Miles, didn’t you hear it?  It sounded like a wounded catamount, only more like a laugh than a howl,” swore Blasco.
    I reached down to help his stand and said, “That’s the Pale Rider–Death.”
    “Pale Rider?  Death?  What in tarnation are you talking about?” he exclaimed.
    The town marshal was only a few feet from us now.  His gun had been lowered, but when  Blasco and I started talking to each other he raised it.  “You both are under arrest!” he snapped.
    “Marshal, you’re crazy!” replied Jens.  “We’re both U.S. Marshals, you have no jurisdiction over us especially since we were carrying out lawful arrests.”
    He spat on the ground, arrogance oozing from him.  “We’ll let the judge decide that in the morning.  All I see is five dead men laying in the dirt.”
    “No, it’s decided now!” I barked raising the Greener and cocking the hammers.  The sound of those hammers being cocked made him jump.  I was sure glad that reaction didn’t cause him to pull the trigger.  “You can holster your gun, or drop it on the ground, or you can lift it an inch higher causing me to cut loose with both barrels.  Your choice.”
    “I have warrants for Frank Reston and his gang and they have just been served,” stated Blasco.  “I can add you to the list.”
    He gave us a sour look, but decided to holster his pistol.  Jens looked at the marshal, “I need two things right now:  a telegraph office and a doctor.”
    The marshal hesitated for a moment then pointing.  “The telegraph office is in that building right there.  Come on.”
    With that we started off behind him.  Jens was struggling but he hobbled along with me helping.  I had used my bandana to tie over the wound, but it was still bleeding.  The bullet didn’t go into his leg, but cut a groove across the top; it definitely needed patching up.
    Jens wrote out his telegram and handed it to the operator who glanced over at the town marshal.  I saw a nod.  He began to work the keys when Jens bounded up, took a couple of quick steps, and had his gun in the ear of the operator quick as a blink.  
    “You send what I wrote,” he barked.  “I understand how the keys talk.”
    He looked over at me, the exertion and loss of blood making him look mighty pale.  “Miles, help me,” he cried as he leaned back over the counter.
    I came to him, and he muttered, “Up on the counter, I need to lie down before I fall down.”  I helped boost him up on the counter where he could stretch out and lay flat.  “I hear one false word being sent I’ll send a bullet through your head,” he said mustering his strength.
    “Who’d you send the telegram to?” I asked.
    “U.S. Marshal for the territory in Santa Fe, Felix Wilcox.  Hopefully, he’ll or Martin will be hear soon,” he said closing his eyes.
    Looking over at the marshal, I asked, “Where is that doctor?”  He had sent a errand boy after him when we entered the office.
    I felt Jens pull at my sleeve and murmur, “Miles, who is the Pale Rider?  You said ‘Death’.  Does that mean I’m going to die?”
    His eyes were open, barely.  “No, it doesn’t mean you’re goin’ to die.  Death is one of the Four Horsemen of Judgement in the Book of Revelation.  He rode on a Pale Horse,” I paused to think of what I wanted to say.  “For some reason I have been given the ability to see him, or an illusion of him.  He sorta stalks my trail.”
    He looked at me, eyes wide open now.  “Is he stalking me?”
    “He’s a devil-worker.  He’s after anyone and everyone,” I saw that the marshal was listening to me, “includin’ you marshal.”  He gave a little jerk.  “You don’t have nothin’ to fear if you know Jesus Christ.”
    “But I. . .”

I didn’t care much for the horse I was riding.  Of course, Hawk had spoiled me for mountain riding.  I guess that’s what you get when the government is paying the rent and you didn’t get a chance to pick it out yourself.  At least the road was well-worn.
    The weather had turned out cold as we climbed toward the summit of the pass.  From time-to-time there were flakes of snow blowing.  I hated to put out the money on another sheepskin coat, but I’m glad I did now.
    Blasco kept us moving.  We stopped only once on the way up to give the horses a breather.  “I don’t want to stop at Wooten’s, just pay our toll and keep moving,” he told me.
