Betty screamed as the man burst through the door, firing his gun in the air.  I turned to draw, “Don’t touch that gun, Marshal, or I’ll put a hole through the preacher’s chest,” hollered a warning.  He had the advantage, so I waited for my chance.

       “Where’ Hoffner preacher?” voiced the man walking up to Rev. Chapman sticking the gun in his stomach.  

       “How dare you enter my home like that,” returned the preacher.  “You can just leave, I’d never tell you just for your discourteousness.  The truth of the matter is, I don’t know.”

       He struck the Reverend across the face, but I’ll hand it to Parson Chapman, he didn’t go down.  I thought I might maybe have a chance, but he turned his gun on my cocking the hammer.  Then smiled, moving the gun away from me for its deadly eye to stare at Betty.

       “Now, Preacher, where’ Hoffner?”

       The parson had guts that’s for sure.  He stepped over in front of his wife.  “I told you I don’t know.  I had the Marshal look into his disappearance and Clyde can’t be found.  Now leave this home!”

       The bounty hunter glared at the parson, studying his expressions.  Looking over at me, he pointed the gun my direction.  I looked back into his eyes.  He didn’t holster his gun, he just began backing away.  “You tell Hoffner that Sly Malone is looking for him.”  He reached to his pocket flinging a piece of paper toward the parson, then stepped on out the door.

       Rev. Chapman turned to take his wife in his arms.  She was halfway between being angry and sobbing.  Her head turned toward me, “Marshal aren’t you going after him?”

       I stood, then glanced toward the entry.  “Mrs. Chapman, I wouldn’t find him now, but I will see that he pays for breakin’ into your house,” I said, then turned my attention to the preacher.  “Can you tell me why your cousin is hiding?  Is there any truth to this charge?”

       Releasing his wife, he stooped to pick up the paper.  Unfolding it he found it was the same wanted poster that I was shown.  “Hmpf, I know the Swithart family.  They were vile, heathen people.  I tried to visit with them a couple of times.  The last time they sicced their dog upon me.  Hmpf, if anything they should have charges brought against them.”

       He guided Betty to sit down then he took his chair again.  These were good people.  I didn’t know Clyde Hoffner very well, only spoke to him a few times.  I would have to take their word for his character until I found out different.  “I’ll get a telegram out to the local authorities first thing in the mornin’,” I told them.  “The wanted poster isn’t one issued by the courts.  It seems to be a personal vendetta by the Switharts.”

       Rev. Chapman turned to look at his wife.  They looked at each other for a few seconds.  “What?” I asked.  “Do you know something?”

       “Marshal,” spoke up Betty.  “We do know that Clyde went to the Swithart home after the dog was turned loose on Dale, but he wouldn’t have done anything that severe.  Clyde told us that he spoke with Matthew, that’s the father, and then had words that ended up with Clyde giving him a beating.  Nothing more.  It was a week after that when we moved to Durango.  Clyde was with us, as you know, and there had been no fire before we left.”

       I nodded my head, then pulled on the end of my moustache.  “I believe the Thompson hands when they told me that they didn’t know about Clyde.  I’ll admit that I didn’t talk to them all.  I’ll go back out there to see if any others are around.  There may be one that Clyde confided in.”  I looked toward the entryway.  “I don’t think that Malone will bother you again,” I said trying to assure them.

       The next morning right after breakfast I sent a telegram back to the town in Illinois, then taking the little snack that Molly gave me I mounted Star and headed out toward Thompson’s ranch.  I’d been on the road for about an hour when I knew I was being followed.  It had to be Malone.  It was time for this nonsense to stop…

I walked into CC’s Billiard Parlor where there were two tables with men playing.  At a small round table toward the back and against the wall I saw the stranger I was looking for.  Approaching him, “I heard you’ve been lookin’ for me?” I inquired.  He was drinking beer and looked confused when I spoke to him.

       “Sheriff Gold said you were askin’ about me,” I said again.

       Slowly he lowered the glass of beer to the table, his face turning serious and taut.  “Are you Forrest?”

