Get rid of him!” snapped Anton Knaught to Marshal Mort Udall who had just walked in the back door.  

       “I don’t know…he’s a Deputy U.S. Marshal.  If he is killed they’ll send more down to investigate,” cautioned Udall.

       “Get rid of him!  Smash his head in with a rock, throw him down the canyon, do something, but I want him out of the way.  And another thing, I want Adams released from jail.  He doesn’t do me any good sitting in there,” came the words of a very agitated Anton Knaught who was clenching his fists in anger.

       Udall came and sat on the edge of the desk.  “Have you thought this through? he questioned.  “Adams is Forrest’s prisoner and there are witnesses as to him being involved in the attack.”

       Knaught was turning red in the face and the veins on his neck were bulging.  “Then get rid of the witnesses!  Or make up some story saying that in the confusion Adams was actually trying to help diffuse the situation.”

       “What about the kid, Baca?”

       “What?  Get rid of him as well.  Who’s going to miss a Mexican kid?”

       A grim look appeared on the face of Udall.  He didn’t like the idea of killing kids and he remembered that Baca’s father was the marshal over in Belen.  He would come around asking questions, probing for information.  Finally, he spoke, “What about Crandall and Sanchez?”

       Knaught looked up at him.  “Are they going to live?” he asked and, not waiting for an answer, went on.  “Go see them, talk with them.  If you think they may tell of our operation then get rid of them as well.  I want this thing cleaned up.”  He paused to let the words sink in, then continued, “Are you understanding me, Marshal Udall?”  

       Udall stood and started for the front door.  “Marshal!  Use the back door.  Do I have to do all your thinking for you?”  The marshal turned heading on out the back door and into the alley.  He was disturbed and didn’t know quite how to handle it.  He didn’t like what Knaught was telling him to do, but he was making a nice little side income.  He’d head on over to the doctor to see the wounded enforcers.

       I had directed Elfego to a bench across the street in front of the saddle shop as it was in the shade.  “What do you think, Elfego?” I asked, wanting him to think the situation through.

       “He is lying,” came his quick reply.

       “What should we do?”

       “Arrest him, of course.  He is a scoundrel and is hurting fine people, Anglos and Mexican alike,” he said with conviction.

       I smiled, pulled on my moustache watching Knaught’s office.  “On what evidence, my young friend?”

       He sat quietly, holding his chin in one hand.  “Maybe we could get witnesses, Mr. Green for instance.  I know most of the merchants,” he said, getting excited.

       Standing up, he was ready to go, but I continued to sit.  “Easy, easy, I want to sit just a little longer.  One thing you have to learn is patience.”

       We sat, and I asked him questions about his father and mother.  I asked him what he thought of Rev. Sinclair and started to direct the conversation around to salvation and the cross again, when Knaught came out of his office.  He didn’t bother to glance around, just mounted a horse that had been tied to the hitching post and put it to a gallop out of town.

       I pulled on my moustache and smiled…

We sat on the steps of the church while I explained the difference between the empty cross and the crucifix.  Elfego stared at me for several seconds then turned his attention to gaze out from the church.  I stayed quiet, hoping that I could answer any questions that he might have.

       Turning just his head to look at me, he said, “Sure gives a person something to think about.”  He then looked out down the street.

       I stood, brushed off my pants and asked, “Ready to make a call on Mr. Knaught?”

       Not waiting for a reply I strode off the steps and he soon fell in step with me.  Within blocks we came upon his place of business with a sign painted on the front:  Insurance, Security, and Protection.  I opened the door and walked in followed by Elfego.  A man, I reckoned was Knaught, was working with head down at a desk.  I could see there was a ledger of some sort in front of him.

       “Just be a second,” he muttered.  He finished up doing some figures then looked up.  Upon seeing Elfego, he hollered, “Get that bean-eater out of here!”

       I had about all I could stand.  I slammed the Greener on the table making him jump then lifted the barrel placing it smack dab against his mouth.  I surely wanted to jab it further, maybe loosen some teeth, but I kept calm.  “I’ll say it once, apologize to the boy.”

