Topic: No Man's Land

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:02 EST

The rain had finally soaked through my hat and was slowly, excruciatingly slowly, dripping down the back of my neck. That was the finishing touch that made my day complete. Now, as night approached, I was ready to chuck it all, give up my far-flung ideas and just head back east. I thought things could not get worse. As usual in such cases, I was wrong.

Gunfighter. How large that word had loomed when I was sitting in front of the big fireplace at home, feet propped up warm and toasty and reading a penny dreadful. I had practiced daily from the time I was twelve and I believed myself to be the fastest gun to be found. I was, but only in the section of Pennsylvania that I lived in. Sitting here in the rain lacked the romance that I had believed the life of a gunfighter held

To be truthful, I didn't really know what I was doing here, either. I mean, I had been hired by Ben Drisco, presumably to protect his spread from "sneaking thieves." But now that I was on the job I was beginning to wonder. His thieves looked to me to be simple homesteaders looking for a place to roost. Sure, it was a shame to break up the big spreads, but the way I saw it these people had to have a home as well. Such as it was, they had a legal right to it. But from the time the land was granted until the plowmen got their deeds took so long that these people became known as squatters.

In the gathering gloom I could see a movement far down the trail. These were the people I had been waiting for. As they drew closer they looked less and less like thieves. Two outriders were actually carrying long barreled flintlocks. From their looks and their youth I took them to be brothers. Tending the reins of a wagon's team was an older man with a strong family resemblance. I took him to be their father. A frail looking woman on the seat appeared to be the mother and wife of this small clan.

I stepped out into the road and kept my hand away from my gun. Those two boys were on either side of me and I had no reason to think that those old squirrel rifles weren't deadly. Rifles just like them had won the Revolution. Heck, these could have been two of the same rifles. The boys certainly looked sure of themselves.

Those two rifles were held in the crooks of their arms, but they were pointing in my direction when I announced, "I've got to send you back. The trail is off limits from this point."

"Want me to fetch him, Pa?" The lad was too eager to help if you asked me.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:02 EST

"You wait, Son." To me he said, "What's the idea" I'm on the way to Branscom Flat and I was told this was open road."

"You were told wrong. This is Bar Four land. Besides that, have you ever seen Branscom Flat during the fall rains" It's more like a duck marsh right now." I hadn't seen it either, but I'd heard stories. Besides, I wanted to get this family turned around without any trouble.

"We heard there was a town springing up there."

"Springing is a good word for it. Or flooding, take your pick. Why do you want to go there, anyway?"

"We're going to homestead."

"Somebody has given you a bill of goods. I'm not kidding, there's no way you can settle of that flat. It really does get swamped in the rain."

"Why don't you go back to the fork and turn north. There's a little settlement called Kirbyville starting up and you could stay there for a while. If it's okay I'll stop by later and talk to you."

The man sized me up. "You seem honest. All right, I'll take your advice. Come around if you're a mind to."

I went back to my previous position to wait for my relief. Twelve hours is a long time when you're not only bored but also wet. In a way it gave me too much time to think, but then maybe it was time I did some thinking. Something was wrong here. If it wasn't, this trail should be open. And why had the family I had just met want to go to the flat anyway. Both sides of this rose smelled bad. One thing for sure - this family had not been comprised of sneaking thieves.

My relief showed up at the appointed time in the form of a man just called Toad.

"Glad to see you. It's wet out here." A grunt was all I got for my effort at conversation. I was going to tell him about the family I had met but I changed my mind. His manner was such that I didn't want to hear his response, if any.

I rode back to the ranch and stabled my horse. I took the time for a good rub down with straw, for he had been just as miserable as I had been out there. If I was good to him now, might he not go the extra mile for me later" I thought so.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:03 EST

The others looked up when I entered the long bunkhouse, but not a word of welcome was spoken. There were only four gunfighters, but the rest of the ranch hands had taken over the far end of the bunks, leaving the gunmen by themselves. Reputations do not make for friendships.

Finally the oldest man of the little group, Buck Hastings, looked up from cleaning his rifle and asked, "Any action?"

"Nope, just a little talk." I told him about the family I had met.

"Why didn't you just shoot 'em?" He wasn't joking.

"That's what you'd do' Kill the whole family in cold blood" They haven't done anything wrong and don't deserve to get shot at."

"Who's paying your hundred a month' The sodbusters or this spread" Maybe you should move your gear down with those thirty bucks a month cowboys."

"At least they've got some morals."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't think you'd know. Ah, chow's on. Lets go get it." I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away. It gave me a funny feeling like his stare could actually touch the spot they were looking at. The way he cleaned that rifle of his was eerie, too. I mean, I like my guns, but he fondled that long gun like it was flesh and blood. Probably that rifle was the only real partner he had in life, and his life consisted of taking away that of others. He was not a man I would want for an enemy.

It was probably my name that gave him the idea. My real name is Torrance Jackson, but I had picked up the nickname of Snake. This was not due to my looks, although my mother always had said I was skinny as a beanpole. No, I got the name from my speed with a six-gun. Back home we had more copperheads than rattlers, but still, they struck fast. People who had watched me draw and fire said I was just as fast. Hence they had pinned the name of snake on me. Heck, I kind of like it. Torrance was a lawyer's name. Snake was the name of a gunfighter. Or so I thought, for I was young and had a lot to learn.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:04 EST

So, at any rate, when the crew had finished eating and they leaned back in their chairs to roll smokes, Hastings made a dare. "They call you Snake. Does that mean you're faster then a diamondback?"

"Nope. It means I've got poison in my draw." The crew smiled at my answer, but stopped when Hastings's glare made the rounds.

"Okay, wise guy, lets you and me go up that rock canyon that we've got fenced off. We can have some fun."

I knew the place he meant. While this was open range country, the hands had put up a fence of poles to keep the cattle and horses from roaming into that place. It was so infested with rattlesnakes that a critter would just be committing suicide to enter. It sounded like a very bad idea to me, but wisdom comes with age and I was still young.

"All right, Buck, it sounds like a chance to burn a little ammo. Let's go up right after breakfast."