       “I am,” came my curt reply.  I placed my thumbs inside my gunbelt so he could see I wasn’t a threat.  From what I could gather I didn’t think he was after me or a threat to me either.  Of course, I’ve been wrong before.  “What is it I can help you with?”

       He was appraising me, looking closely at the badge I was wearing.  “I was told you could help me locate a certain individual,” he remarked.  

       “First, tell me who you are, and what you want,” I demanded.  “Then I’ll hear your questions.”

       He frowned slightly.  “Impertinent and to the point aren’t you?  I’m Sly Malone,” he said, reaching his hand out over the table.  I stayed as I was and in a few seconds he dropped his hand.  “Not a friendly sort either,” he muttered.

       “Who said I could help you?  Help you with what?”

       “I’m getting to that.  People have said that you know most everyone in town, and I’m looking for a certain individual by the name of Clyde Hoffner,” he informed me.

       My attention was now completely focused on him since he was asking about Clyde.  “I try to get to know most folk in town.  What do you want with Clyde?”

       He smiled as he reached for his shirt pocket bringing out a folded piece of paper.  It was a wanted poster.  “He’s wanted back in Illinois for arson and attempted murder.”

       Taking the poster from his hand I perused it carefully.  I handed it back to the man.  “This is not issued by the State of Illinois,” I paused, “It appears to be a vendetta against Clyde for some reason.  Mind tellin’ me who issued the poster?”

       “Doesn’t matter who issued the poster, he’s still wanted.  It seems that Mr. Swithart chased him off as he didn’t want this Hoffner fellow seeing his daughter.  A couple of days later, his barn was burned to the ground, and his house partially burned with the family inside.  Hoffner disappeared at the same time.”

       “That’s not much evidence,” I replied.

       An insidious sneer appeared, “It’s enough for Mr. Swithart to offer a reward of $500 for him.”

       People like this, bounty hunters in general, jerk my jaws.  “It’s not a valid poster.  Besides I don’t know where he is.”

       “Do you deny that he was working for Cecil Thompson?

       “No, in fact, that’s the last place I knew where he was.  If he’s gone I don’t have an idea where, and with that bogus poster I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

       There were several moments of tension.  He was angry, but not threatening, then he spoke, “I’ll find him.  Good day, Marshal.”

       Since I was dismissed, I turned and left waving at Casey Cameron the proprietor who was putting up pool cues.  Leaving the billiard parlor I headed on up toward the church and the Chapman residence.  Clyde was a cousin to the preacher and helped him move to town.  I wanted to see if he knew anything about this supposed fire.

       Knocking on the door, Betty Chapman answered.  I must have caught her at a bad time.  She was wearing a scarf and when she opened the door she was trying to push strands of her hair underneath it.  She was wearing an old dress with a well-worn apron over it.  “Oh, Marshal Forrest, oh, please forgive me for the way I look.  I was doing some cleaning and wasn’t expecting company.”

       I smiled, “I reckon minister’s wives sometimes have to clean the house.  I’m sorry to have caught you at an inopportune moment, but I would like to speak to the parson.”

       She smiled, still working at her hair.  “I’ll get him, and put on some coffee.  Please sit down.”  She already knew my weakness.

       Shortly thereafter, Rev. Chapman came into the room.  He had a smile for me and I stood to greet him.  “Miles, it’s always good to see you.  Betty said you had something to ask me.”

       I shook his hand and we both sat down.  The coffee must have already been made, for as we sat Betty came in with two cups.  She handed one to each of us then sat next to her husband.  I noticed that she had removed the apron.

       “Parson, there’s a man in town lookin’ for Clyde.”  His eyes narrowed and he set the cup down on the table next to the little couch.  “He has a wanted poster on Clyde.”

       “Why is that ridiculous!” exclaimed Betty.  

       Her husband put his hand on her knee to settle her.  “What does the poster say?” he inquired.

       “Arson and attempted murder.”

       He was shaking his head.  Clyde helped us move, and I don’t know of anything he would have done to bring those charges.  Did this man who had the posters say anything else?”

