Did you show Abrams this telegram?” I barked at Fitzer.
    “Well, uh, uh, not exactly,” he stammered.
    “Not exactly!  Now what does that mean?”
    He was visibly sweating, his eyes went to the barrel of the Greener even though I hadn’t threatened him with it.  “I told him what it said,” he murmured weakly.  
    “And?”
    “He just said he thought he’d ride out to meet him,” replied Fitzer.
    Now I did slam the Greener down on the counter and when it smacked I thought he was going to jump out of his britches. “How far?”
    “Oh, from when I received the telegram, probably two hours,” he said meekly.
    “When did Abrams leave?
    His eyes now darting from mine to the barrels of the shotgun.  “Close to fifteen minutes ago.”
    “Listen you little weasel, I’m goin’ to see that you’re in a cell so deep in Canon City that they’ll never find you!”  I exclaimed then rushed out toward the livery.
    Without a glance at the hostler I had my horse saddled and ready to mount in a few minutes.  There was no time to lose.  I rode out from the livery when I saw Cora.  Reining in next to where she was standing, I leaned down toward her.  “Cora, tell Marshal Blasco that I’m ridin’ to catch Abrams.  Now!  Pronto!”
    I spurred my horse harder than usual since he was a strange mount to me.  Riding hard down those tracks I was wishing that I was on either Hawk or Star.  I trusted their eyesight, this one, I just had to pray, ride, and hold on.  I knew I couldn’t keep up this pace, so I slowed to a trot.  I didn’t figure that Abrams would be pushing his horse any.  It didn’t matter to him when he came up to Martin.
    Since I had rode hard at the beginning I reckoned I was only minutes behind him.  There was an outcropping of rocks ahead where the tracks started to make a bend.  It was there I heard the shots.  I slowed down as I neared the rocks then dismounted tying the reins to a bush.  As quietly as possible I walked around the rock.  I heard conversation, but could make nothing out of what was being said.
    There was a man, over between two rocks.  If he wasn’t dead he was close to it.  I saw movement off to my left, saw Abrams and another man slowly moving from cover toward the man.
    “Stop right there!” I ordered  “You’re under arrest for the murder of a U.S. Marshal.”
    As I stepped toward them, I felt the sting along my neck, then heard the sound of the shot.  I cut loose with both barrels of the Greener, dropped then rolled to my left.  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered.  Fool tenderfoot stunt.  Looking in front of me I saw that Abrams and the other man was down.  There was no movement.  I knew that off to my left and behind me was at least one more man, maybe more.
    There was a wetness and I reached up to feel blood on my collar.  That was a close one.  It wasn’t going to do me any good to lay here so that he could get a better position.  I started to move when I heard the shot….

                                        * * * *
    He tipped his hat when he came in the restaurant.  Walking toward where Molly was sitting, he was looking around.  “Looks like, Mrs. Forrest, that I’m going to have to shut you down,” said Marshal McCall calmly.
    “What you mean, shut us down?” shouted Marta who had heard him from the kitchen door.
    McCall nodded at her and smiled.  “This establishment does not meet the safety requirements as stated in the city ordinances.”
    “McCall, what is it that you’re after?” asked Molly, now standing.
    His grin increased, showing his teeth then he shrugged.  “Oh, a thing or two, but we’ll start with twenty-five dollars a month protection fee.”
    “Get out!” yelled Marta coming toward McCall with a meat cleaver in her hand.
    Pulling his gun, he pointed it at her.  “I’d hate to shoot a woman, but you take one more step and I’ll shoot.”
    “Marta!” thundered Molly.  “Stop!  Go get Charlie!”
    She rushed out, McCall holstered his gun, smiled again.  “Good, I’d much rather negotiate with you…”

As Charlie Gold and Molly sat at the table Marta came over to give Charlie a hug and little kiss on the cheek.  “We have some pie left, I’ll bring you a piece,” said Marta sweetly the whirled to go to the kitchen.
    Charlie looked over at the empty chair.  “He’s been gone quite a spell,” uttered Charlie.  He then go up to get some coffee from the pot on the stove.  “No coffee!” he muttered in amazement.
    Molly shook her head.  “No, I’ll have to get you some from the kitchen.  That’s Miles’ pot; he’s the one that tends to it.”
    Marta came from the kitchen with pie and two cups in her hand.  “Don’t bother yourself, Molly.  Sit, I’ll be right back with the coffee.”
    “Miles sent a telegram,” began Molly.  “Marshal Blasco has been shot and they’re waiting for the U.S. Marshal for the New Mexico Territory to arrive.  He should be home in a few days.”
    He watched as Molly absent-mindedly fiddled with the hand on her cup.  “You’re worried.”
    A small smile came from Molly as she shook her head.  “No, I’ve learned to trust in the Lord and not to worry.”  She took a small sip.  “That’s not to say I’m not a little concerned.”
    Marta was just coming to sit down with them as there was no one in the restaurant when the door opened.  “That’s him,” whispered Molly.
    Charlie looked him over carefully as the man took a chair at a table closer to the kitchen.