"You're on. We'll see if you can live up to that name."

From the sounds of the snores around the room I got the idea that nobody else was too worried about the morning. Even Hastings's wheezing rasp was sawing wood with regularity. For some reason I couldn't seem to relax as much as the rest. Every time I closed my eyes visions of swaying snakes heads came to me. It was worse when I fell asleep, for the heads kept striking my in the face. I would wake up with a start, and then begin the whole process over again. When morning came I felt like I had not slept at all.

Buck mistook the look on my face.

"Got cold feet, kid" If you want you can call it off and crawl back in your bunk."

"You wish, Buck. I was born with warm feet. Sometimes they're downright hot. You're not getting off that easy."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:04 EST

"I'm looking forward to it, kid. Let's go."

I knew what the older man had meant as soon as he said it. We were going to try to beat the draw of the snakes, if you get my drift. We would walk in and offer ourselves as bait, then draw and shoot them when they struck. It was not a sport for the faint of heart.

When we crossed the fence Hastings motioned me to go on ahead. I shrugged. Someone had to be first. We hadn't traveled fifty feet when action came. It was the biggest kind of diamondback rattler, and it must have been without food for a while. It was so anxious that it struck out at the far reach of its hit zone. I drew as soon as I sensed the activity and it fell dead with a bullet hole in its head.

"Not bad," was all Hastings said as he went ahead of me for his turn. His gun handling was totally different. He was strictly a rifleman, and he carried a Winchester '73 carbine like it was an extension of his body. He had an adjustable sling that carried his 44-40 downward and right side up. With his hand on the action he simply had to swing it into line to shoot.

The start of a rattle was all the time the next snake had, for he was writhing on the ground, the victim of a two hundred grain slug.

"Your turn," was all Hastings said as he surrendered the lead. It went on like this for another hundred feet before the unexpected happened. The snake must have been lethargic from last night's chill, for it waited until Buck passed his hiding place before it struck.

I had but a split second, and I have never made a smoother draw in my life. After all the practice I had done it had become instinctive, and my 45 seemed to appear and shoot of its own accord. Just inches shy of Buck's leg the snake came to a standstill as my slug caught its head.

Naturally Hastings turned around in a flash. When he saw what had happened a look of actual hatred came into his eyes. For a second I thought he was going to take a shot at me! Then he said, "So what do you think that proves?"

"Just that this hunt is over," I replied. Then I turned and walked back to the ranch. Somehow I had made an enemy.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:05 EST

I had made an enemy, and I didn't know why. Usually when you save a man's life you get some notice of gratitude, if not a downright thanks. Hastings acted like I had done him an injustice when I shot that snake. Why"

At first I couldn't fathom it, but finally I concluded that Buck did not want to feel beholden to me in any way. If I had said something like, "Now you owe me " when he turned around then I know he would have shot.

When we got to the ranch the hands were standing around awaiting our return. Ben Drisco was just storming out from the main ranch house to see what was going on.

"Haven't you poor excuses for cow chasers got anything better to do than watch a couple of morons on foot' Now go about your work." The crew didn't move. This incensed the owner so much I could swear that steam came out his ears. We were almost into the yard, and his attention shifted to us.

"Well, you varmints seem to be the main attraction this morning. Where in tarnation have you been?"

"Up the snake canyon," I answered truthfully.

"What in blazes for" I'm not paying you fighting wages to have you risking your lives for fun."

"It was kind of a contest," I replied, "and we came up with a draw."

"Foolishness. Damn foolishness. I'd like to get rid of those snakes, but that's not the way. "

"Pigs." I said this word plainly, and was surprised that everyone from the boss down to the cook had a hand hovering over his gun.

Drisco spoke slowly and plainly. "What did you say?"

'Pigs. That's what you need to get rid of the snakes. They are death on them. They pin down snakes with their hooves and then they eat them. You would think the hogs would be poisoned, but the fangs of the snakes don't seem to penetrate through the hide and fat. That's what people did in the hills back home."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:06 EST

A roper named Gator was from the south, and he piped up in agreement. "I seen it too. Them hogs eat them snakes right up."

"Well, that's the first I ever heard of it," said Drisco. "I don't know if I'd want to smell the darn things around though. It might be better just to keep the snakes. Now the rest of you get to work." This time they went. "Snake, you hold up. I want to talk to you."

"Yessir, what do you want?" Just because he paid wages didn't mean he was cowing me.

"What's this I hear about you letting some sodbusters go?"

"I didn't let 'em go, I turned them back," I replied. Somebody from the bunkhouse must have told him. "They thought they were going to settle on Brascom Flat. I figure somebody sold them a bill of goods."

"Brascom Flat' That's crazy." Then he thought about it and said, "You're right, somebody who doesn't know the country sent them in. At least that means they're not my personal enemy. I thought someone might have it in just for me. At any rate, next time force the gunplay. I want to make a statement here, not be a travel service."

"I'm not going to gun down an innocent family just to make a statement."

"I didn't say that. Just goad 'em a little. I can't have these people taking over my land."

For the time being we left it at that. The taste in my mouth was getting pretty sour. When I had signed on here I expected to be protecting a ranch, not goading dumb farmers into gunfights. I made up my mind right then and there that I would not become as calloused as the old gunmen like Hastings. Near as I could see, fellows like that would kill anything or anybody for the highest bidder.

On my next shift on the trail I turned back two more parties, both heading for the Flat. One of these turned back peacefully. The other meeting nearly erupted into gunplay.

There were just two travelers with no wagon, just a team of mules that were loaded with farming implements. They were obviously father and son. The boy was young but the shotgun in his hands didn't waver. The father was armed with a cap and ball Colt Army 44 and he was ready to use it.

"What do you mean, turn around?" he boomed as his hand went to rest on his revolver. "In case you haven't heard, this is a free country, and we can go wherever we're a mind to."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:07 EST

"That's right," I mollified him, "but that doesn't mean you can trespass on somebody else's land if they don't want you to. And it makes no sense where you're going anyway. I tell you that flat is mostly under water right now. It's no place to settle down."

"I don't believe you. We buried the boy's ma back in Arkansas and came out here to make a new start. Now you don't want us to do it."

