I had been riding hard for twenty minutes; I had to slow down or the horse wouldn’t be any good.  It seems like the outlaw didn’t drop Molly off at the edge of town.  I knew this road well, and these men were smart for it was a well-traveled road and their tracks were mix in with those of others.  However, a group of men, one of them holding a woman, would rise the attention of any travelers, so they had to do something soon.  
    Slowing down I began to look for places where they might venture off the road.  This area was covered mostly with sage, few trees, and was covered with boulder formations.  I was getting close to being halfway to Hesperus when on the horizon I saw a figure walking down the road toward me.
    Giving the horse a kick I had him running again.  The gap between me and the person began to close and soon I could see that it was Molly.  I slowed him down to a trot and when I was a few yards from her I stopped, almost fell off and ran to her.  She fell into my arms and we held each other tightly, neither of us saying anything.
    Finally she muttered, “Thirsty.”
    I hadn’t thought about water.  I went to the horse hoping that the owner had a canteen and that it was full.  That was the habit of most anyone riding in this area.
    Molly had found a rock just off the side of the road to sit on.  Thankfully there was a canteen and I rushed it over to her.  “Here,” I said excitedly, “just drink it slow.”
    The sky was clear except for two clouds that looked like cottonballs hanging above us.  In that high country the sun just seems to beat down on a person and it being so dry, well, a person can easily dry up.
    Taking off my bandana, I reached for the canteen.  She looked at me as I began to pour some of the water on the bandana.  “Unt uh,” she muttered.  “Is that bandana clean?”
    “Clean enough,” I answered, then completely soaked it.  I wiped her face with it, then wrung it out her hand and arms.  She reached for the canteen to take another drink as I placed the wet bandana on her head.  
    I watched her take a couple of deep swallows.  Then capping the canteen she handed it back to me.  “We need to get back,” she informed me.  “I’m worried about Marta.”
    That was Molly.  Always worried more about someone else than she was about taking care of herself.  I helped her up and we walked back to the horse.  I mounted and looked at her.
    “In my lap, or astraddle behind me?” I asked, now smiling.
    “Behind,” she stated, “but you’ll let me down when we come to town.”  I removed my foot from the stirrup and she put hers in.  I reached back to grab her and between the two of us she swung up behind me.  The horse started balking and I had to hold on.  It must not have been used to riding double.
    I started walking the horse back toward Durango.  Molly put her arms around me and settled her head against my back.  Neither of us said anything, but I could hear her quietly humming some tune.
    Feeling her pull her head away from me, she said, “Miles, that man scared me.”
    “How so?” I asked.
    “He was different than most of those that have come after you.  Most of them are scum, braggarts, but he, he seemed to be under control.  Am I silly for thinking that?” she asked.
    I didn’t answer right off.  “He was a logical man.  Now, he has armed robbery behind his name.  If he had shot someone then he would be runnin’ for his life.”
    “Miles,” she said tightening her grip around me.  “I really thought he was going to shoot you.”
    “So did I, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it,” I replied.  “The Lord must have sent an angel to stand between us.”
    She nestled her head back against me and we continued on down the road without any more talk.  When we were about a quarter mile from the town I stopped.  
    “Want to walk from here?” I asked.
    I felt a sigh against me, but she began to slide off to the side.  I dismounted as well, and handed her the canteen as she took the bandana from her head.  Handing it back to me she then took the canteen and drank several deep swallows.  As we started walking she started brushing back her hair with her fingers.  I looked at her and smiled.
    “What?” she exclaimed.
    I wasn’t about to reply.
    We could see people begin to form where the town proper began.  Molly was holding on to my arm and I gave her a little nudge.  “Look at the welcomin’ committee.”
    Martin Olson, new councilman, with Wilson Foster standing behind him some were in front, along with the new bank president.  I didn’t know his name; I had hoped that the job would be handed over to Ooverholm, but the powers that be brought in somebody from Kansas City.
    I saw Olson elbow the bank president and as we approached he stepped out from the crowd and began to jabber.  “Aren’t you going after them?”
    “Nope,” I simply replied.
