shirt with dark pants.  His thumbs were in this gunbelt and there was a smirk on his face.

     I was hoping that Martin would move in to my right, but he knew I was right handed so he chose to go to the left.  The Greener was in my left hand, not good.  I didn’t know if I could fire off a shot holding it only in my left hand.  I pulled back both hammers, just in case.  

     “Who do I have the privilege of talkin’ to?” I asked the man at the table.  My eyes moved from him back to Dawson.  I didn’t think that Dawson would make a move until the man was finished with his spiel.

     He didn’t look like he had the qualities that McGinnis possessed, but I reckoned he was trying to take over the gang.  

     “Mike O’Brien,” he snapped while giving me a smile.  “Fellow sitting beside me is called ‘Digger,’ and don’t worry about the others.”  He didn’t bother to mention Dawson.

     I liked the fact that he wanted to talk.  Now, if I knew what I was facing when I entered, knowing that they were waiting to do me harm, I wouldn’t bother with the talking.  I’d cut loose with the Greener and let it speak for me.  “Always nice to know, whom I’m buryin’,” I replied, then glanced at the others.  “Hope you boys have some identification on you.”

     When I said that, Dawson took a step forward.  O’Brian put up his hand; he wanted to talk some more.  I was doing some mental planning.  I’d take out Dawson first then concentrate on the table, and hoped that Martin was up to the job.

     “Sure glad to know your name.  I’m sure that after the trial on Monday, I’ll be back up here to arrest you.”

     Slamming his hand on the table, O’Brian shouted, “McGinnis won’t make it to trial, and you’ll never make it back to Durango.”  He jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over and fired a pistol he had been holding.  That’s opened up the game.

     I felt the bullet hit me, and it caused me to raise the Greener up.  Firing, I blasted O’Brian and Digger who were still sitting at the table.  I was able to hold on to the shotgun, and one thing about buckshot you don’t have to aim.  I could hear other shots being fired, but my eyes went to Dawson who had drawn his gun.  He fired first at Martin.  That gave me time to draw my pistol and fire two quick shots at him, both hitting him square in the breastbone.  He fell back against the bar, his gun going off again but the bullet hit the ceiling.  My eyes went to the right.  I fired, hitting one man in the neck, the other shot at me, but ran out to the back.  

     A sound came from my left, a man was on the floor trying to raise his gun to shoot at me.  I fired, putting an end to his intentions.  That’s when I noticed that Deputy Martin was on the floor, his head in a pool of blood.  Glancing around at my opponents, I then dropped to check on Martin.  “He stood by me, so Lord help him,” I prayed kneeling to check on him.  He was still alive, but unconscious.  

     I raised my head to see if anyone was in the room that could fetch the doctor.  I saw a man peeking his head out from behind the bar.  He had been hiding there during the fight.  Standing, I cocked the pistol pointing it at him.  “Don’t shoot, I have nothing to do with them.”

     “They call me ‘Sparky.’  I own this place.”

     “Sparky, why don’t you run for Doc Minton.”

     He took off, and as he passed by me, I heard the sound of…

So when you make a promise to God, don’t delay in following through, for God takes no pleasure in fools.  Keep all the promises you make to him.”

–Ecclesiastes 5:4 (NLT)

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

     I walked back to the cells.  “What’s that Mr. Smith?  I didn’t quite catch what you were sayin’.”

     “Marshal, I ain’t done nothing illegal.  You need to release me.”

     Pulling on the tip of my moustache, I leaned towards the man now standing at the bars.  “What is your connection with McGinnis?”

     “Honest, I came up from Los Lunas representing the Circle M.  I ride for Jesse Moreland.  Yuh can send a telegram, he’ll vouch for me.”

     “Hmmm, tell me more, Mr. Smith.”

     “Marshal, honest to goodness, that’s my name.  This hyar McGinnis met with my boss in Albuquerque ’bout bringin’ come beeves up here.  The way I heard it that a fortune could be made sellin’ to the miners.  I was sent to finalize the deal,” he finished with a deep sigh.

     If he was telling the truth, I almost felt sorry for him, and from his expressions I sorta tended to believe him.

     “Let me tell you, Smith.  I can’t turn you loose, that’s up to the Sheriff.  You’ll be comin’ with me to Durango, and you can tell your story to him and Judge Klaser.”

     He took another deep sigh, then went back to sit on the cot.  Nodding at me he dropped his head to his hands in resignation.

     I went back out to the office area.  “Osian, you got a deputy that could walk me through the town, I want to peer into Boyd’s Poolhall.”

     Martin quickly volunteered and in a few minutes we were walking up the street.

