Molly said she was going to visit Marta then go on down to the diner.  Edith was the only one waiting tables and she was just helping out as a favor to Molly.  Doc didn’t mind, and he came over and ate his meals there which were given to him.  They only lived a block away so it was real handy.
    I reckoned that Charlie was down by the jail.  The town council was moving fairly slowly on getting the jail repaired or building a new one.  They were also needing a marshal, but were dilly-dallying around appointing one.  I could talk with Wilson Foster the head of the council and he would give my name to them.  Foster I knew well, and Newsome, but the third man to come on the council I saw only on occasion; fellow by the name of Martin Olson who owned one of the saloons in town.  I was surprised that Foster allowed Newsome to talk him into Olson.  Come next fall, with the elections, it might become quite interesting.
    Johnson was sprawled up against the front of the jail, chained to the hitching rail in front.  Charlie was able to use the office, as only the cell area has been destroyed and a back wall made of wood was temporarily thrown up.  I saw him coming out of the telegraph office and waved.  He pointed to the jail so I headed that direction to meet him.
    “Miles, just received a telegram about a Chester Uttleman who was wanted for murder, extortion, and just about anything else.  Seems like he worked between Denver and Chicago doing dirty work for anyone who paid him enough,” he paused after giving me that information.  “I think our Tom Smith/Utley is this Uttleman as the description fits.”
    He took off his hat to run his fingers through his hair and took a seat on the chair by the jail.  “The folk in Chicago are sending a photograph of him and it should arrive sometime the end of the week.”
    I leaned back against the hitching rail and pointed at his prisoner.  “What about him?”
    “Well, I reckon Mr. Tom Johnson is going to be spending quite a bit of time in prison,” he spoke loud enough where Johnson could hear him.  “He’ll be an old man by the time he gets out.”
    That perked up his attention for he bellowed out.  “I was just bein’ a witness.”
    “Yeah, and holding a gun on a sheriff,” Charlie countered and took off his hat to scratch above his ear.  “Plus obstruction of justice, plus abetting a criminal,” he stopped and looked over at Johnson.  “And did you know that Forrest here is a deputy U.S. Marshal, so those charges will also be on the federal level.”
    Looking over at Johnson I asked Charlie, “How does your prisoner like bein’ chained outside?  Not bad now, but come one of those gully-washers he might be gettin’ some wet.”
    I turned my attention to Johnson.  “You know what happened to the jail don’t you?”
    “Now why would I know?  I just arrived in town a few days back,” he snapped.
    “Go ahead Miles, tell him,” offered up Charlie.  “He may be no good, and a piece of scum, but he does have a right to know why he’s not in a cell, sleeping on one of those comfortable cots we used to have.”
    Stepping over toward Johnson, I placed my hands on my hips.  “It seems that folk workin’ for Merker tend to end up dead.  The man in the cell was killed on his orders.  They blew the place up,” I paused to pull on my moustache and looked at Charlie.  “You know Sheriff, it seems it would be easier to shoot a man who is layin’ out here on the boardwalk.”
    “Okay, okay,” he muttered.  “My name is Henry Thomas Johnson and I don’t know no Merker.”
    “Didn’t say yuh did,” I countered.
    He moved to sit up straighter causing his chains to rattle.  He was a ragged, disgusting sight.  I wasn’t concerned about his comfort, but I did wish there was a way to hide him from the public.
    “Sheriff, you’ve no right to keep me chained up out here,” he bellowed again.  “It’s cruel and unusual punishment.”
    Charlie got up from his chair, and walked over to him.  I could tell he had a notion to give Johnson a good kick, but instead he leaned over.  “Mister Johnson, do you have money for the fine?”
    He sort of brightened up with that.  “How much would it be?” he asked.
    “Twenty-five dollars, but that would only cover the local fine.  I can’t remove the federal law that is facing you.  That would be up to the district court judge,” replied Charlie.  “But he takes it serious when someone is shooting at a federal officer.”
    “I didn’t shoot him!” declared Johnson.  “I was only helping Ches.”
    “Interestin’,” I muttered.  “So you did know him?”
    Scowling he turned part way toward the wall.  “Leave me be,” he spat.