       He started to mutter something, and I took that as an excuse to push the barrel of the shotgun into his mouth.  Probably didn’t break any teeth or even loosen any, but it sure got his attention.  His eyes became like a full moon.  “I’ll remove the barrel just as soon as I know you’re goin’ to apologize.  Nod if you understand.”

       His eyes went from me to the boy and back again.  I saw him hesitate and move his right hand, so I shoved the barrel a little deeper.  He gagged, but decided not to go for a gun.  Finally, with his eyes now beginning to water, he nodded his head.

       “My apologies, son.  Sometimes my mouth runs off before my brain tells it to,” he muttered.  I reckoned it was some sort of an apology.  He brought his hand up and wiped off his lips with the back of it.  “No call for you to do that, mister,” he said with indignation.

       “No call of you to berate the young man,” I replied, making sure I didn’t use the term boy.

       He dropped his head slightly, then closed his ledger.  “How may I be of service to you?” he inquired.

       I thought about telling him some kind of story of how I was planning on opening up a shop and heard of his services, but decided to cut right to the chase.  “What’s this about your protection racket?”

       Anger flashed through his eyes, but then I saw him glance at the shotgun and he gained control of his emotions.  “Sir, I don’t know what you mean by a ‘racket.’  My business offers a service, that’s all.”

       “What happens if a merchant chooses not to purchase your services?” I inquired.

       He shrugged his shoulders and straightened up some, trying to look in control.  “Why nothing, that is his choice.  He simply refuses protection and insurance.”

       “No repercussions?  No burning of his store?  No killing of his stock?  No…”

       “I don’t know what you’re getting at!” he raised his voice, interrupting me.  “I run a respectable business and offer a service.”

       “Just like the thug I arrested and put in jail and his friends over at the doc’s office.  Are they part of your respectable business?”

       He gave me a puzzled look.  “Fellow by the name of Tobacco Joe doesn’t work for you?”

       “Never heard of him,” came his reply.

       “How about Bo Crandall or Ken Adams?  You don’t know them either?”

       I could tell he was getting a little antsy.  “I know them.  They work for me from time to time collecting the monthly bills.”

       “Un huh, what about Grady Stinson?”

       The sides of his cheeks twitched and he blinked his eyes.  “Stinson, I don’t believe he has a business in town, or if so I don’t think we carry his account.”

       Part of me wanted to thump him alongside the head just for lying, but I remained cool and calm.  “Who are you to come bursting in here with these insinuating accusations?”

       Leaning forward, I glared into his eyes.  “Deputy U.S. Marshal, Miles Forrest,” I said, pausing, but continuing to stare.  Straightening up, I asked another question, “How much do you charge your clientele?”

       “Depends on the size of the business.  Minimum cost is a dollar a day,” he informed me.

       “That’s a full day’s wage.  You must be makin’ out all right,” I remarked, then changed the shotgun from my right hand to the left and asked, “What is the marshal’s cut?”

       “Now, see here!”

       I raised my hand to calm him down and nodded with my head to Elfego that it was time to go.  We started for the entrance when I stopped to say, “Be seein’ you, Mr. Knaught,” then walked on out.

       I didn’t know it at the time, but when I left the office, Knaught called for a man to come in from the back.  “Get rid of him!”

We were headed to Knaught’s place of business when I spied the spire of a little white church around the corner and down the block.  Most ministers, if they’re worth their salt, know the happenings in a town of this size.  As we walked toward the church I asked Elfego if he knew where the pastor lived.
       For that I received a puzzled look.  “Pastor, preacher, do you know where he lives?” I asked rather curtly.  “Elfego, you do go to church?”

       “Si, maybe, once in a while.  The padre, when he sees me he bemoans my fate because I do not often attend,” came a rather sheepish reply.

       “Where are your parents?  Don’t they make you go?” I kept questioning as we neared the steps that led up to the front door.  