     “Is Boyd pullin’ the gang together?” I asked as we ambled on up the street.

     “I don’t think so,” replied Martin, then he added.  “He might be the thinking behind it, but he won’t go the distance to be the big boss.  In fact, I’m not sure if they have anyone in charge.  So far nothing has happened, no complaints from storeowners of being hassled.”

     Someone had to call for Dawson, I thought to myself.  Unless he had already been contacted by McGinnis.  With McGinnis in jail, and most likely hung, he might decide that there was no one around to pay his wages and leave.

     We were just down the street from the poolhall.  I checked my pistol, making sure it was ready and looked to see that the Greener was ready to go.  Then I turned to Martin.  “You prayed up?”

     “Huh?” he responded with a puzzled look on his face.

     “Are you right with the Lord in case you’re called to meet Him this day?  People in our line of business should always be ready to meet our Maker.”

     “Uh, well…”

     “Well, what?  It’s either yuh are or yuh ain’t.”

     “Tell you the truth Forrest, I never did much thinking about it.”

     I stopped there, a tobacco shop between us and the poolhall.  “Want to take time to make it right before we go in?”

     “You’re crazy, out here in the middle of the walk?”  

     “Gooda place as any,” I replied, then hesitated for a moment.  “There might be a bullet in there with your name on it.  The rider on the Pale Horse isn’t too particular ’bout who he brings to judgment.”

     I could tell he was pondering some.  Then he jerked his head, “Come on!”

     Opening the door there was a welcoming committee, I saw Dawson and then…

Just as being too busy gives you nightmares, being a fool makes you a blabbermouth.”  –Ecclesiastes 5:3 (NLT)

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

     I waited for an explanation.  “Vess Dawson, what do you know of him?”

     Osian spoke up, “Nothing really.  There was a gunfight, no one was hurt bad.  There was a little disagreement when we threw them in jail overnight to simmer them down.  One mouthed off and said something about a Dawson showing up.”

     “No other problems then?” I questioned, tucking what he said in my mind.

     “Nothing we haven’t been able to handle,” he said, then a grin came on his face.  “Exceptin’ one fact, Lucius can’t make coffee fit to drink.”

     “Hogwash!” came the reply from the other part of the room.

     “That’s what I was telling the Marshal, here.  Your coffee tastes like hogwash.”

     Lucius walked up to where we were standing.  I was holding a cup in my hand and Lucius looked in it.  “Marshal,” he barked, directing his words to Osian, “when was the last time you tasted ‘hogwash’?”  Then he gave his attention to me, waiting for me to say something.

     “Hmmm, it does have a peculiar flavor to it…” 

     He wouldn’t let me finish but grunted, “Bah,” and went back to his corner.  It was good that there was a comradery building among the men.

     Osian, to be polite, held his cup toward Lucius, “Uh, deputy, would you mind filling up my cup?”  I just had to laugh, but Lucius was dutiful and brought the pot to fill up Osian’s cup.  He then looked at me.  “What do you think about this Dawson fellow?”

     I pulled on the tip of my moustache, pondering a moment before answering.  “Just keep an eye on him.  If he’s a gunman, leave him alone unless he breaks the law, then at least two of you go after him,” I paused, then added, “with Greeners.  None of you are gunmen.  Always try to have the firepower on your side.”

     “Makes sense,” he muttered.

     “McGinnis’ trial is Monday,” I informed them.  “Have you heard any talk about breakin’ him out?”

     Marshal Beavin and the two deputies shook their heads.  I then added, “Anyone steppin’ up to take his place?”

     “None so far, in fact it’s hard to tell how many of the gang is still in town.  Bill Martin, I think you met him, has been keeping a close eye on them.”

     “They still makin’ the Glass Slipper their home base?”

     It was Deputy Greer that answered, “They still go there, but it seems that they’ve moved down to Boyd’s Billiard Hall and Casino.”

     I pulled my moustache again and then smirked, “Oh, Sparky is still around?”  His birth name was Aloysius, but because of his manner of dress he was referred to as “Sparky”.  “I might just have to pay him a visit before headin’ back to Durango for the trial.”

     “How long you staying?” asked the marshal.

     “The plan is to leave tomorrow.  I just wanted to check on you and your men.  I have to be back for the trial,” I paused to look back toward the cells.  “You still have Smith back there?”

     Osian nodded, and a smile came to my lips.  “Lucius, tell Mr. Smith, I’ll be takin’ him to Durango to stand trial.  Make something up ’bout McGinnis plea bargainin’ or something like that.”

     Now all the deputies were smiling.  Lucius went back to the cells.  Within seconds there came a roar.  “Forrest, you out there?  Marshal, you can take me…”