    “But you’re the marshal, that’s your job.  I pay taxes and I expect you to do your job,” he was speaking so fast I thought he might pass out.
    “Not a federal case,” I said as I helped Molly up on the boardwalk.
    Then Olson piped in, “I think Miles is afraid of the outlaw.”
    Stopping, I turned to glare at the man.  “You call me Forrest, or Marshal,” I hesitated then looked him up and down.  “I’ll never be Miles to you.”  Then I pushed Molly on through the crowd on down to the diner.

The shot stopped me in my tracks.  I looked at the man who had fired it; he was smiling.  The other man continued to move against the wall toward the door.
    “Mister,” came a taunting voice, “don’t forget to fill my coffee cup.”  Then then pointed to the cup with the barrel of his pistol.
    I hesitated.  He spoke again, “Now don’t try to become a hero and do something foolish.  Just lay the shotgun on the table, get the coffeepot and fill my cup.  There’s women and innocent people in here.”
    “Miles, just do what he says,” ordered Doc.  “Don’t be so hard-headed!”
    Turning, I moved to the stove for the coffeepot.  “Ah, ah, don’t forget to put the shotgun on the table.”
    I glanced at him, then set the Greener on the table beside Doc.  Grabbing the coffeepot I approached where the man was standing holding his pistol on me.  
    “Did I hear the man call you, ‘Miles’?” asked the man continuing to smile.  “Why, just to think I have the famous Miles Forrest in my gunsights.  Just a little tug on the trigger and he would be lying dead on the floor.”  He raised his gun to point at my eyes, the smile disappeared.  “My coffee.”
    I reached his table and started to pour while trying to keep my eyes focused on him.  “Don’t spill it!” he admonished.
    “Get the woman!” he shouted to the other man who ran to grab Marta.
    Molly flung herself in front of Marta.  “No, leave her.  Take me!”
    The other gunman grabbed Molly and started toward the doorway.
    I flinched, turning toward them.  “Remember, no heroes!” said the man his gun leveled at my head again.  “I don’t want to kill you, at least not now.  I’m only wanted for robbery; don’t want to add murder to the list.”
    He reached down with his free hand, picked up the cup and took a sip.  “Ahh, too bad I can’t take the time to drink it.  Much obliged.”  There was a guttural sound of laughter then I saw him swing his gun.
    I went down, hitting the floor hard.  I didn’t go unconscious, but I was seeing stars.  I heard the man rush to the door as Doc came over to see about me.  Trying to push myself up, I fell back down burying my head in my arm.
    “Easy, Miles, roll over if you can,” said Doc as he tried to aid me.
    “I’ve got to get up; help Molly,” I moaned.
    “You’ll do her no good if you can’t even sit up.  Now take it easy, one step at a time,” ordered Doc.  “Is the room swirling?  Can you see my face?”
    “No, and no, I don’t want to look in your haggard old face!” I muttered now able to pull myself to a sitting position.
    Doc reached down to aid me, and then helped me to sit in a chair.  I reached up and rubbed my head.  There was some blood, but it was not bleeding badly.  A few moments later, I felt a cool cloth soaked in water touching where I had been struck.  
    I heard someone trying to catch their breath and some sobbing.  It was Marta, she was the one attending to my injury.  “Marta, it’s all right.”
    “She took my place,” she sobbed.  “He was going to grab me and she stepped in front.”
    Reaching for her hand.  “Look at me, Molly will be all right.  The Lord is with her, and soon I’ll be goin’ to get her.  They didn’t seem intent on hurtin’ anyone.”
    “Marshal,” came a slow drawl.  I looked toward the voice, it was Skinny Green, an old saloon bum who would eat in the diner most lunch days if he was sober.  “I was sittin’ there and he said they’d drop Miss Molly outside of town.”
    I touched my head, looked at Marta and winked.  “Say a few prayers,” I said.  Then getting up I went to get my hat from the table, picked up the Greener and walked out.  The people in the diner followed me.
    Normally, I keep either Star or Hawk saddled out front, but having just come back from Pueblo I hadn’t bothered.  Going to the nearest horse, I mounted.  “Tell the owner I commandeered his horse…”

So, Merker’s finally out of the way?” questioned Doc Jones as he started to get up from his chair.  “No, stay still, I’ll get the coffee.  You’ve had an ordeal with this man, and he’s finally out of the way.”