    I looked at Charlie and shrugged my shoulders.  “I’m goin’ on down to the diner to meet Molly.  She was goin’ over to see Marta and then was headin’ down there.  If Marta’s feelin’ like it, come on down and grab a bite to eat later,” I said, the looked down at Johnson.  “I’ll have a fresh pot on and we’ll do some jawin’…”

Before we continued she stopped and looked at me as if she wanted to say something.  She must have either changed her mind or looking at me, she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say.  I guess I can have that affect on some folk.  My side was burning some as we went up the hillside to our little cabin.
    I stopped for a moment to look at the horses out in the small pasture.  With all this modern way of traveling they sure don’t get the exercise like they used to.  I thought a while back about selling Star.  That was a horse that needed to get out and run, but I didn’t have the heart to get rid of him since he was a gift from Cook.
    “Quit your gawking,” she uttered, “and get on in the house.”
    It was dark inside so Molly proceeded to open the shutters of the two windows to give more light.  I sat down at the table and lit the lamp sitting there.  “You take that shirt off while I go get you a clean one,” she ordered.  “Just throw it on the floor.  I don’t think I can get all that blood out.”
    A minute or so later she came to the table.  I reached out for the shirt, but she wouldn’t hand it to me.  She stared in my eyes, then took her finger and poked at an old scar.  “One,” then she poked at another, “two.”
    She counted up to five, then muttered, “I know there are at least three more under that bandage,” then she sighed.  “I guess I should count my blessings.  They’re just scars and I still have you with me.  Some women aren’t that fortunate.”
    Looking at my eyes again, I saw concern.  She came to me and pulled my head to her and held me.  “Miles, Miles, what am I going to do with you?”
    Pulling my head away, I looked up at her, pulled at my moustache and smiled, “Just love me, I guess.”  This time I pulled her to me not worrying about the twinge in my side.  She sat on my lap as I held her tightly.
    “Molly, I’ve got to find Merker.”
    She was still, I could barely feel her breathing.  “I know,” she whispered.  “But he’s not the first person who’s come for you.  If not someone like Merker it will be some kid wanting a reputation.”
    “Maybe it’s high time I gave it up; went to ranchin’,” I said.  “There’s that range over on the Piedra that I’ve looked at a couple of times.  Good grazin’ land, especially good for horses.  Remember Lot Smith, he said to visit him sometime and I could get some mares from him.  Star would be a great breedin’ stallion…”
    She gave a little laugh.  “What?” I questioned.
    “Listen to you.  You sound like you have it all planned out, but I didn’t hear one earnest word in what you said.  You just flung out words,” she challenged, then hugged me again.  “No, Miles, you’re not cut out to be a rancher.  Oh, you’d be a good one, and you’d probably stick to it, for my sake, but you wouldn’t be fulfilled.  That’s not what the Lord has for you.”
    I recalled what ol’ Captain McNelly said to me once, “My calling is to be a minister of justice,” then I started to speak, “What doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly…”  
    “And to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God,” she finished out the verse from Micah.  Sighing she grabbed me tightly causin’ me to flinch.  Pulling away she smiled, “And maybe getting a few more holes in your body.”
    “Maybe I shouldn’t have turned down that job in New Orleans,” I muttered with some disdain in my voice.
    “No Miles, you were made for the mountains, not the swamps and bayous,” she assured me.  “I’m more comfortable with cougars and bears than alligators.  We’ll make out.”
    With the windows open, a fresh, cooling breeze flowed through our little cabin.  The light in the lamp even flickered a bit, but continued its steady glow.  She stood up and walked to the open doorway, the one that faced to the back.  We couldn’t see the high mountains that lay just in the distance, but we could see the small pasture, with the horses and the edge of the forest. 
    I went over to her.  “How ’bout we take a little vacation?” I paused then continued.  “We could go to Denver, or maybe even down to Texas or to Kansas City.”
    “Oh, Miles,” she whispered.  “I know you mean well,” then she gave a great sigh, and turned to face me.  “We have to see how Marta is going to do, and you have to find Merker.”
    Nodding at her I said, “In other words we have our duties and obligations to take care of and not to be worryin’ ’bout any vacation.”
    I was just about to give her a kiss when Tommy burst through the open front door.  “Marshal, the sheriff, he want to see you right now!”  He whirled to leave and then stopped.  
    I went over to the table to pick up my vest.  Reaching in the pocket I found a dime and flipped it to him.  “Tell Sheriff Gold, I’ll be there as soon as I put on a clean shirt.”
    He smiled running off down the hill.
    Looking at Molly I smiled and said, “Back to duties and obligations.  Oh, think you could clean up the vest, I noticed some blood on it?”

