That’s why God’s Word commands us to be sober!” exclaimed Doc Jones.
    Doc had joined me for supper at the diner.  Mateo had agreed to let me treat him to supper.  Of our now foursome, Charlie Gold had to travel to Silverton.  He makes a trip up there at least once a month, sometimes more.
    “And soberness means more than not being drunk!” Doc continued on.  “It means to understand that life is serious; God gave us this life to be living for Him, not to be foolish!”
    Mateo glanced at me, but mostly he kept his gaze upon Doc.  I don’t think that he had heard such talk before so he waited for Doc to at least catch a breath before venturing in.  “Does that mean fiesta is out?  Don’t the God above want us to be happy?”
    Doc didn’t hesitate.  “Fun in moderation, never foolishness.  Do you think that Nick Parsons is happy right now knowing that his foolishness might have killed a man?  Waiting to see if that man dies, for that will determine if he is hung or not?  No, we are to enjoy life, so fiesta at times is fine, but soberness is still required,” he paused to look at Mateo.  “Are you catching any of this?”
    “I think so,” came his slow reply.
    I was sitting there listening, sipping at my coffee.  This seemed to be Doc’s show and he was relishing in it.  “Mateo, have you ever been drunk?”
    That brought a little laugh from Mateo.  “Si, only once.  Luciana lowered the broom on me.  ‘Never again!’ she ordered.”
    “You mean she lowered the boom,” I interrupted trying to explain for him.
    “No, she lowered the broom.  It cracked in half over my head,” he said touching the top of his head.  “She then told me to look at how it could affect Alejo and Enrique.  Never again have I touched el licor.”
    “What are the man’s chances?” I asked Doc concerning the wounded man.  “Ever find out what his name is?”
    “I dug the bullet out; that’s the good news.  However, I don’t know if it clipped his lung or not, and he lost a lot of blood.  I would say, if he rests and infection doesn’t set in he has a decent chance.  Again, I don’t know if the lungs were hit.  He could be slowly bleeding inside.”
    “Marshal,” interjected Mateo, “I’ve been reading, and since it was purposeful it wouldn’t be first degree murder.  If the stranger dies, might not Mr. Parson get off with a prison sentence?”
    Doc gave him a questioning look, along with his perpetual frown.  I had a grin, I was pleased that Mateo was taking his position seriously.  “It depends upon the prosecutor, what he charges him with,” I paused to take a sip.  “Also upon Judge Klaser.”
    “It seems sad that one foolish event could change a man’s life forever,” stated Mateo.  “Does Parsons have a family?”
    I glanced at Doc, “I really don’t know.  He doesn’t work regularly.  He hires out to ranchers as he needs the money or during roundups.  He’s done some work in the mines.”
    Doc responded, “If he has family, they’re not around here.”
    Concern was showing on Mateo’s face.  “Maybe we should try and find out.”
    Smiling, I slapped Mateo on the shoulder.  “Sounds good to me, go ahead.”
    The concern left and was exchange by a touch of fear.  “But, Marshal, he doesn’t like me, like Mexicans.  Plus I’m the man who arrested Him.”
    “Perhaps, you may change his mind…”

My mind was stewing over Conrad as I sat drinking coffee.  He was too young to be someone I knew from Texas.  Cheyenne maybe…
    “Marshal, yuh better come quick!” hollered Slim Wilkins bursting through the door of the diner.
    I had finished my supper and was drinking coffee waiting around for Molly and Marta to finish with the last of the customers and clean up.  Emelda had already gone home for the night; if anyone came in now wanting to eat they would have to eat what was left warming on the stove.  
    Holding my cup in my hand, I looked up at Slim.  “Why?  What’s goin’ on?”
    “Nick Parsons, just shot down a stranger over in the Dug Out and yur new deputy is goin’ ta git himself kilt!”
    “Simmer down, Slim.  Mateo can handle the situation,” I said, then thought to myself.  “He better.”