       I was ready to respond when the door burst open…

I had originally thought that Hoffner was working somewhere in the mountains searching for strays or that something out of the ordinary happened.  Perhaps he was thrown by his horse, or that his horse had stumbled and fell on him.  But now, with what Donovan had said I had a whole different view–Hoffner had left the area, or at least was hiding out.  But why?

       “Marshal, he was fidgety, actin’ strange,” recalled Donovan.  “I gave him several days of fixin’s.”

       I looked over at Thompson who gave a little shrug.  “First I’ve heard of it.  Bill didn’t say anything about Clyde leaving.”

       “Where can I find Farmer?” I asked.  “Hoffner might have said somethin’ to him.”  The way Donovan explained Hoffner’s actions I didn’t think Farmer would know, but it wouldn’t do any harm to ask.

       Thompson stroked his chin a few times before he spoke.  “I think he’s…”

       “He’s supposed to be in the south pasture looking over the herd and was to meet up with the boys,” interrupted Donovan.  

       Thompson stared at Donovan for several seconds, then turned his attention to me.  “There you have it Marshal, check the south pasture,” he responded also with a little shrug.

       Donovan had just filled up my cup so I took a sip pondering how large the south pasture was.  Donovan was smiling as if he was reading my mind.  “Just head straight south from the barn.  The boys usually camp in a small grove of cottonwoods about an hour from here.”

       “Cecil, I really don’t know what’s goin’ on.  I’ll stop back by here before headin’ back to Durango.  Thanks for your time and hospitality.”

       He stood up as I did, reaching out his hand.  “I hope he’s not in serious trouble.  Keep me informed, will you?”

       “Will do,” I said, then reached for the cup to take my last swallow.

       An hour later I saw the cottonwoods, and could make out a small fire at the campsite.  The boys must be taking it easy or Bill Farmer hasn’t found them yet.  When I rode in I waved.  Farmer was there and I recognized another one of the cowboys, the other three I didn’t know.  Thompson had a regular turnover with hands.  He paid good wages, but was a rough man.  Some said he was hard to work for, but from what I gathered, he expected a full day’s work for the wages he paid.  Lots of punchers wanted to loaf and Cecil had no trouble turning them loose.

       After dismounting I walked up to the fire.  One of the punchers already had a cup of coffee poured for me, and who was I not to accept the offer.  “What brings you way out here, Marshal?” questioned Farmer.  He looked quickly at the four men with him to see if any of them were startled at seeing a marshal approach them.

       I nodded at the crew to let them know that they were not under my scrutiny, then answered Farmer.  “I’m lookin’ for Clyde Hoffner.  Any idea where he might be?”

       Farmer shook his head, then looked toward the others.  “Any of you know anything about Clyde?”

       A man who had been sitting by the fire stood and came to me.  “I saw Clyde just before he left.  He said he had to leave.  I asked him why and he wouldn’t answer just said, ‘Because’,” the man paused, took off his hat to wipe his brow and when he had replaced it continued.  “Marshal, I don’t know if this has anything to do with it, but there was a rider come up to the house and barged into the bunkhouse.  There were only a couple of us there and we didn’t appreciate his manner, but we also noticed the way he carried his gun.”

       “Go on,” I urged.

       “He said he was looking for Clyde.  I replied that he wasn’t here.  He stared at me with eyes that gave me the shivers.  Honestly, I thought he was going to pull his gun and shoot me.  That’s when Ozzie spoke up telling the man that I was telling the truth.”

       “Marshal, he turned to leave, but stopped to glare at both of us.  ‘If you’re lying, I’ll be back and it won’t go well with either of you,’ then he strode on out the door slamming it behind him.”

       I took a swallow and washed the coffee through my mouth before swallowing.  “Marshal, Ozzie and I were telling the truth.  Clyde had done left a few hours before.”

       Shaking my head, I muttered, “What in the world had Clyde gotten himself into.  That man, could it have been the man in the diner?”

       “What was that you were saying, Marshal”? asked Farmer.

       “Nothin’, just talkin’ to myself.  Thanks for the coffee and the information.  Let me know if you see Clyde.  I want to talk to him before that other fellow finds him.”