       As I put one boot on the steps, he hesitated to go up with me.  “What’s wrong?  Is there something about this preacher you don’t like?”

       He seemed a bit squeamish, something I hadn’t seen in him before.  He would shrug one shoulder, then the other then got a sour look on his face.  “What is it?” I asked firmly.

       “This man, this preacher, makes me uncomfortable.  I’ve only seen him a few times, but he makes me, how can I put it, itch inside,” he replied.  “I’ll wait for you here.”

       I put my hand behind his shoulder and sort of pushed him forward a bit.  “We’re in this together, and I want you to hear what he says.  Maybe he can shed some light on what is going on.”  The door was unlocked so we entered.  I looked around for a room that might be used for an office.  Entering the sanctuary, I hollered, “Hello, I’d like to talk to the Preacher.  Hello!”

       To the back, off to the left of the pulpit area a door opened and I could see the light behind it.  A man emerged, rather tall, but thin, dressed in a suit, but without a jacket.  He waved at us to come to him.

       “Hello, Sir,” he said with genuine sincerity as if he was really happy to see us.  “Ah, I recognize you,” he said to Elfego, reaching out his hand to him first.  “I’ve seen you all around town.  You’re Francisco Baca’s son.”

       I could tell that Elfego was surprised.  “You know my father?”

       “Not well, but we have spoken a few times,” the preacher replied, then turned to shake my hand.  “And you, Sir.  Who do I have the honor of meeting?”

       He firmly gripped my hand as I responded.  “Deputy U.S. Marshal Miles Forrest, and I just wanted to ask you a few questions if I may intrude on your time.”

       “Reverend Claude Sinclair, and yes, yes come into my office if you want, or we can sit here,” he said by introduction.  He looked me over then back to Elfego, and I saw him smile.  We chose to sit on the front pew of the church.  Elfego made sure to sit on the other side of me away from the preacher.

       “You know Elfego?” I asked out of curiosity.

       He continued to smile.  “Yes, they were living up in Kansas, Topeka I believe when his mother died,” he stopped to look at Elfego.  “What was it, Elfego, two, three years ago?  His father is the sheriff over in Belen and Elfego spends much of his time here in Socorro doing odd jobs.”

       I glanced over at Elfego before asking the preacher any more questions.  He didn’t look at me, just stared straight ahead, looking at the cross that was on the wall.  “Reverend, what can you tell me about a ring that is pestering, and sometimes beating merchants in town?  I’ve been sent to search for a man named Grady Stinson, but no one seems to have heard of him or they are keeping it very quiet.”

       “He does not know?” the preacher inquired.  “If he doesn’t know, I don’t think I can add anything to it.  Elfego here is quite the investigator, and to answer your question I haven’t heard of a Grady Stinson.  However, there is a group who strong-arms the merchants into paying them a, what I call, an extortion fee.”

       I nodded at him to go on.  “A Mr. Anton Knaught has put up an insurance company in which he required all the merchants in town to be part of.  So far he hasn’t bothered the church, but they must pay a fee to protect their property.  If for some reason they refuse or don’t pay, they find within a few days that there is some kind of destruction to their place of business.  Mr. Knaught is sure to remind them that if they would have paid, their damages would have been covered by his policy.”

       The preacher was to my liking.  He reminded me of our minister back in Durango, Dale Chapman.  We talked a little longer, but his information was all I needed.  Normally, this would have been a job for the town marshal, but from what I had gathered and what Rev. Sinclair had added, there was indeed extortion going on and that the marshal was heavily involved with it.  However, with New Mexico still being a territory I had considerable jurisdiction.

       Elfego had been very quiet, and he only nodded when the pastor told him goodbye and prayed that the Lord would bless him.  Outside, on the steps, he looked back at the now closed church.  “Miles, do you know why there is not the figure of a man on the crucifix in that church?”