"You haven't been here long, but you should know you just said the wrong thing." He didn't look like he knew what I was talking about, so I spelled it out for him. "Out here we're a long way from banks and lawyer offices. So when a man says he will do something the only guarantee you have is his word. If you call a man a liar you are putting him in a bad light, and that's something that cannot stand. It is a cause for shooting out here. You'd best remember it."

He nodded his head slowly. "I see. I didn't understand. All right, you strike me as an honest man. If you say the Flat is flooded then it is.

"You know, the West is a mighty big place. If we don't plant stakes here we'll just keep on going. We'll find our own place somewhere."

"Yes, you will, I'm sure of it," I told him. "Why don't you go up to Kirbyville for a few days while I try to find out what is really going on. I'll be up to see you. I promise."

While I waited for Toad to relieve me again I tried to think of what might be behind this misguided migration. These travelers were not being sent to farming land, that was for sure. Of course, what a stupid bug tit I was! I hadn't even asked those people who had sent them. There must be some kind of paperwork, although reading and writing skills were a tad hard to come by and a lot of documents were just signed with an x.

There had been a lot of mining strikes quite a ways south and west of here but none that I had heard of locally. Of course, that is the draw of prospecting; a lot of ore is found in unlikely places, hence the old saying, "Gold is where you find it." Still, why send a bunch of farmers ahead to claim the land? All a man had to do was file a claim, and he would be free to mine to his heart's content. No, there had to be more to it than that. .

When Toad showed up I rode back to the ranch and went directly to the main house. I knew that Drisco wouldn't like it but it couldn't be helped. I wanted to dig into the roots of this matter and maybe he could shed some light.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:07 EST

"What's the matter?" roared Drisco when he came to the door. "Bunkhouse not good enough for ya?"

"Mr. Drisco, I'd like to talk to you about all these squatters that are showing up. They obviously don't know what they're getting into. You say you don't have anybody in mine as to being behind all this. Then what other reason could there be to send a bunch of people in to a flooded area?"

"Come on in." When we got seated in his office he became surly. "You're hired to keep the farmers away from my spread. Why they come doesn't really matter, does it' If I didn't know that you're one of the fastest shooters around I'd let you go right now. So how does it lay' Are you going to start shooting those nesters or wipe their noses?"

"I'm not going to shoot innocent people just to make a point, if that's what you mean." To diffuse him I stood up and went to a wall map. "Tell me about this area they are aiming for. What makes it so special?"

"Nothing that I can see. The river keeps shifting course so you never quite know where the boundary is. I keep the cattle back a ways just in case."

"What boundary' I don't see what you mean."

"Why, the Navajo reservation. Because the government is involved I don't go right up to the line. I don't know where it is. The Indians don't push too hard the other way. I look the other way whenever they want some beef for their families. Heck, the buffalo are about gone and the people have to eat. I don't mind that. I'm just worried that someone will grab control of the area between us. Then my cattle could be cleaned out and the blame placed on the wrong tribe."

"But if you are on the line, how does someone get between you?"

"I told you, the river keeps shifting."

"That much?"

"Sure. Every few years that old Navajo Wash moves miles out of its old route."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:08 EST

"Then there might be thousands of acres involved, couldn't there" "

"Yep. A fellow could latch onto a good sized spread. If he could hold it would be another story."

I had started out the door, but I turned on my heel and looked back. "You care if I take a couple of days and look over that area" I might do you more good in figuring this out than I would guarding a trail. Any of the others can do that."

I didn't like the look that he gave me. It was a steady stare showing no emotion. Was he trying to figure me out, or was he planning how to be rid of me? Finally he said, "All right. See what you can find out. But report directly back to me. And I don't want to hear about you going easy on any squatters again. If you get the chance, I want 'em dead. Now get out of here."

I took off at daybreak the next morning, grateful to be off on my own. That bunkhouse could get pretty crowded with cowboys that snored and ate beans at every meal. The wind quickened as the day progressed and it looked like the afternoon would see more rain. It was the type of day made for a hunter, when the very air seems charged with excitement and you are sure you will see a deer just over the next hill. In truth I felt more like seeing some strange country and game than I did in checking out the course of an errant river. I had given my word so to the Navajo Wash I went.

By finding that end of the northern trail first I found what I took to be Brascom Flat. Sure enough, it was a good spot for ducks. As I watched a small group of teal pitched down and landed with loud splashes. A man who liked to eat ducks could live well here until the flooding subsided.

Above the Flat I found a spot shallow enough that my horse could comfortably wade through. On the other side I rode over a mile before I found another old channel. From the looks of the vegetation that was taking hold in the bed I guessed it had not seen the Wash run through it for a good four years. The strip in back of me then was what was known on the battlefield as 'no man's land."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:09 EST

No man's land. As I looked across it I could nearly smell the black powder smoke and the moans of the injured. This was more likely to happen than it had looked at first, for not only would Drisco be pushed - the Navajo nation would be infringed upon and they might go on the warpath, who could blame them' I scratched my head. How could have a poor hill boy like me got into such a tangled scheme? I remembered Pa telling me when in doubt forge forward so that was what I was going to do.

One sad fact of living on the range is that baths can be few and far between. My clothes felt like they had been slept in for a month and my skin was even beginning to feel scaly. With the river in front of me and time on my hands, I decided to make the most of it. A hundred yards further on I found a nice hole that was about five feet deep.

Looking sheepishly around, I shucked out of my clothes and started scrubbing them first. Everything but my boot, hat and gunbelt were tossed in and scrubbed with a bar of lye soap that I carried in my saddlebags. I preferred the tar soap but hadn't been to a store to buy any in a spell.

When I pulled out the clothes and hung them on a bush to dry I half expected to see them full of gaping holes, but luckily such was not the case and they were still in one piece. Not only that, but they were sure as shooting clean. That lye soap is fast, I had to give it that.

Now for the body. I jumped in and with some trepidation applied the soap to my chest. I pretty near jumped back out. I was willing to bet that stuff would peel a man's hide if he gave it a chance. The rest of the bath went some old quick, and I was very careful about the nether regions, if you get my drift.