    Molly chirped in as he grabbed the coffeepot off the stove.  “I’m so glad of that.  We never knew what to expect or when to expect something from him.”
    “Amen, to that,” I replied as Doc poured the coffee sloshing some of it out on the table.  “Doc, I hope you’re more careful with your patients that you are pourin’ that coffee.”
    He shuffled back to the stove with the pot.  “Here I am, trying to be nice to you, and what do I get?  Complaints!  You’re as bad as some of my patients.  I remove a bullet from them and they complain.  Should just leave it, let it fester and get infected?  They’re the one that got shot, why complain to me, I didn’t do it!”
    I looked over at Molly, who just shrugged.
    “You’re right, Doc.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have complained at your gracious gesture,” I commented.  “I don’t want to be the one that you leave a piece of lead in to fester.”
    There were three tables of customers in the diner and Marta was taking care of them.  Edith still came in at the rush hour to help Molly as she was not relegated to do the cooking.  Today, an aunt of Marta’s was starting in the kitchen–Emelda.  She was Marta’s father’s sister.  Molly wanted someone that was able to keep the Mexican flair with the food in the kitchen, especially the enchiladas as they had become one of the favorites with the customers.
    I nodded toward Marta.  “How’s she doin’?”
    “She seems to be holding up well.  She was despondent for a day after Anihu died.  I don’t know if it was from her previous experience, or that her aunt died, or that Charlie has been up at Silverton,” Molly replied.
    “Well, I would imagine it could be a combination of all three,” I volunteered, then took a sip of my half-cup of coffee.  “When’s Charlie due back?”
    The door opened.  Two rough-looking characters walked in; they weren’t miners.  Molly excused herself and went to the kitchen to see if Emelda might need some help.  She was worrying over her like an ol’ hen.
    “Doc?” I repeated my question about Charlie as I watched the two men.  They chose a table off to my left up against the wall.
    “I don’t know, he left right after you did,” Doc answered.  “There was some problem with a shooting and robbery, the marshal didn’t give chase after the perpetrators left town.”
    I stood to get the coffeepot.  “My turn,” I said to Doc.
    Pouring another cup for Doc, I refilled my cup and was putting the pot back on the stove.  “Mister!” thundered a voice.  “How ’bout you bringin’ that pot over here and fillin’ our cups?”
    Ignoring him, I placed the pot on the stove and went back to my place at the table.  “Mister!” this time a curse was mingled with his voice.  “You don’t hear very well!”
    “Do you recognize that guy?” asked Doc.
    Shaking my head I saw Marta going to him with a pot from the kitchen.  The man slapped at her, hitting her arm knocking the pot out of her hand and onto the floor.  He was standing now.  “I want that man, to bring that pot, and fill my cup!  Then he can fill my friend’s!”  The other man was just sitting there smiling.
    I looked over at Doc, “Why?”  Standing up I took a few steps his direction.
    “You forgot the pot!” he reminded me.
    “Now I don’t know who you are, or what you want,” I began to say when shots were fired outside and down the street.  Charlie was gone and there wasn’t a marshal in town yet.  I started rushing for the door, when a bullet hit the head jamb on the door.
    “Easy, just stand where you are,” came the voice.
    Turning my head I saw where both men were standing against the wall, the one had moved more toward the front.  They had guns in their hands.
    “Now,” the man sounded, “get me that coffee!”

I didn’t have to look, I could smell it.  The devil’s emissary was sitting there.  I wondered if anyone else could smell his stench in the car, or was I the only privileged one.
    “Friend Miles,” came the snickering voice.  “Are you having a bad day?”
    I wanted to close my eyes and just ignore it, but Merker was there–somewhere.  “I can tell you where he is,” came the voice.  
    Looking in his direction, I received a cackle.  “Not that easy,” it informed me.  “Remember, a life for a life.  Hmmm, who will I take?”     