    “I’ve heard a lot about ‘Uncle Dick Wooten,” but just what type of person is he?” I asked as I dismounted to tighten my cinch.
    “Guess it depends on who you talk to,” replied Blasco.  “He can be right cantankerous.  For sure, he knows how to play the edge of the law.  He won’t go out of his way to break it, but he might skirt around it some.  If Reston is helping him in some fashion I don’t want to dilly-dally around so he could get word to him before we reach Raton.”
    I mounted then pulled the collar up around my neck.  The wind was picking up and it was cold.  I could also begin to feel the tingling in my toes.  I’d put on a pair of wool socks; tried to get on two pair, but couldn’t get my boots on.  
    “The railroad will put him out of business, but he’ll work out some way to get sweet on the deal.  Right now, he’s fighting the State ’cause they say he has to give up this toll way.  But he’s getting old; he’s one of the true old-timers that hung around,” Blasco continued to inform me.  He nodded, I returned it and he commanded, “Let’s go!”
    In a couple of hours we reached the summit.  We knew we were getting close as the wagons began to stack up in line waiting to pass through the toll area.  We skirted around them, Jens said we had priority status.  As we approached I could see an old man arguing with a teamster.
    “Pull yur wagon over to the side!” hollered Wooten waving a shotgun.  “Do it, or I’ll kill yur two lead mules!”
    “You wouldn’t!” barked the man in return.
    There was a smile that came across the old man’s face.  He walked to the first mule, placed the shotgun alongside the mule’s head.  Quickly he raised it just over the mule’s head and fired.  The team jumped, the mule reared up as if shot.
    “Next one goes in its brain,” stated Wooten.  “Move yur wagon, yur holdin’ up business!”
    The teamster moved to check his mule.  “Move it now!  It’s only deaf!”
    “Hello, Dick,” said Blasco in a friendly manner.  “Having some trouble?”
    The old man looked up, fire in his eyes.  He looked wild with gray hair coming from under his hat, he had a gruffly, tangled beard that bore the stains of tobacco, coffee, and whiskey.
    “Why if it ain’t Marshal Jens Blasco,” he said lowering his shotgun after he had reloaded the one barrel.  “Nah, nothin’ I can’t handle.  The louse of a man wouldn’t show me his manifest so I could properly assess his fee.”  He pointed with the shotgun to the wagons backed up on both sides.  “Slowed up traffic,” he stopped to look at me.  “This fellow with you?”
    “Sorry, Dick, this is one of my deputies, Miles Forrest.”
    He walked up to me, smiled when he saw I had the Greener in my hands.  “He a good un?” he asked Blasco.
    “Seems to me I’ve heard that name, Forrest, Forrest, hmmm.  Well, youngster yuh seem ready.”
    It sort of stunned me to be called “youngster”, but I guess compared to him I was just a schoolboy.  “Well, Mr. Wooten, I try to travel with the Lord and keep my guns handy,” I responded to which he grunted and gave a little chuckle.
    Wooten went back to Blasco.  “Let’s see, two men, two horses…no pack animal–that’s a dollar and a half a piece.”
    Jens leaned down looking at Wooten.  “Oh, yes, minus the government discount.  That’ll be a dollar for each of yuh.”
    “Pay the man,” he hollered at me then turned his horse on down the road.
    That brought a good laugh from Wooten.  “That’s why I’m only the deputy,” I said handing the man two silver coins.  That brought another good laugh.
    I gave the horse a slight kick to follow Blasco to Raton and to who knows what…

I didn’t care much for the horse I was riding.  Of course, Hawk had spoiled me for mountain riding.  I guess that’s what you get when the government is paying the rent and you don’t get a chance to pick it out yourself.  At least the road was well-worn.
    The weather had turned out cold as we climbed toward the summit of the pass.  From time-to-time there were flakes of snow blowing.  I hated to put out the money on another sheepskin coat, but I’m glad I did now.
