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. . .”

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…