                             —————————

    I had been explaining to Jens about the Pale Rider.  For some reason the Lord had allowed me to have this vision, or illusion of him, though the Pale Rider was Death itself.  “I don’t know how to explain it Jens.  I’ve seen or heard him a couple of dozen times.  He always comes with a threat, and when he does appear to me someone always dies.”
    Blasco rubbed down on his leg and took a deep sigh.  “It doesn’t concern you, that spirit or whatever dogging your trail?”
    “It used to until I realized that he can’t do nothin’ that the good Lord don’t allow.  I put my faith in Him and when it’s time for me to go I know it won’t be the Pale Rider comin’ for me, but the Lord Himself,” I said pausing to watch his face.  “After all, he’s doggin’ us all for death will eventually happen, that’s one thing we can be sure of.”
    I could see that Blasco was thinking on what I’d been telling him.  “You stay in that chair!” I ordered.  “I’m goin’ to check if I can get some information on that shooter, and check on the doc.”
    Turning to leave, Jens stopped me.  “Check with the telegraph operator.  Maybe the train’s been delayed.”
    As I stepped out on the boardwalk I saw the waitress sitting alone at the cantina so I walked toward her.  Approaching the table I looked around the bar for Ramon, and not seeing him I sat down and when I did she started to get up.  
    “Wait!” I admonished.  “What is goin’ on with this town?”
    Her stare, I thought, was going to penetrate my head.  It was piercing and hard.  There was no hatred for me, but I could feel the bitterness.  “Senor, you and your friend should leave.”
    “Do you have a name?” I asked softly.  “It’s always nice to know who you’re talkin’ with.”
    That seemed to soften her a little that I was interested enough to want to know her name.  She looked around, then answered, “Cora.”
    “Cora, who was the man that was shot?” I asked.  “Tell me, please.”
    “What good will it do you?  He’s dead,” she snapped then turn to rush away.  For some reason she stopped, took a couple of steps back toward me.  “He work for Abrams…sometimes.  His name Les, I do not know his last name.”  She then hurried away.
    She was right, it did him no good, but now I was sure Abrams set him up to kill Jens.  It was time to talk with Fitzer at the telegraph office.  When I walked in, he paled.  I laid the Greener down a little harder than normal the barrels pointing in his direction.
    “Tell me about the train!”
    “It’s late,” he stuttered, then wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.
    “That’s a good start, now continue,” I commanded.
    “Uh, well, uh,” I moved the Greener and his eyes went to it.  “It’s late because there was an accident, an explosion.”
    I didn’t say anything, just stared, but I think it was the two dark eyes from the shotgun that kept his attention.  “Uh, someone detonated the rails, the train went off the track.  It’ll be at least a week, maybe longer.”
    I put my thumb on one of the hammers, “Continue,” I implored him.
    He wiped his forehead, swallowed hard, the his eyes brightened.  “There’s a telegram for Marshal Blasco.  I almost forgot.”
    Handing me the paper, he wiped his forehead again, then touched his upper lip.  “Blasco, delayed STOP be there in a day or so, Martin.”
    “Now, I’m only goin’ to ask once,” I informed Fitzer and pulled back the hammer.  The sound was loud in the little room.  “Who did you tell that Marshal Martin was comin’?”
    “Uh, uh, only…”