    Death is a mocker!  Death has always mocked man and it mocked the Lord Jesus, but because of His victory death no longer has any sting.  I hadn’t said anything, but when those thoughts went through my mind I saw the Pale Rider recoil.  I wasn’t about to make any deals with the devil or any of his minions.  I wanted to thump him good with the Greener, but knew it wouldn’t do any good; a man can’t fight spirit with flesh and blood.
    Turning my face I focused on the passengers in the car and began to quietly whisper a prayer.  With that the Pale Rider started in again.  “You can’t get rid of me that easy.  I’m on your trail.”
    Without turning I said, “I don’t have to get rid of you to know that you’re defeated.  The cross of Calvary took away your power over me,” then I slowly turned my head.  “In fact, death is really the beginnin’.”
    That brought a snarl, and a revelation.  Death was gone, riding away on his pale horse, but I also knew where Merker was.  Something inside me said that Merker was up on the tender car.
    I opened the door quietly and found the noise of the train on the track deafening.  Slowly I ascended the ladder up the back of the tender car.  I peered over and hunkered down on the coal was Merker.  He saw me and quickly fired a shot.  I jerked, one foot fell off the ladder and I was holding with one hand and handing on to the Greener with the other.  Finally, I was able to bring my foot back to the rung.  Descending I went quickly back inside the passenger car and thrust my shotgun at the person in the seats.  
    She was an old, white-haired bespectacled lady and her eyes widened as I placed the Greener in her hands.  “Don’t let anyone have it!” I ordered, then went back outside and up the tender car.  
    As I reached the top I saw Merker now moving up over the coal.  He looked back and fired at me.  I took a shot at him; the bullet found his hip and he fell.  He was half crawling, half trying to stand to make it over the coal and into the locomotive.  All I could see was his foot; I took aim and the bullet found its target.  Even with the sound of the train, I could hear him moan.
    He was twisting around to where he could get a shot at me.  I was moving up on the coal trying to balance myself with one hand while the train swayed back and forth along the rails.  There came a curse, another shot; I felt the tug on my sleeve.  He was pushing himself down into the cab; I shot at his knee, it was the only thing that was exposed, then he disappeared.  He must be in the cab with the engineer and fireman.
    Crawling along the top I found it wet with blood; lots of it.  I peaked over the edge.  Merker had the fireman in his grasp, barely able to stand with his gun pointed at his head.
    “This is it, Forrest!  Climb down or I’ll blow his head off!” he screamed.
    I don’t know how he was standing.  There were two bullets in one leg and another in his other hip; he had to be weakening.  Looking down I saw his foot exposed.  “Why not?” I thought to myself.  
    “Buddy, hang on!” I yelled, fired and my bullet shattered the bones in his foot.  Merker jumped, just enough that the fireman was able to pull away and grab hold of something.  The train was swaying and it was it finishing rounding a curve.  Merker was falling to the floor when there was a jerk.  Merker screamed as he off the side.  The engineer began immediately to put on the brakes while I climbed down into the cab.
    It takes a while to slow down a locomotive, especially without the brakemen given notice, but I had to be sure this time.  It was near a half mile from where Merker fell off when the train came to a stop.  I jumped off and started running back almost colliding with the conductor near the caboose.  I noticed that the brakemen were on top; they must have jumped up there as soon as the engine began to put on brakes.
    Running down the tracks I came across a severed leg lying by the rail.  In a few minutes I saw a crushed, mangled body of Merker lying partially on the tracks.  I slowed to a walk.  When I came to him, he was a bloody mess; his clothes half torn off.  He was twisted and when I turned to confirm his face I saw something that made me jump back.  That grin was there; the one I had first encountered during the War–the Devil’s Grin.
    By that time the conductor reached me, followed closely behind by the two brakemen.  “Lewis Merker,” I told him.  
    “Who’s Lewis Merker? he questioned, looking down at the deceased.
    “The man who has been tryin’ to kill me, my friends and family for several years,” I replied, then turned.  “Get his body wrapped up and placed next to the man in the baggage car.  Walk up after we’ve started again and I’ll fill you in.”
    I almost grinned, but it was not the one that Merker was carrying.  It was a grin of relief, I uttered a prayer of thanks to the Lord and thought, “a life for a life.”