    Slim looked flustered when he came in now he was flabbergasted when I didn’t jump up.  “Aren’t yuh gonna go?” he said, the wrinkles in his forehead seem to fold over one another.
    “Tell you what, Slim.  As soon as I finish my coffee, I’ll head on down to the jail to meet him.”

    There had seemed to be some sort of altercation in the Dug Out Saloon.  It was at the end of the main road out of town, not one of the more popular or better dives in the town.  It seemed that this stranger had been steadily drinking and happened to bump into Parsons.  Parsons was a pretty good worker; he’d worked some in the mines, hired out to the ranches during roundups, worked the fields during harvest, but never really settled into something steady.
    There was a mean streak in him though.  If he had a few drinks in his system, it was likely to come out.  Usually nothing comes of it, but this time he had shot a man.  Mateo had been doing his rounds and was across the street when he heard the shot.  Running to the Dug Out he slowed as he came to the door, glanced inside before entering and saw Parsons with a gun in his hand and the stranger laying on the floor.
    “Mister Parsons, put the gun down,” ordered Mateo after he entered the saloon.  “You’re under arrest.”
    Parsons dropped his arm, but continued to hold the gun.  He slowly turned his head toward Mateo’s voice.
    “You!” commanded Mateo pointing out a man, “go get Doc Jones.”  Then to another sitting at a table closest to the fallen man.  “You! Check to see if he’s alive.”
    Mateo’s attention never wavered from Parsons as he gave the instruction.  “I said to put the gun down!” he said forcefully.
    Parson’s slowly moved a step toward the bar partially facing Mateo.  “No Mex deputy tells me what to do.”
    “Now you can drop your gun, or I can shoot you.  Your choice,” responded Mateo.
    “Nick, why don’t you just drop your gun and go along with the marshal,” suggested Kenner the bartender.
    “Last warning, I won’t speak again, and you can be lying next to the man you shot.”
    That brought a laugh and a grunt from Parsons.  “You’re not that fast.”
    “Try me,” answered Mateo.
    Maybe some of the whiskey was wearing off and he was sobering up.  He looked at the man laying on the floor, Blood now coming out from under him.  Through the door burst Doc Jones who immediately went to the man on the floor without a glance at Parsons or Mateo.
    Doc looked up, rubbed his whiskered face.  “Some of you guys get him over to my office, immediately!  There’s no time to lose if this man lives.”
    Parsons had uncocked his gun and now let it drop to the floor.  He looked at Mateo then nodded.

    I timed it just right for I met them coming down the boardwalk to the jail.  Nick was hanging his head.  “What’s the charge?” I asked.
    “Right now drunk and disorderly, plus attempted murder,” he paused then added, “possibly murder.”
    When Mateo said that, Nick Parsons jerked his head up, then let it slump again.  “Nick, why?”
    Mateo looked directly at me, his face solemn and firm.  “It’s the liquor.  It changes a man…”

We were sitting at the diner, enjoying coffee and pie.  Judge Klaser had fined each of the cowboys, Bill Farmer and Dakota Norris by name, twenty dollars for fighting and disorderly conduct.  Their boss, Cecil Thompson, was fined fifty dollars for inciting the fight and resisting arrest.  The Judge also gave them a stern warning that this will not be tolerated in Durango.
     Mateo was just picking at his pie.  “I will tell Luciana that you toy with your food,” warned Marta. 
     The diner was empty, it being around 10:30, however, the lunch group would start coming in shortly.  Marta had been sitting with us, along with her husband Sheriff Gold, Molly, and Doc.  She got up to go to the kitchen.  Her aunt, Emelda our regular cook, was not feeling well so Marta was doing the main cooking duties today.  When the rush started Edith Jones would be coming to help wait the tables.
     “So what’s wrong, Mateo?” I asked.
     “I worry that I did not handle the situation so well,” he replied softly.