I moved upstream a bit and lay in the shallows, enjoying the cool water on my skin. Occasionally a very slight 'plop' sounded but at first I paid it no mind. Then I just happened to be looking when a dark bubble rose out of the bed and broke free on the surface. Finding this quite unusual I looked closed and found the bubbles to be tiny globules of oil being released from the earth. Now I noticed what I had somehow missed before - the black deposits along the shore and on the stems of the water plants.

I had heard of oil, of course, back in Pennsylvania. To the north of us a man named Drake had been drilling for it for years. The only uses that I knew of were for lighting and tar soap. No, seems like I remembered it being rendered into grease, as well. There was quite a bit of speculation attached to the mineral. Probably someday people would come up with used for it that I had never dreamed of.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:09 EST

Perhaps someone knew something that I didn't. I grinned. Come to think of it, most people did. This could be the reason for an attempted land grab. In fact, I was sure of it. The man behind all this had probably been in Pennsylvania and seen the oil wells there first hand. I had the time, so today I would ride up to Kirbyville and ask the settlers who had sent them.

First I took a ride along the river to see how much ground was affected. The distance between the two beds was considerable in places. There could well be thousands of acres affected. Regardless of the reason, there could be a small fortune at stake here.

I rode well north of the trail that led to Kirbyville so as to bypass the guard on the road. A lot of the men at the ranch looked at me strangely all ready. There was no reason to add to their speculations.

When I found the little settlement it was about what I expected. A small pool of water was the focal point. Manzanita bushes lined one side, the settler's wagons the other. Every wagon had a clothesline out, for who knew when the chance would come again? A couple of large fires apparently served as communal cooking areas, and the women chatted merrily as if they had always been friends. A mule deer hung from the rear of one of the wagons, and a group of boys cleaned fish. They must have found a hot spot judging by the size of their catch.

I recognized some of the people I had turned back on the trail. They were all friendly and apparently held no hard feelings. The man with the boy that I had met yesterday surprised me by coming over and holding out his hand. "Sometime it's hard for a man to admit when he's wrong. I was wrong yesterday. I apologize."

"No need, I understand. It is a new and difficult land. You learn fast. You and your son will make out just fine." He was not an impressive figure, dressed in very worn homespun and wearing the old fashioned clodhoppers that had neither a left nor a right to them. Most people, especially the cowboys out here, had switched to the fitted left and right footwear after the War Between the States, but poor is poor, and a lot of farmers could not afford to do so.

He was not impressive until you looked him full in the face, and then you saw the intelligence and vision that would carry him far.

"By the way, my name is Jackson, but most people call me Snake because I'm kind of skinny." I figured to let it go at that and not mention my speed at handling a gun.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:10 EST

"I'm Noah Cross, and this is my son Adam. I mentioned that his Ma died back yonder, and then the locusts ate my crops, so we decided to pick and move out here. I don't know what lies ahead but it has got to be better than what we left behind. I hope."

"It will be. You learn to live with the land out here, and once you do that there is nothing that can stop you." I gazed around to include the others. "You all have a good chance as long as you take the time to learn. Now you just need a good place to light. I just came from the Flat, and believe me, that is no place you would ever call home.

"Who gave you the idea to come out here, anyway' There was obviously some kind of a mix up."

"I've got it written down here," said a balding man who was surrounded by a small herd of dirty faced children. "The Great Territorial Land Holding Company. A fellow named James Hazeltine spoke to us. A very pleasant chap."

"He would be," I said. "It helps when you're selling snake oil."

"What?"

"Never mind. Let's just say that your Mr. Hazeltine is quite a salesman. Did he tell you that Branscom Flat was a good place to settle"

"He sure did. Said the land was fertile and we would never run out of water."

"He got that part right. No danger of running out today, anyway. Where did this fellow have his office?"

Now the men looked a bit sheepish. "Well, it wasn't exactly a ...er..."

Another one spoke up. "He runs his business out of a wagon. Has big signs he puts on the side of it when he rolls into a town."

Under my breath I muttered, "Bet they say snake oil on the other side." Aloud I said, "Well, the best thing to do is forget about him. A shyster like him won't last long in the West. He'll end up decorating a cottonwood tree, sooner or later.

"But in the meantime we've got to find a better place for you to go. I've heard Green Valley has rich soil but I don't know if it's open to settling. There's always Oregon. I haven't been there yet, but they tell me it is truly God's Country. I plan on seeing it one of these years."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:11 EST

"Cold up there, ain't it?"

"The eastern area is, but the country along the coast is quite warm for being so far north. It rains a lot, but if you don't mind that it sounds like a good place to farm. The winters are easy, but like I said, there is a lot of rain."

"I seen times I dreamed about such a place. Times when the crops just withered and blew away. I'd like to know more about this here Oregon."

"I'll find somebody that's been there and bring him over. Who knows, I might even ride up there with you."

Any such plans were quickly shelved as a ruckus arose at the end of the camp. The crowd opened up to admit a gangling man carrying a wounded woman in his arms.

"Somebody shot up this whole family. This woman is the only one that's left."

"Set her down in the shade of those wagons and..."

One of the women interrupted him. "You men leave us to it. I bet all us women has dug out a least one slug from a man."

"My God," exclaimed Noah Cross, "That's the Fuller woman. We ate with them a week ago back along the trail."

"Pa, what happened to MaryAnn?" asked his son.

His father shrugged at the gangling man in question.

"All dead, I'm afraid. All dead but this one."

The younger Cross bolted away for the solitude across the pool. His father spoke up.

"She was a pretty little thing. My boy took to her."

A bad feeling was coming over me. ?"Where did it happen?"

"I don't know. I met the wagon running wild down on the main trail. She was the only one still alive, so I brought her right over."

"Was that wagon heading east or west?" I asked him.

"Why, come to think of it, it was coming east, coming back the way it came would be my guess."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:11 EST

Noah Cross looked me square in the eye. "Yeah, mine too. Any conjecture, Snake?"

"No. It looks like it's connected to Drisco's guards, but we don't have any proof. Not yet, anyway. Were you thinking something else, Noah?"