    Blasco kept us moving.  We stopped only once on the way up to give the horses a breather.  “I don’t want to stop at Wooten’s; just pay our toll and keep moving,” he told me.
    “I’ve heard a lot about ‘Uncle Dick Wooten,” but just what type of person is he?” I asked as I dismounted to tighten my cinch.
    “Guess it depends on who you talk to,” replied Blasco.  “He can be right cantankerous.  For sure, he knows how to play the edge of the law.  He won’t go out of his way to break it, but he might skirt around it some.  If Reston is helping him in some fashion I don’t want to dilly-dally around so he could get word to him before we reach Raton.”
    I mounted, then pulled the collar up around my neck.  The wind was picking up and it was cold.  I could also begin to feel the tingling in my toes.  I’d put on a pair of wool socks; tried to get on two pair, but couldn’t get my boots on.  
    “The railroad will put him out of business, but he’ll work out some way to get sweet on the deal.  Right now, he’s fighting the State ’cause they say he has to give up this tollway.  But he’s getting old; he’s one of the true old-timers that hung around,” Blasco continued to inform me.  He nodded, I returned it and he commanded, “Let’s go!”
    In a couple of hours we reached the summit.  We knew we were getting close as the wagons began to stack up in line waiting to pass through the toll area.  We skirted around them, Jens said we had priority status.  As we approached I could see an old man arguing with a teamster.
    “Pull yur wagon over to the side!” hollered Wooten waving a shotgun.  “Do it, or I’ll kill yur two lead mules!”
    “You wouldn’t!” barked the man in return.
    There was a smile that came across the old man’s face.  He walked to the first mule, placed the shotgun alongside the mule’s head.  Quickly he raised it just over the mule’s head and fired.  The team jumped, the mule reared up as if shot.
    “Next one goes in its brain,” stated Wooten.  “Move yur wagon, yur holdin’ up business!”
    The teamster moved to check his mule.  “Move it now!  It’s only deaf!”
    “Hello, Dick,” said Blasco in a friendly manner.  “Having some trouble?”
    The old man looked up, fire in his eyes.  He looked wild with gray hair coming from under his hat, he had a gruffly, tangled beard that bore the stains of tobacco, coffee, and whiskey.
    “Why if it ain’t Marshal Jens Blasco,” he said lowering his shotgun after he had reloaded the one barrel.  “Nah, nothin’ I can’t handle.  The louse of a man wouldn’t show me his manifest so I could properly assess his fee.”  He pointed with the shotgun to the wagons backed up on both sides.  “Slowed up traffic,” he stopped to look at me.  “This fellow with you?”
    “Sorry, Dick, this is one of my deputies, Miles Forrest.”
    He walked up to me, smiled when he saw I had the Greener in my hands.  “He a good un?” he asked Blasco.
    “Seems to me I’ve heard that name, Forrest, Forrest, hmmm.  Well, youngster yuh seem ready.”
    It sort of stunned me to be called “youngster”, but I guess compared to him I was just a schoolboy.  “Well, Mr. Wooten, I try to travel with the Lord and keep my guns handy,” I responded to which he grunted and gave a little chuckle.
    Wooten went back to Blasco.  “Let’s see, two men, two horses…no pack animal–that’s a dollar and a half a piece.”
    Jens leaned down looking at Wooten.  “Oh, yes, minus the government discount.  That’ll be a dollar for each of yuh.”
    “Pay the man,” he hollered at me then turned his horse on down the road.
    That brought a good laugh from Wooten.  “That’s why I’m only the deputy,” I said handing the man two silver coins.  That brought another good laugh.
    I gave the horse a slight kick to follow Blasco to Raton and to who knows what…

The trip to Canon City was uneventful, for which I was glad.  I watched my two prisoners while traveling on the train with them.  James had turned even more remorse than before.  If ever I had seen darkness in a face, that was James Lamb.  John, on the other hand, seemed to have a ray of hope in his countenance.  Perhaps it was the prayers of Lucas, one never knows how a prayer or a few words of encouragement might help a person.