     That sort of stunned me.  I thought he took care of those two cowboys quite well.  “How’s that?  I thought you handled yourself admirably.”
     “Admirably?  What does that mean?” Mateo inquired.
     “With honor,” piped in Doc Jones.  “It means you did a good job.”
     “But,” he began to reply looking first at Doc then over at Charlie and me.  “But I let them fool me.  I was fortunate.”
     I pulled on the left side of my moustache then wiped my hand down over my mouth and chin.  “Yes, you were fortunate.  But, Mateo, no matter how alert we are we can’t see everythin’.  You had no idea that you were goin’ to be pushed.”
     “You think we’ll have any more problems with them?” he asked.
     “New rancher in the area.  He might just be feelin’ out how we handle things in Durango, or he might have some personal issues.  Either way, he knows we’ll not put up with any shenanigans.”
     “Shenanigan, what does that mean?” inquired Mateo.  “You use strange words.”
     Again Doc to the rescue, “It means misbehavior, deception to do harm.”
     “Well, we’ll see if he wants to continue the argument.  Look who just came through the doorway,” said Charlie nodding in the direction of the entrance.
     In walked Cecil Thompson, the two cowboys, and a fourth man that I hadn’t seen before.  He was dressed similar to the cowboys, but that’s where it ended.  He wasn’t the normal working cowhand, and his gun was holstered low on his hips.  “Gunman?” I wondered.  But I hadn’t heard of any big outfits buying up land, nor of any men with their names on wanted posters in the area.
     The two cowboys went on to sit at a table while Thompson and the other man stood for a moment looking toward our table.  Thompson went on to join his hands while the stare from the stranger lingered on for a few more seconds. 
     When the man joined the others, Molly rose to go get their order.  The cowboys smiled at her, they were just doing what their boss told them, but there was a stare from Thompson and a lewd look from the stranger that brought a tinge of concern to my mind.
     “Do you think it is trouble?” asked Mateo.
     “No, not here,” they’ve come in to eat.  The city wouldn’t feed them breakfast since the hearing was early.  I found myself pulling on my moustache again while contemplating.  “I would like to know who that stranger is.”
     “I’ll find out,” proclaimed Charlie who proceeded to get up.  As he approached their table he reached for a chair and sat down between the stranger and Thompson.
     I was just able to make out the introduction.  “Howdy, I’m Sheriff Gold,” he said reaching out his hand to Thompson.  “Always like to meet new residents in the county.  I heard you have a ranch over toward Hesperus; that’s in my jurisdiction.”
     Thompson hesitated, then shook Charlie’s hand.  “Been here near two months.  I needed to get rid of a few cows, but found the stock manager trying to fill his own pockets with the prices he was charging.”
     “That so?” questioned Charlie.  “Why I’ve always known Pete Simmons to be an honest man.  I’m sure he’s not charging more than what are reasonable rates.  This is a mining region you know.”
     Then he turned his attention to the stranger.  “And you, do you work for Mr. Thompson?”  The man didn’t reply.  “Do you have a name?” asked Charlie.
     “Conrad…”
 

Lucas was waiting for us when we arrived back at the house.  Molly and I had taken time off to ride up the river a short ways.  Two-Bits needed a ride as did Star.  I really don’t work the horses since the train is around.  It’s faster, but I do miss my time in the saddle riding through God’s great cathedral.
     Molly, she never gets away from that diner.  So, today after the morning rush, we took off.  She told Marta that she would be gone through lunch, but would be back in time for supper.  Edith Jones said that she would help out.
     The ride had been nice.  The river was running fast and finishing with the spring run-off.  We rode for a couple of hours to a place where there are several boulders that reach out into the water forming a deep pool.  It made me wish I had brought along a fishing pole.  The sun was shining bright and we laid out on a flat rock, just watching the river roll by. 
     “Are you sorry?” asked Molly out of nowhere.
     I turned to look at her.  “Sorry for what?”