Smith, if that’s your name, you can’t win.  If you do happen to kill me, I’ll be up sittin’ on the porch of the mansion the Lord has made for me.  But when you’re lyin’ here in the street, well, you’ve lost everything–life and soul,” I said, staring him in the eyes.
    “Your crazy,” he hissed, moving his hand a little closer to his gun.
    “I hope you’re ready to die, because in the next few seconds one of my bullets is goin’ to burst into your heart, smashin’ it to smithereens,” I said with complete confidence.  “My time hasn’t come, but if you move your hand toward that gun, yours has.”
    Then I saw it, a question flickered through his eyes, they blinked.  Too late for him to think he drew–faster than me.  I took a step to my right, something I had learned as a Texas Ranger,  and drew. I felt the bullet tug on my side.  My gun came out smoothly and I fired, the bullet hitting him in the chest.  His eyes widened.  He tried to get off another shot, but my second bullet hit him high in the shoulder as he was falling.
    His eyes were open and he was looking at me in surprise.  I walked toward him, deliberately putting the gun in my holster letting him know that he was finished.  Standing over him, uttered, “Be a shame to die with no one knowin’ your right name.”
    The lips moved, he was trying to speak.  Finally, I heard him sputter, “I didn’t believe…Utley,” he moaned and the light went out of his eyes.
    I wasn’t aware of what took place when I fired at Smith or Utley, but I saw the other Tom laid out cold in the dirt.  Charlie, when the first shot was fired, swung around and hit Tom Johnson in the face and then again across the head with his gun.
    Molly rushed up and grabbed hold of me, then withdrew her hand.  “You’ve been shot!” she exclaimed looking at the blood on her hand where she had touched my side.
    “Nothing to worry about,” I replied.  It wasn’t the first time, but one never really gets used to someone trying to kill you.  It’s not just the physical pain, but there are strains on the soul.
    She put her head on my shoulder and looked up at me.  “Straight to the doctor with you,” she barked and tugged on my arm.
    “Okay, folks, the excitement’s over.  Go long ’bout your business,” I heard Charlie giving orders to the crowd.  Before I left with Molly I looked again at the man “Smith,” or maybe “Utley,” then over at Charlie.  He had volunteered a couple of men to carry the other Tom down to where the jail was.  “Just lay him on the boardwalk outside,” Charlie instructed them as they picked the man up.
    He looked my way and shrugged.  “I’ll be over to see you after I get this baggage taken care of.”
    Doc Jones was standing outside the diner and when he saw us walking toward his office he went and opened the door.  “Sit him down over there, Molly.  On the table.  Help get his shirt off,” he was giving orders right and left.  “How about the other man?  Are they bringing him over here?”
    “No Doc, he’s a job for Parker,” I replied.
    “Figured,” he muttered.  “All the way, Molly.  Pull that undershirt off as well.”
    I gave out a yelp as some of the blood had dried.  Molly just let out a giggle.
    Doc continued to give orders.  “There’s a pan over there and some water heating on the stove.  Go fetch some.”
    He turned to a table and grabbed a towel.  Molly was back and Doc dabbed the towel in the hot water and began to wipe at the blood.  “My goodness, Miles, there’s not even a hole,” he muttered then looked up at me and wiped his mouth.  “A nice little gouge, but no hole.  That bullet hit your ribs and went right back out the flesh.  Must have been the angle it hit you.  Let me look close and make sure there’s no cloth in there then clean you up.”
    “The Lord,” I asserted.
    “What?” muttered Doc.
    “Not a glancing blow, Doc.  It was the hand of the Lord that deflected it,” I paused gasping a little while he cleaned with some alcohol, probed and cleaned again.  “He was fast.  Fastest I’ve ever seen.”
    I gasped, as he pushed a little.  “Uh huh…think He let you have a cracked rib just to remember this little venture.”
    Molly was wide-eyed as he worked and then she saw me looking at her.  Picking up my shirt she held it out examining it.  “Miles, another ruined shirt,” she said with a heavy sigh.  I knew it was to cover how scared and nervous she was.  
    “Give it to me,” I commanded as Doc had just finished his work and was wrapping a bandage around me.  I began to put the shirt on.
    “Come back tomorrow so I can clean it again.”
    “Doc, tell Edith I’ll need her today,” she informed him then said to me.  “Come on, let’s go up to the cabin and get you a clean shirt.  That is if you have one that doesn’t have a hole in it.”