Molly, you…”
    She didn’t allow him to finish until she corrected him.  “Excuse me, I’m Mrs. Forrest to you.”
    McCall smirked.  “Fine, Mrs. Forrest you didn’t go home last night.”
    She felt more comfortable since knowing that she remembered her pistol.  Before going to Marta’s house she stopped by her cabin to pick up some clothes and her .32 Smith and Wesson double action that Miles had purchased for her as a Christmas present.  It fit in the pocket of her work dresses well because it was small and was hammerless.
    “How do you know I didn’t go home?” she asked.
    He swallowed deeply, McCall didn’t like to be put on the defensive.  “I came by to check on you.”
    Molly gave a little laugh.  “To check on my or to snoop?  It’s mighty dangerous to be peeking through someone’s window.  Good way to get shot.  Now, if you don’t mind I have work to do.”
    “One more minute of your time, Mrs. Forrest,” he snapped his voice filled with bitterness.  “I went through the wanted posters and didn’t see one that fit the description of the man yesterday.”
    The front door opened, Molly glanced toward it.  “Sheriff Gold,” she gushed.  “Excuse me marshal, Charlie, have a seat, I need to talk with you.”
                            * * * *
    I had been able to stop the bleeding in Jens’ leg.  He had pulled a couple of stitches loose, nothing serious, just sore as the dickens.  
    “I thought Martin was supposed to get here yesterday,” he wailed, the took some deep breaths.  “So the croaker was beat pretty badly?”
    Nodding, I responded, “But it was more than that.  They threatened to break or cut up his fingers.  That would stop his doctorin’ days,” pausing for a moment I pulled at my moustache.  “Think it was Abrams?”
    “I know it was Abrams!” he barked, “but I can’t prove it.  So no one recognized the man?  Someone just wandered by and happened to start shooting through the hotel window, which also just happened to be my room.  Bah!”
    “The senorita over at the cantina might tell me somethin’.  The owner, Ramon, he’d like to, but he’s scared out of his wits.”
    I got up to leave.  “Hold on, Miles.  Help me out of this bed.”
    “No, you stay there!  The bleedin’ has stopped and I’ve got you patched up again,” I answered him in no uncertain terms.
    “Just out to the chair in the lobby.”
    Between his hobbling and my half carrying him he made it to the chair without opening up the wound again.  
    “Hand me my rifle,” he ordered.
    After giving him the rifle I turned to leave and head to the cantina.
    “Hold on,” came another order.  “You mentioned someone called the Pale Rider.  That he was stalking me.  Tell me more.”
    “The Pale Rider–Death, is seen in the last book of the Bible, the Book of Revelation.”
    Putting up his hand, he broke into my explanation.  “I know the Bible, I’ve heard enough fire and brimstone preachers in my time.”
    “Fine, for some reason the Lord has allowed me to…

Reaching to touch the pistol she normally carried in the pocket of her dress, she was alarmed when she found it wasn’t there.  It was her custom, when Miles was out of town to carry it with her.
    The man stood for a moment after tipping his hat then started for the door.  As he was passing through he bumped into the new city marshal, John McCall.  “Uh, excuse me, marshal,” muttered the man as went out.
    McCall stood watching the man for a few moments then walked over to where Molly was sitting.
“Know him?” he questioned.
    Molly was quiet, looking at the door.  After several seconds she turned her gaze to the marshal.  “No, not really, but there is something vaguely familiar about him.”
    “He giving you trouble?”
    “No, not at all.  He’s been in the past four days, but today was the first time he paid any attention to me,” she responded.
    McCall pulled out a chair to situate himself at the table.  “Now, I find that hard to believe.”
    Standing up, Molly asked.  “Is there anything you’d like to have?  I’ll send Marta over with a cup of coffee, I have to get back to the kitchen.”
    With that she left and passed Marta.  “Get him a cup of coffee with you?  Is Charlie back in town?”
    There was concern on Marta’s face when she looked at Molly.  “Hopefully tonight.  Are you all right?”
    With a grim look and tightened lips, Molly nodded then headed for the kitchen.
                            *  *  *  *
    I didn’t bother to go get Abrams, I headed straight for the doctor’s office.  There was blood on Jen’s pants.  I figured some of the stitches tore loose.  Knocking on the door, there was no answer, then I tried turning the knob–locked.  Banging some more, I thought I heard stirring inside.  Oh well, I stepped back and then kicked the door open.
    The office was a mess.  Bottles of medicine strewn around the room, table kicked over and under it I saw the form of the doctor.  He had been thoroughly worked over.  There was a gash over his right eye and on down the side of his face.  It had already congealed so this must have happened last night.
    Picking him up by the shoulders I carried him to the next room where I found a bed and laid him in it.  He was breathing easily so I didn’t think anything was life-threatening but he was sure banged up.  I found a clean towel, wetting it at the basin, I began to softly wipe his face.  As I touched the gash on his cheek he winced.  I figured that was good.
    I could see his eye-lids flicker trying to open.  “Thirsty,” came a moan.
    Going back out to the office, I spotted a glass that wasn’t broken laying on the floor.  I smelled it making sure it hadn’t been used for medicine and then filled it with water.
Lifting the doctor up some, I put the glass to his lips.  He swallowed a sip, then another.  Then he opened his eyes.
    “Two men jumped me when I came in last night,” he said as he tried to move, gasped and grabbed his right side.  “Must have broke some ribs.”
    “Do you know who they were?” I inquired.
    His eyes just stared at the ceiling, almost as if he were comatose.  “Doc, I’m a U.S. Marshal, so is my friend.  We can help you.”
    He lifted his hands to me.  I hadn’t noticed before as I was concerned about his gash.  There was a cut across the knuckles of each hand.  Not deep, but enough so that blood had trickled from it.  
    Finally, he looked at me.  “They told me that they would break my fingers, maybe rip a couple off, if…”