He shook his head. "No, I just wanted to see what you had to say about it."

I could see he had changed his mind. At first he had wondered if I could have done it. I could have piped up then and told him of my time to go scouting and coming directly from Navajo Wash, but I wanted him to make up his own mind about me instead. I wanted him to judge my character instead of my word. I could see that he had.

"We'd better dig some graves. How about on that high spot over there?"

"Better dig another one," came a woman's voice from the wagon. "She's gone too."

We all stood silent for a second, then without speaking turned and went to the trail to take care of the other bodies. The men were scanning the trail, the hillsides; anything but each other. Adam sullenly looked at the ground beneath his feet, kicking at odd rocks that happened to be in his path. His pa looked at him but left him alone.

Buzzards were all ready circling in the sky when we approached the wagon. One horse was down. Apparently it had caught a bullet as the wagon departed the scene of the shooting and its adrenalin had kept it running until it stopped. There was nothing for us to do except cut the dead horse from its harness and lead the other back, pulling the wagon that had become a hearse.

"You know, we all ready have a graveyard, before we have a town." Unwittingly Noah Cross had spelled out the future. For from that sad comment the little settlement of Kirbyville turned into a town.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:12 EST

With the hard work of digging the graves behind us, we had cleaned up and were now gathered in a somber group to say goodbye to people we had never even known. I had heard the women saying it was a shame they couldn't hold a proper wake. I understood their sentiments - back home a little settlement like mine would all come together to tell stories, pray, and like as not break out a bottle of moon. Then the stories would become rowdy, but much more funny. Of course, at this point the women would steer the men outside, and there would actually be two wakes, one somber and the other often as not hilarious.

The best homespun, the 'Sunday Go To Meetin' clothes would be worn, and if it was in the summer it would be one of the few times the children would be wearing shoes. Otherwise most of them went barefoot except when it snowed or they went to school. The people were poor, but some of the old time ideas of right and proper had stayed with them, even though many were generations from Europe.

Naturally the deceased would probably be dressed better than he ever was when alive. The chore of cleaning and dressing the body fell upon the wife and oldest children. Undertakers had taken over the onerous chore in the cities and towns, especially since the War Between the States, but these were country people and miles too poor for such truck.

Frankly, I was just as glad to have a burial just like we were doing now. Plant 'em and get it over with. It made sense to me.

The gathered people asked me to read the Lord's Prayer, and I was glad to do so. The Bible I read from had a family tree of two hundred years written inside the cover. I cradled the book with awe. The history it had been through was hard to grasp.

When the simple ceremony was over, everyone took a handful of soil and tossed it into the graves. Everyone except Adam Cross, who made a strange noise in his throat and then bolted in the direction of the horses. A minute later we heard the beat of hooves heading to the main trail.

"Stay here," I told the boy's father, "I know the area, and I'll bring him back."

Adam had planned on having a good head start. It had only taken him a second to throw all the tack into a big pile that he stirred up to make a big knot. I knew from past experience that my mount did not take to being ridden bareback, so I had to untangle the mess to retrieve my reins and saddle. By the time I hit the trail the dust had settled.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:12 EST

I didn't waste time following his trail. There was no question that he had ridden to seek vengeance. Instead of going down to the main trail, I pushed my mount cross-country on the straight leg of the triangle. It was a good idea, but a couple of rough spots made us slow down to a walk. By the time we hit the trail, the boy had passed but was visible a half a mile ahead.

Adam must have heard my hoof beats echoing from a rock face, for he turned in his saddle to look back, and that is what saved his life. For when his face turned to me, his pony seemed to buckle in slow motion and fly end over end. As the boy flew off I heard the thud of the bullet and then the report.

I thought Adam and his horse were both goners. I spurred my mount to full speed, and we galloped up to the site stopped in back of a large rock. Bullets chipped off pieces of rock as I did, and I doffed my hat to peek around the side and empty my Peacemaker at the puffs of smoke that signified the shooter's whereabouts. I didn't believe I had connected with him, but the rifle went silent.

The pony was in plain sight and obviously expired. Adam was partially obscured by the dead horse, and I could just see his legs. Visions of carrying his lifeless body back to his father were not appealing, but even as the dismal sight was blurring my mind, I saw his legs move, and he started to get up.

"Adam, stay down," I hollered. "I think the guy is still up there."

The boy was too wound up to play possum. He jumped up but immediately fell back clutching his leg. No shot was thrown at him, but I was still hesitant to run over there. There was no helping it, though, for the boy needed assistance. Taking advantage of what little cover there was I ran for him. Just as I reached my objective a shot rang out that threw sand on my foot, and I scooped up Adam and made a running dive into the questionable shelter of some rather small rocks.

The boy was rubbing his leg, but there was no blood, so I slit the pant leg in the seam and found a very bad bruise. At least the bone was not broken. There were a lot of cowboys hobbling around because of poorly set bones.

The direction of that shot made me think that the sniper had been changing his position to get around in back of me. Try as I might I could see no sign of the man's position. I took a good rest and held my revolver with both hands in case I did get a sighting. I was never that good at this, but I had seen men that could hit a fair sized target at hundreds of yards. In theory you just had to hold up the right amount of front sight and you could find the range. At this range I would be lucky to get close enough to scare him. I was skilled in the fast draw, not long range precision.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:13 EST

With a start I realized that I had left my mount out of my line of vision. And instead of ground hitching I had taken a turn of the reins around a bush. Even as the thought occurred to me dust appeared in back of that little hill and our unknown assailant rode off with the one good horse. I was on foot and had a crippled boy on my hands.

First I helped, or mostly dragged, Adam over to a small ravine where we would have better cover. Then I started a small fire, and slipping the cover off my canteen, I heated the whole thing. I hoped I wouldn't be sorry, for there was no water in the immediate vicinity. It didn't matter right now, for there is nothing better than hot water for bathing a wound such as Adam suffered.