    We were about halfway there, when I stopped suddenly in the middle of the street and looked around.  “Molly,” I whispered.  “I heard it, a  cackling laughter, faint and echoing off to the distance valley.”
    She just looked at me before…

Half a block down there was a man laying in the street.  The fellow that just left the diner was standing there with his hands raised, but holding his gun.
    “Easy, mister,” cautioned Charlie as he came up behind the man.  “I want you to lower your right hand and then let the gun drop to the ground.”
    “Why don’t you just take it from me, Sheriff,” taunted the stranger.
    “If I have to, I will,” snapped Charlie in return.  “I’d rather do it this way.”
    There came a small laugh.  “Maybe I don’t,” he paused turning his head to look at Charlie.  “I don’t think you can take it.”
    “I think he can!” I interrupted their little conversation with the cock of the Greener.
    The man lowered his arm, then hesitated, but only momentarily.  He dropped the gun.  While I held the shotgun on the stranger, Charlie went and picked up his gun.
    A man rushed up, “Sheriff, I saw…”  
    “Not now,” Charlie ordered.  “Go stand by that hitching rail.  I’ll get to yuh.”
    “Let’s go to the jail,” commanded Charlie with a wave of his pistol.
    “I heard you don’t have a jail,” replied the stranger.  “Plus, Sheriff, it was self-defense.”
    “That has to be determined by a court.  I see a dead man, you shot him, I hold you while I check out the evidence,” Charlie reminded him.
    The man standing at the rail lifted his voice, “Sheriff, I saw the whole thing.”
    “Let’s go,” Charlie motioned to the stranger.
    The man didn’t waver.  He turned and pointed at me.  “Who’s going to examine the evidence?  That wannabe lawman holding the shotgun?”  Now looking at Charlie, “Take away that shotgun and he’s nothing.”
    “Sheriff!” came the voice again.  By now there were others gathering around.  “That man was goaded into a fight.”
    “Watch him, Miles,” Charlies requested then walked over to the man doing all the ranting.  The stranger turned to face me, smiled, and pointed at me.
    When Charlie reached the man standing at the hitching rail, the man began to tell what he saw, raising his voice so others around would be able to hear him.  “The man came out of that alley and pushed this man, Sheriff.  He cursed and said he had finally caught up with him and started to pull his gun.  This man defended himself.  You can’t hold a man for defending himself.”
    “What’s your name?” asked Charlie.
    “Me, uh, uh, Tom Johnson.”
    “Well, Tom Johnson.  Have you ever seen this man before?”
    There was a slight hesitation then he replied, “Not until a few minutes ago.”
    “You wait here!” commanded Charlie then turned and walked back to the stranger.  “You got a name?”
    “Sure,” he replied smiling, “everybody’s got a name.”
    “Want to give it to me?” returned Charlie.
    “Why Sheriff, I surely will if you ask a little more politely.  You don’t have to be rude just ’cause your friend over there is a sneaking coward.”
    Now this guy was beginning to annoy me.
    “Sir, would you mind giving me your name?” asked Charlie politely.  If I had asked him I would have thumped him alongside the head with the Greener.
    “Tom Smith,” he replied.
    Charlie was shaking his head and muttering, “Smith.”
    I wasn’t paying attention and by the time I had focused on what was happening it was too late.  The witness had come up behind Charlie and had a gun in his back.  “Sheriff, why don’t you give Mr. Smith back his gun so he can go on with his business here.”
    “Just what is his business?” 
    “Why, Sheriff,” came the answer from the stranger.  “I’m here to kill this person by the name of Miles Forrest,” he then put out his hand for his gun.  “That is if he’s man enough to put down that shotgun and face me.”
    “Go ahead Charlie,” I said and uncocked the shotgun and held it in my left hand.
    The stranger’s smile widened.  The witness jabbed his pistol in Charlie’s back.  “Do it, Sheriff!”
    “Give him the gun, Charlie.”
    The man’s hand went out for the gun.  Charlie was shaking his head “no.”  “This will be even.  I’ll put it in your holster.”
    That brought a laugh from the stranger.  He lifted his arm so Charlie could place the gun in the man’s holster.
    “Ready to die, Forrest?” laughed the stranger.
    Looking at him, the thought of the Pale Rider flitted through my mind.  “Some day, but not today.  Not from the likes of you.”
    He flexed his fingers, the laughter stopped…