    Upon arriving in Canon City I was surprised to see U.S. Marshal Jens Blasco waiting for me at the station.  “So, that’s the Lamb brothers?” he asked.  “Plus, you said that Glen Framm was dead and Ioway Jenks was in custody?”
    “Well, greetin’s to you too, Marshal,” I said sarcastically.  “But, yes to your questions.  The other miscreant, the one the Judge killed, was Sim Colburn.  Jenks identified him for us.”
    He continued to walk with me toward the prison.  “Any news of Fooy?” I asked on our trek.
    “No, Sam’s a smart one.  He’ll be in one of those big cities spending his money until it runs out.  They made quite a haul so who knows how long before he reappears.”
    I nodded with my head toward the Lambs.  “Others weren’t so smart.  Oh, by the way, according to Jenks, it was Teeter who shot the guard.”
    “We’ll put ‘wanted for murder’ on the next poster.  He’s running now, so he’ll begin to make mistakes.  It won’t be long before we have him,” stated Blasco.  “When you’re through with your business with the warden I want to see you.  I’ll be waiting in an office he’s provided for us.”
    With that he turned and walked toward the business area of the prison while I waited at the gate for a guard to take me to the warden.  The guard looked at my paperwork then led me to a room where we waited for the warden to appear.  
    It was all done within a few minutes.  I had the Lambs off my hands, signing them over to the warden and the Colorado State Penitentiary.  Neither of the Lambs said anything as two other guards appeared to take them away.  I did receive a goodbye sneer from James.
    A guard, standing in the hallway, directed me to the room where I would find Blasco.  He was sitting behind a table, in a little office, smoking a cigar.  For the life of me I don’t know how a man could breathe the smoke from one of those things into his lungs.  I imagined it was something like the smoke from the bottomless pit.
    “Have a seat, Forrest,” he commanded.  “I need for you to go with me to Raton.  Frank Reston and his gang have been spotted in the area.”
    It kind of took me by surprise.  I had been figuring on getting back and I told him so.  “I didn’t bring any traveling gear,” I informed him.
    “We’ll take the train to Trinidad; horses and gear will be waiting for us there.”
    I looked at him.  “How’s the pass?”
    All I received was a smile before he answered.  “Cold and some snow.  Unless a storm rolls in we’ll should be okay.  Miles, I really need your help.  Here’s our chance to nab Reston.”
    There was no way I could argue with that, plus the fact he was my boss.  Where’s Fred Martin?  I’d thought he’d meet you in Raton.”  Martin was the Deputy U.S. Marshal stationed in Santa Fe.
    “Martin’s on business down Las Cruces way, that’s why I need you.”
    “When do we leave?” I inquired.
    Blasco looked at the large clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth.  “Train pulls out in less than an hour,” he paused and stood giving me a large, toothy smile that was partially hidden by his moustache.  “Let’s go!”
    We made it to the train with time to spare and situated ourselves in the only coach car.  Blasco led us to the middle of the train to take our seats.  He motioned for me to sit, he then sat across from me, that way we could see both doors of the car, not that we were expecting anything to happen, but one never knows.
    I looked at Blasco.  I had never worked directly with him.  He was a man a little taller than me but not as broad in the shoulders.  His hair, eyebrows, and moustache were a dark brown, almost black.  With deep-set eyes he looked menacing.  
    He saw me looking over at him.  “Be sure you pick up a heavier coat when we get to Trinidad.  It’ll be cold going over the pass.”
    This time of year it was dumb of me not to be wearing my sheepskin coat.  I’d left it at home and instead was wearing a black and red plaid jacket.  I could get by with it most of the winter, but he was right, more then likely I would need a heavier coat.
    “I’m going to get some shut-eye before we reach Trinidad,” he told me then pulled his black Stetson down over his eyes and leaned back.  I happened to notice that he took the loop off the hammer of his pistol, just in case.
    I hadn’t had time to send a telegram to Molly.  I needed to make sure to do that when we reached Trinidad, otherwise…