After an hour of such treatment, the stiffness was letting up, but he still couldn't put his weight on it. I wrapped the leg tightly in a coat from his saddlebags, and we started back toward his home camp, with his arm over my shoulders, keeping the bad leg from touching the ground. After a hundred yards, I was quite sure I would never be able to walk upright again, but we persevered, and after a struggle we had made a good two hundred. Then it was time for a break.

"I'm sure sorry, Snake. You ought to just leave me. I'll be all right. My Pa should be along unless he's mad that I run off. Come to think of it, he probably is."

"Never mind that. He's your Pa, and he'll be after you. And we're in this boat together. Neither one of us has a horse, so we might as well stick together. "We'll make out okay."

We were just bracing ourselves for another marathon when the sound of approaching horses reached us. Talk about music to the ears. Leading the party was Adam's father. His look was of concern, not anger. He dismounted and embraced his son without saying a word.

"What did I tell you?" I asked Adam when the greeting was over. "He's your Pa."

Noah looked at me without asking what I meant. He seemed to understand.

We lifted Adam to the saddle and he let his leg dangle. His face would grimace in pain but he never made a sound. He was a tough kid, and a few years of experience would make him someone to reckon with.

Slowly we made our way back to Kirbyville. There were not enough horses to go around, so Noah and I walked on either side of Adam. Amos never made any mention of Adam's flight toward vengeance.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:14 EST

"You know, it looks like we're getting a rocky start in the West," said Noah, "But it's no worse that we ever have had it. Adam once had a brother and a sister, but they died of fever when they were less than three. And it seemed no matter how hard I worked I couldn't pull in a good crop. One year it would be drought, and the next year locusts. One time a herd of cattle stampeded through and trampled everything in its path. The ramrod said it was an accident, but I think some of the cowboys thought it was a joke. It was no joke to me to see all my effort going down the drain. Finally his mother died and we pulled up stakes. Did you notice how the men seem to live a lot longer that the women? I sometimes wonder about the injustice of that."

"I think they just plain wear out," I told him. "A man works hard but then he rests. A woman works about twenty hours a day, and if times are rough, which they usually are, she give most of her food to her children. No wonder they die younger."

" I see your point. A lot of farmers in my situation send for mail order brides, but it don't feel right to me, just replacing one woman with another. I decided to quit where I was at, and try something different. You know, I don't even care if I farm again. If I could do something else I would be just as happy. Probably happier."

"This is a land of opportunity, Amos. There's bound to be something."

"I hope so. I really do. I'd like to get the boy started off right. He's all I got now."

When we arrived back in camp, the women all made much of Adam's plight, and while he proclaimed that he didn't need any help, it was plain to see that it pleased him. He had been away from the presence of women for some time now, and the memories came flooding back as they patted him and "oohed" and ahed." I turned and saw his father smiling at the picture.

"Maybe I should find another wife after all," he said.

I had to throw in my two cents worth. "If you do, make it for the right reasons. Adam will be on his own before you know it, but you'll stay married for a long time. Of course, it's easy for me to give advice, seeing as how I've never been married."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:14 EST

"That'll change, one of these days, I reckon."

"Maybe. We'll see." Actually I had never even thought about it. The life of a gunfighter didn't seem to go hand in hand with marriage. The lure of the gunfighter's life was fading a bit now as I saw what the class was like. Who could say what the future held"

I had a whole lifetime to contemplate, but a problem to resolve first. I borrowed a horse and packed what little I had left.

"Where you heading," asked Amos.

"I'm going to get my horse back. And have it out with him."

"Want me to ride along?"

"Nope. Some things a man does better alone. This is one of them."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:21 EST

The sniper's trail was easy to pick up. It should have been, for after all, he was leading my horse. I almost left the trail and went directly to Drisco's ranch, but it was a good thing I didn't. The unknown gunman cut off the trail on the opposite side from the ranch and headed northeast. This had me scratching my head, for it was totally unexpected. The fellow was full of surprises; for he had left his spent brass where it landed, and it turned out he was shooting a 32-20.

The 32-20 was popular with ranchers and farmers for shooting varmints that raided the fields. It was a favorite of the sheep men because it shot fairly flat and kept the coyotes at bay. That is, as far as coyotes can be kept at bay. When they make up their mind that they want something they can usually find a way to get it.

This caliber was also popular in the East. Perhaps this man had not been out here that long. Stores are closer in the East, as well, so not as many shooters handloaded there. Out West a lot of men carried a nutcracker reloading tool in their saddlebags. Naturally they were careful to pick up all their spent brass cases so as to use them again. It could well be that this man was a newcomer.

Two hours later I came to where his tracks entered a trail and continued in a northeast direction. I guessed this was roughly the border of the Navajo Reservation. The led horse was given its freedom here, and I found him with his reins tangled in some brush. I was glad I had showed up. I didn't know if he could have broken loose or not.

My target stopped on the trail and conversed with someone on a big horse traveling in the opposite direction. When I say big horse I mean one that was probably one that worked instead of being ridden. It had a good pace and I had to guess it was a beast that normally pulled a wagon. That was fairly common practice. Freighters didn't bring along a riding horse, they just used one from their team. Most of these big ones were so gentle that you didn't even need a saddle.

On a hunch I gave up the track I had been on and followed the new one. This country was still too wild to have many coincidental meetings. Bad business was afoot and I wanted to know the details.

An hour later I was more confused than ever. The track of the man on the big horse seemed to be going in the direction of the Drisco ranch. All the gunfighters I had met there kept fast mounts, just in case. The cowboys rode ponies. I shook my head. I was getting spooky. Just the same, I kept on this track.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:22 EST

When the big horse's sign mixed with that of a small driven herd of cattle it was close enough to be sure the rider was indeed going to the Drisco ranch. I headed directly for the ranch house.

When I knocked Ben Drisco's booming voice told me to wait a minute. After what must have been longer than that he came to the door and berated me.

"Well, have you wasted enough of your time and my money?" he asked. "I knew nothing would come of your foolishness." Anybody else that acted the way he did would soon be known as what the English would call a 'pompous twit.' Swollen headed would be a similar expression. But Drisco did not have a big head, not in the least. He sat there in his office wearing work clothes that would be just as at home branding a colt or bulldogging a doggie. And in fact you could often see him doing such things. For he liked to brag to his crew that he could do anything they could do better. Except gunfight. At any rate, that is why he would sometimes be seen riding drag on a drive and eating more dust than the next two cowboys.

