It was all I could do to keep Jens in bed.  To get up and walk would tear open the stitches.  He finally compromised and agreed to stay in bed for a day.  After that little discussion I went to the cantina for breakfast.
    After greeting Ramon, I took a seat at the table.  A young senorita came with a coffeepot in hand.  “Coffee, Senor?”
    “Si, and something to eat,” I responded, holding up my cup for her to fill.
    When she turned to leave, Ramon came over to the table.  “You no want to eat at the café next to the hotel?” he asked.
    “Not partial to their company,” I replied, “plus I enjoy the food here.”
    That brought a smile to his face.  I nodded to a chair.  “Have a seat.”
    “You have something on your mind?” he smiled, then added, “Of course, U.S. Marshals always have questions.”
    “Since you asked, I do have a few things I’d like to ask.  How does Abrams get chosen for marshal?  I assume he is appointed by the mayor and city council.”
    “Si, that is correct.”
    I rubbed my hand down the side of my face and over my chin noticing that I needed to shave.  “Aren’t there enough Mexican votes to defeat the mayor?” I asked.
    That brought a laugh from him.  “Senor, there are few of us who will venture to vote,” he paused before continuing.  “Let’s just say retribution occurs.”
    At that time the young lady brought my breakfast. It was a plateful of sausage, eggs, and potatoes all covered with a red sauce.  “You like?” she inquired.
    “Looks delicious!  I’ll need another plate of this when I go to take to the Marshal.”
    “I’ll leave you to enjoy,” stated Ramon as he got up to leave.
    I had some other questions, but it seemed as if he wanted to get clear of me.  I finished my breakfast in quietness with Ramon watching me from a distance.  When I was about half-way  through I motioned to the senorita for a plate to take with me. When I completed my meal I took two silver dollars from my pouch I keep in my vest pocket and laid them on the table.  That should bring a smile to her face.
    Upon entering the hotel room Jens was out of bed and sitting in the chair by the window.
“What are you doin’ out of that bed?” I demanded from him.
    “Tired of lying on my back,” came his tart reply.  “I see you did a little rearranging of the furniture. Expecting trouble?”
    “We haven’t exactly received the welcome mat; thought we might have some visitors last night.  Here, I brought you some breakfast,” I paused, then asked, “Has the doc been here yet?”
    “Ahhh,” his eyes lit up.  “Go check to see if a telegram has come through while I eat.”  With that command, he stuck his fork in the food and lifted a bite to his mouth.  “When you get back I want you to tell me more about that cackling laugh and the Pale Rider,” he mumbled, his mouth full of eggs.
    “What you really need to know about is Jesus,” I began to speak.
    He waved at me, “When you get back.”
    Turning I left to go see Fitzer at the telegraph office.  When I stepped out of the hotel I saw the marshal standing three buildings down.  Ignoring him, I continued on my way.
    “Mornin’,” I hollered at Fitzer.  He stood up from behind the little desk and came to the counter.  “Any messages for us this mornin’?”
    He had a telegram in his hand; it was from Fred Martin.  “Be there on Tuesday.”
    Tuesday, that was today.  “Did you show this to anyone?”  I asked.  He hesitated, “Did you?” I asked a little more forcefully.  He was beginning to irk me.
    “Uh, just Marshal Abrams,” he muttered.
    “Why you little pipsqueak.  You know you just broke federal law…I should arrest you!”  I didn’t finish as shots were fired from up the street.  Up near the hotel…