     “Oh, I don’t know.  Being stuck in one place.  Not taking that job in New Orleans.  Not starting your horse ranch,” she responded.
     I moved up to put my head on her lap.  “Nah, no regrets.  I learned many years ago to try my best to follow God’s plan.  He said my steps would be ordered by Him.  So, no, I’m not sorry about where I am and what I’m doin’,” I paused to look at the clouds moving slowly in the sky.  “I do get some weary with this new job.  Mateo is a real help, but he is inexperienced.  It will only last until January.”
     I must have dozed on her lap as I felt her shaking me.  “Miles, Miles, wake up.  We have to be getting back.  I promised Marta I’d be there for supper.”
     Pulling her down to me, I gave her a kiss.  “Thanks for takin’ the time off to ride up here.  We don’t get alone very often,” I said pulling myself up and donning my hat.
     Coming to the corral I knew we had plenty of time.  Lucas, my that boy has grown.  He came up taking the reins for Two-Bit as Molly dismounted.  “Senor Marshal, I theenk you had better hurry to town.  There may be trouble.”
     “Lucas!  What is it?” questioned Molly.
     He pulled off his straw hat to scratch at his head.  “Trouble, I theenk.”
     Molly came to me to hug my leg.  “Miles, you better go see.  I’ll be alright.”
     Swinging Star away from him, I nudged him into a trot heading for town.  I could see quickly that there was some commotion down by the stockyards.  They were built not long ago so ranchers in the area could ship cattle to market.  Bert Winfield used them some; Silas Postman came in once a year.  As I rode up I could see an argument going on between Mr. Simmons, the person who took care of the shipping.  His job was to make sure there was feed for the animals while they were in the pens.  I didn’t recognize the person he was arguing with.  Mateo was standing close by listening.
     I was on the far side of the pens when I saw Mateo motion to the man to leave.  The man turned, started to take a step away, then abruptly turned pushing Mateo off the platform.  Even though I was on the far sides of the pens, I could make out what the man said, “No bean-pusher is ordering me around!”
     There was scuffling going on, but I couldn’t make out what was happening.  The man who pushed Mateo was moving down the platform.  I gave Star a kick to head him off.  I reached the end of the platform before he did jumping from the saddle.  Grabbing him by the collar I slapped him a couple of times.  He tried to fight but I had momentum behind me and I knocked him down, dragging him back down the platform. 
     Mateo was grappling with two men on the ground.  I continued to hold the man’s collar, twisting it tighter each time a punch was thrown by the men below. 
     Pete Simmons came up beside me.  “Aren’t you going to help him, Miles?”
     I glanced at Pete, “If he needs it.  I haven’t seen him in action yet.”
     Mateo must have heard me for he looked up.  I pulled at my moustache, not loosening the grip on the man’s collar.  He was red in the face when Pete tapped me on the shoulder.  “Marshal, you might want to release your hold.”
     As I did I pulled him up to let him watch Mateo finish the fight.  “If you don’t want thumped alongside the head, you’ll be still, calm, and collected,” I warned.
     One man was down, and Mateo had the other in a headlock.  He looked up at me and I nodded.  As he released his combatant the man fell forward and Mateo brought up his knee to meet his chin.  He fell like a piece of wood.
     “Grab your hat and get up here,” I barked.
     Mateo was soon up on the platform with me, dusting himself off.  He jammed his hat on his head and muttered, “Enjoy the show?  I might sell tickets next time.”
     The man I had been holding, the one who pushed Mateo off the platform, jerked loose from me.  “I don’t know who you think you are!” he near screamed.  “But I’ll have the law down on you.”
     I nodded at Mateo, who opened his vest where the man could see his star.  He spit.  I cuffed him alongside the ear.  “I was goin’ to say this was just a misunderstandin’, but mister, you’re goin’ to jail!”
     “Pete, who is this guy?”
     “Cecil Thompson, he just moved into a ranch to the west of town, out toward Hesperus.”