"Somebody killed a whole family of movers back on the trail. I tracked up the shooter and I don't think he was one of your men."

A look of disdain quickly passed over his face. Was it in disgust at himself for being mixed up in such dirty business" His old self quickly took over. "So what if it was" Didn't I tell you that your job is to get rid of these intruders" If they get hurt in the process, so be it."

"A pretty little unarmed girl of fourteen" You think we should have shot her full of holes" Somebody did. Do you really condone such behavior?"

Drisco turned and looked out the window; at the far reaches of this land that he had tamed over the long years. He wouldn't look at me when he said, "We have to do whatever it takes." He was silent for a minute and then said, "I had two boys. They're both buried right over there side of their Ma. One of them died at the same time as his mother, in childbirth. The other grew to be twelve, and he was big for his age. We got our ropes on a maverick bull and tried to lay him down. Sammy got gored. I'd lost my gun somehow, but I went berserk and I killed that bull with my knife. Just jumped on him and kept stabbing. Kept cutting him long after he was dead; until finally I cut the head plumb off.

"I'm keeping the ranch, no matter what the cost."

I could see that I was dismissed, and I went out the front door deep in thought.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:22 EST

Now that I had been off on my own for a couple of days the crew really looked at me with suspicion. They weren't talkative before, but now I was nearly avoided. Buck Hastings in particular looked upon me as a pestilence. His was a look of hate; maybe even something more. He almost looked worried about me, though why I had no idea. A guilty conscience" If he didn't have one I was sure he should have.

As soon as I could without attracting attention I had scoured the vicinity of the ranch yard for sign of the man mounted on the big horse. Those tracks were easy to spot, for an animal that heavy really sinks the prints deep. I found them at the seep, a wet spot where two slopes converged above a flat. There was always at least wet sand here. At this time of year there was a pool of water that was a natural attraction for all manner of beasts.

The man (teamster") had stopped and talked to somebody here. Try as I might I could not figure out who. The prints were in the water, mixed with those of a few thousand cows and a m"lange of wild animals. Where the talker had traveled from the ranch was rocky enough that he didn't have to stand in the sand. He was apparently aware of this, because he seemed to consciously avoid leaving a clean footprint. My first suspicion was Hastings, of course, because of his strange mannerisms of late. The feet were big enough to be Drisco, but I was sure he was basically an honest men. I was still very young, and didn't realize the wiles some actors can put on.

I went back to my duty guarding the trail and was pleased to find that no traffic came along. I found out later that the men of Kirbyville stopped all the newcomers well short of the danger zone and explained the situation. That was fine with me. The fighters back at the ranch looked with disbelieving eyes when I reported no contact. In their minds I was not to be trusted.

As best I could learn none of these gunmen had shot up the deceased family. I decided the man with the 32-20 must have been the culprit. This crime should not go unpunished, but who was to do something about it' Nobody that I could see. That left only one possible solution - me.

With the intentions of talking over the situation with Ben Drisco I walked over toward the main ranch house. From the corner of a storage hut a harsh voice stopped me.

"And where the Hell do you think you're going?" It was Buck Hastings, and he reminded me of a cur with a bone in his mouth. His hair was standing up, as if he were ready to jump into a fray. The brim of his black hat was pulled down low over his forehead so that the evil glare of his eyes was all that could be seen. His sneer actually made his mouth look like that of a dog showing his teeth. He exuded evil, and it was directed at me. His strangely slung Winchester was at the ready, awaiting only his nerve impulses to go into action.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:23 EST

"I can't see that it's any of your business, Buck." I answered him curtly, not caring how he took it. He epitomized the stink of this whole operation. I had signed on thinking it would be a grand and brave undertaking. I had come to understand that it was a job of playing bully; an open chance to provoke barely concealed murders. I was sick of it, but my Pa had told me a good man never quits. I was wondering if he had ever run into a situation like this.

"It damn sure is. I don't like the way you're shirking on your job, and I think you're molly coddling those damn nesters. What are you going to do next, run to Ben and start a collection for them?"

"What I talk to Mr. Drisco about is none of your business." I was getting hot. I had brushed off the strap on the hammer of my 45 with a movement of my arm as he first spoke. Now I faced him fully in the ready position,

A big voice boomed from the porch. "What's going on here" Are you two birds loco' Isn't this place big enough for the two of you?"

"No, Mr. Drisco," I answered honestly, ":I don't believe it is."

"Then he ought to be the one to leave," said Buck Hastings. "He's too soft on newcomers and he's altogether too nosy. This guy is a Snake in the grass."

"You got something to hide, Buck" Is that why you want to get rid of me?"

Buck's lips curled fully back, "Why you..."

"STOP IT. " The old man had his dander up. "Snake, I'm sorry, but I'm letting you go. It might no be your fault, but you're causing trouble. Stop at the office on your way out and I'll give you your wages."

Buck just couldn't stand to keep his mouth shut. "And don't come on this land again or you'll end up dead, you hear me?"

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-04 09:23 EST

"Buck, I saddle my own broncs. If I want to tell Snake anything I'll do it myself. Snake, I'll not ban you from my range. You might not be safe riding through here with Buck around, but you're your own man. Do as you please. Not pack your gear."

I went to the bunkhouse and was packed in one minute, for I traveled light. I said adios to the hands that were there but not a one of them even looked up. I think it was from fear of retribution rather than any personal dislike of me. I saddled my black and led him to Drisco's porch, where I was presented with a poke of coins. I didn't count them - just stuck them in a vest pocket and said a curt "Thanks."

Not another word was spoken, and I rode off to the east. I stopped briefly on a rise to look back. The two men were exactly as I left them, just watching me go, showing no more emotion than horned toads in the noontime sun.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:05 EST

"You did what? Congratulations, Snake, that's the best news I've heard in months." You would have thought I had been elected to office, the way they carried on.

It was the first time I had ever been cheered for being fired.