When I came back to the telegraph office I couldn’t help giving the marshal one of my best smiles.  “Hotel clerk said they had a vacancy.  Guess someone just canceled,” I paused to see the marshal’s reaction and it was what I sorta figured it would be–anger and frustration.
    I turned to the doctor.  “Doc, do you think you could get a couple of fellows to help move Jens from the counter over to the room?  I’d help,” I paused to grin at the marshal again, “but I’ve got my hands full holdin’ this shotgun.”
    “Fitzer, you and the marshal here, carry him over to the hotel!” ordered the doctor.
    “Ah, I can’t leave the telegraph…” he started to whine when I slammed the barrel of the Greener on the counter.  I guess it was close enough to Jens for him to jump as well.
    Looking at the marshal, I stated, “If it starts to bleed again I’m goin’ to thump you with this shotgun across the side of your ear.”
    For that I received a respectful glare.  “You best be careful.”
    It didn’t take long for them to move him across to the hotel.  It was only about a block down and the room happened to be on the first floor.  The two men laid Jens gently on the bed.  Fitzer hurried out, but the marshal waited long enough to give me another scowl.
    “We’ll talk later,” he muttered as he went out of the room.
    “Here,” the doctor was speaking to me, “help me get his boots and pants off.  Hold that knee as I tug on these; be careful not to pull his stitches out.”
    It wasn’t hard to get the boots and gunbelt off, but the pants were another thing.  The doctor stood there looking at Jens lying on the bed, then went to scratching his head.  That scratching must have ignited something in his brain for he went to his satchel to pull out a pair of scissors.
    “I’ll just cut them off.  Hope he has another pair with him,” he said then began to snip them off.  “I’m not going to bother with the longhandles.”
    After putting the scissors back he turned in my direction.  “I don’t know how long he’ll be out.  It’s not a dangerous wound, unless it gets infected, but he did lose quite a bit of blood.  Don’t let him be moving around, I don’t want those stitches to pull loose.  I’ll come by in the morning to put on fresh bandages.”
    I followed the doctor out of the room.  He stopped at the counter to say something to the clerk.  After their little chat, I spoke to the doctor.  “How much do we owe you?”
    He looked shocked that we were going to pay.  “Scratching at his head again, he said, “Well, I didn’t have to pull any lead out.  I figure two dollars will cover it.”
    Reaching inside my vest to pull out my little pouch I handled him three silver dollars.  “That third one is for your pretty sewin’ efforts,” I said smiling.
    He walked on out while I turned to the clerk.  “You have a name?” I asked.
    “Jefferson, Henry Jefferson,” he replied quickly.
    “Mister Jefferson, I need a favor from you,” I said and noticed that he gulped.  “I need for someone to take our horses to the stable, get them fed and watered.”
    I looked out the door, then turned back to the clerk.  “Jefferson, I’ve changed my mind.  I’d like for you to go across the street where are horses are tied.  Bring them over here and I’ll take care of our gear.”
    “But…” he started to say so I gave him a very exasperated look and he changed his mind and hurried out.
    I watched him scurry across the street to quickly untie our mounts and led them over to the hotel.  There was a light snow just beginning to fall as I took the saddlebags off and carried them inside.  I came back for our bedrolls to see Jefferson standing there on the boardwalk with his hands on his hips.
    “Oh, Mr. Jefferson,” I said as I passed him with my load.  “Thanks for your help.”
    Jens was still out, but the color was beginning to return.  I glanced at the wound, but the doc had it bandaged up tight.  I decided to clean up a bit while I had the chance.  Then I looked out the window at the snow falling.  Pulling on my moustache a couple of times, I looked around the room.  Maybe a second-floor room would have been better, someone could shoot through that window.  I decided to do a little room rearranging.
    It was getting near dusk, and Jens hadn’t come to yet.  I went out of the room to see the clerk.  “Henry,” I called him by his first name and it sort of startled him.  “Henry, we’re gettin’ a mite hungry.  Think you could run over to that cantina and bring some food back for us?”
    “Well, I don’t usually…” he started to mutter.
    “Worth a couple of dollars to me,” I responded to which I received a smile.  “Just knock softly on the door and I’ll come out to get it.”
    It didn’t take long before he was back with two large bowls filled with chili and loaded with peppers along with several tortillas.  I paid him, set the tray on the dresser, took my bowl, and set in the chair that I had moved next to the window.  It was mighty tasty, and it caused me to doze…

Jens had passed out before I could tell him more about Christ and the way to heaven.  I didn’t think his wound was serious, but he did lose a lot of blood and then there was always the chance of infection.
    “You need to get him off my counter!” snapped the telegraph clerk.
    I was in no mood for his foolishness after the shootout and Jens wounded and passing out.  The rush from the gunfight was wearing out.  I already had one fool to deal with in the town marshal, so I barked at him in my reply. “How would you like a little thump alongside the head with the barrel of this Greener?”
    In reaction he put his hand to the side of his head and backed away.  When he was doing that the doctor, or someone who said he was a doctor appeared.
    “Let me have a look at him,” he growled.  He grabbed the pants and ripped them so that he could look at the wound.  Hmm, so much for good bedside manners.  Touching around the wound, he then dug in his bag pulling out a small pair of clamps.  
    “Hold his leg, I need to make sure there’s no cloth in the wound,” he ordered.  I watched as he pulled the wound apart starting it to bleed again.  Using the clamps he pulled out a piece of string, then some cloth the size of your little fingernail.
    “Fitzer,” he barked looking at the telegraph operator, “give me that bottle of rye you keep hidden.  I need to clean this so I can get a better look.”
    “I don’t…” he began to say until I raised the Greener.  “Just a minute.”  He went to a cabinet in the corner of the room and produced a bottle of rye whiskey.
    Handing it to the doctor he back off again.  I turned to look at the marshal and he was standing in the doorway observing.  “Sorry, but I’m going to make a mess on your counter, but it’ll clean up,” then he gave a little laugh, “most of it anyway.”
    He poured the liquor into the wound.  “Good thing he’s out, as this would smart some.”  Then he wiped it with a towel.  He pulled the wound apart, poured some more whiskey in it to wash it out.  “Hand me that bandage in my bag,” he ordered.  “No, not that one, the towel.”  As I handed him a cloth.  “Got to stop the bleeding again, then put a few stitches in it.”
    “United States Marshals, huh?” he questioned upon seeing Jens’ badge.  “Bet Marshal Abrams is happy you’re here,” he said with another little laugh.  “Listen, I’ll finish up here, why don’t you go get him a room.”
    I nodded and began to leave.  “I don’t think there’s any room at the hotel,” stated Abrams as I walked by him.  Try Ramon over at the cantina.  He might have some rooms.”
    It didn’t take long to reach the cantina.  Ramon had been very courteous to me earlier, but now seemed extremely nervous.  “Senor, I would like to help you, but,” he grimaced, “if I do they will come in and destroy my establishment.  Por favor, please,” he paused then gave a deep sigh.  “If you cannot find a place, I will help you.”
    “Ramon, I think I understand.  I won’t be a problem for you, but I surely want to talk with you later.”
    Leaving I walked over to the two-story building that had the sign:  Hotel.  I didn’t for a moment believe it was full.  I might have to use a little persuasion.
    The clerk looked up as I entered and immediately spouted out, “We’re out of rooms!”
    “Where’s your’s?” I asked and his eyes widened.  “I’m commandeering it!”
    I thought he was going to choke and then he began to reply…

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. . .”