Marshal, you lay a finger on that boy, and you’ll have worse than a broke arm,” I warned him while raising the Greener ready to strike.  “If it wasn’t for him, who knows what might have happened, perhaps a dead U.S. Marshal for you to explain.”

       He scowled then said, “I don’t want that Mex kid in my office.  He doesn’t come in here unless it’s to spend time in one of those cells.”  He paused to look at Elfego, then began his little tirade again.  “And I don’t reckon it’ll be long before he pays a visit.  Now get him out of here!”

       I was doing all I could to stay calm, but I was ready to give Marshal Udall a good thump or two.  I nodded at Elfego, and he turned to leave.  However, he stopped at the entrance to look at Udall.  “I won’t come here again, Marshal,” he said, then smiled.  “Until the time it becomes my office.”

       With that he walked out.  I thought that the Marshal was fit to be tied.  If I hadn’t been standing there he would have gone after the boy.  I waited a few seconds before asking to see Adams, his prisoner.

       “What for?” he asked, still in a snarling mood.  “This is town business, not federal and I’d ask you to stay out of my affairs.”

       He was getting closer and closer to a thump, but I stayed cool.  “I just want to ask him about the extortion business he’s involved with.”

       “You’re crazy!” barked Udall.  “What extortion?”

       I tried to stare daggers into him, but he wouldn’t meet my eye.  “Marshal, either you don’t know your town very well, or perhaps you’re involved in it…”  I let that statement hang watching for his reaction.

       There was none, or very little.  “Go ahead, ask Adams your questions.  He was seeing a federal marshal hassle his friends so he came to help them.”

       “Hmmm, that’s mighty interesting.  He tell you that, Marshal?  He couldn’t even see me inside the store and his friends were still outside trying to gain entrance when the shooting started.”  Upon seeing him lying on the cot, smoking, his hat half pulled down over his face.  After inhaling and removing the smoke I could see an arrogant look on his face.  I turned around to reach for the keys.

       When I opened the cell door, he jumped up, his hat flying off to the floor.  The arrogance was gone and replaced by fear.  “You, you can’t…”

       “Can’t what?” I questioned.  I slapped the barrel of the Greener into the palm of my left hand.  “I just want to ask a few questions.”

       He had now gotten up and backed himself into the corner.  “You ought not to intimidate a prisoner,” he whimpered.

       “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Mister.  I just want to know who you’re workin’ for.”

       He looked down, looked around, looked at my shotgun, looked at the ceiling, even looked for help from Udall, but he never would look directly at me.  He finally spoke, but it was so low I couldn’t hear him.  “Out of work, don’t work for nobody,” he said in a croaky voice.

       I smiled, then imparted a few words of wisdom.  “I’m goin’ to visit your friends, an’ if they give me a story different from yours, well, let’s just say it won’t go well for you.  I can’t abide liars.”

       As I stepped from the cell, he hollered, Anton Knaught, Insurance, Security, and Protection Services.  It’s three blocks down, around the corner from the Shady Nook Saloon.”

       Remaining at the door to the cell just having closed it, I inquired, “What about Stinson?  Who is he?”

       He shrugged his shoulders, and had a puzzled look on his face.  I tipped my hat with the end of the barrel, “Be seein’ you.”

       I walked out hanging the keys back on the hook and on out the door not bothering to look at Udall.

       A half block away, Elfego was sitting on a bench in the shade.  He didn’t move as I approached him.  “Can you show me Anton Knaught’s office?”

       He didn’t answer, but looked up at me with a somber face.  “Marshal Forrest, you don’t think of me as a little kid, do you?”

       It had bothered him when I called him a boy back in the marshal’s office.  I sat down on the bench beside him.  “No, you’re not a little kid, or a little boy either.  You’ve got some growin’ to do, some learnin’ to do, but you handled yourself like a man back in the store,” I said, then frowned at him.  “I don’t know how it happened, but one thing I should tell you is that I don’t cotton to anyone takin’ my gun from my holster.  Savvy?”

       There came upon his face that large grin.  “Sorry, but it seemed the thing to do at the time.”