I had ridden up to Kirbyville to try to find out more about the man who had sent them on this wild goose chase. When they heard I was all done at Drisco's, they all but carried me on their shoulders. Standing very upright in his run-down homespun, Noah Cross had a look of joy and relief on his face. He must have still had a slim doubt about me until now.

The women insisted this occasion called for a feast, and they set about putting together large helpings of whatever was at hand. There were biscuits and honey, a fish fry, a deer shoulder roasting, and on a spit over an open fire there were a dozen quail roasting. I wondered that they would use a charge of shot on such small birds, and then I saw the answer. Three lads were walking in with three more quail, and one of them was holding a Flobert rifle. This was originally meant for shooting targets in the parlor, but the tiny bullet was strengthened a bit and was one of the first .22's. The boys must have been taking turns with the rifle, for each held his own headshot quail. A prouder trio you never saw. It helps a boy to grow up straight and true when he can assist in feeding his family.

The repast was delicious. I never seem to get my fill of venison, and this was so tender I thought it might melt in my mouth. And the biscuits, well, there may be men out there that can eat as many as I can, but not many of them could eat any more. I've had them cooked in the coals, and in a frying pan as well as baked in a regular oven, and I loved them all. They are the outdoorsman's staple, along with the ever-present beans.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:05 EST

When the main course was over, the women served up four mock apple pies. I swear you couldn't tell the difference between these and pies baked with real apples. A good cook can make common crackers do everything but dance.

Young Adam was the one that made the comment, "We ought to have a hoe down," and the spontaneous party grew legs. Turned out we had two fiddles, a harmonica, a mandolin and a concertina in this band of settlers. Plus a couple of men that played bass jugs. As darkness settled down, the fires were stirred up, and the dancing began. I said before that the town started at the burial, but this night of music was where community spirit really set in.

The impromptu band played traditional songs like, "Turkey in the Straw," "Hole in the Bucket," and that song made popular in the California gold rush, "Oh, Susanna."

Music from Europe was still played, songs like "Cockles and Mussels." A song very much in vogue because of the current construction was, "I Been Working on the Railroad." A lot of the folks were from the southern states, and they kept breaking into "Dixieland." Naturally the northerners answered with "Yankee Doodle," which came from the revolution.

Most everybody jumped into the dancing circle, but Noah Cross caught my eye, and we stepped out to hold a conference.

"You think we ought to post a guard?" he asked me.

"Well, how about you and I take turns walking outside the firelight' No need to put everyone on edge. We can just do it, and no one will be the wiser."

I took the first watch, and I wasn't surprised when nothing stirred. I hadn't really thought it would. This group of movers was ignored by most except when they encroached on their land. When Noah came out to spell me he was grinning widely.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:06 EST

"Snake, you better watch your step. Laura Smith is setting her cap tonight."

"Who?" I vaguely remembered one family's name was Smith, but had no recollection of any Laura.

"You know, Laura Smith. She's seventeen and pretty as a picture."

"You don't mean the one with pigtails and a flannel shirt, do you?" I could see no attraction from that area.

"Trust me, boy, she ain't wearing a flannel shirt tonight. She's got herself a dress, and she's got her hair down. She's shopping for a husband, hard."

"Then have at it, Noah. Sounds like she was made for you."

"She's too close to Adam's age, or, believe me, I would. The boy would probably be jealous or something."

"He's a good boy. He'd understand."

"Maybe. But he needs a mother, not a sister."

I walked in to see the dancers, and the first one I met was Laura. I wondered if Noah had set me up. One thing was for sure; he hadn't lied when he said she was pretty. Funny I hadn't noticed it before. Maybe it had something to do with the way her party dress was cut, or perhaps it was the way her cheeks were now full of color.

I never felt sorry for the deer in my sights before until I felt her gaze upon me. I almost spun and ran off, but I held my ground and greeted her politely.

"Good evening, Miss Smith. You are very lovely this evening."

"Why, thank you, Sir," she responded, and then she giggled. "My name's Laura, and you know it. If I change my name it won't be the first one. Ain't you going to ask me to dance?"

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:07 EST

I swear I heard a warning buzzer in my head. I was able to override it.

"I'm not much of a dancer, Laura. I might step on your feet."

"I'll just have to chance it, " she smiled as she took my arm and led me into the circle. The song was a waltz, and she seemed to lean against me as if she was unsure of her balance. By the time the tune was over I was certainly unsure of mine. I would soon find out that Laura was full of surprises.

"My feet hurt, Snake. May we go set down?" I said sure, not even noticing the 'we' she had slipped in.

I thought we would sit with the watchers at the edge of the circle, but Laura whisked me right on by. "We have a bench right outside our wagon. Let's go over there."

She nearly pushed me down and before I knew it her lips were on mine. This was pleasant, to be sure, for a few minutes, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my life thus engaged, so I said as if just remembering, "Oh, I forgot Noah. We're taking turns guarding the camp."

This made her mad. "Fine. Send him over, then."

Before I made my escape there were footsteps and her mother appeared. "Oh, excuse me, Snake, Laura, I didn't know you young people were out here."

Yeah, right. And I didn't know what end of my pistol to load, either. Looked like I had made my play just in time. To top it off her father now appeared. His demeanor surprised me.

"Now Ma, you leave these younguns alone. Laura needs a husband, and they might be hard to come by out here." So I was what, eligible because I could breathe"

"But Pa, we don't want no shotgun wedding." A shiver went up my spine.

"Why not' Worked for us, didn't it?" I couldn't help it; I broke into peals of laughter. The rest were a little slow on the pick up, but soon they were all laughing so hard that tears streamed down their faces. The mother tried to regain some pose of dignity.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:08 EST

"Now, Pa, you....you....ha, ha, ha, ha...." and she was off again. I swear my sides hurt when we came back to silence. One thing about it, I was out of danger. For a while, anyway.

We walked back to the circle and found everyone taking a break. One of the young boys hollered, "Let's sing," and we sat on the edge of the circle and sang old favorites in uncertain degrees of harmony. What skill we lacked we made up for in enthusiasm. The gospel songs like "Amazing Grace" were especially beautiful, and soon the folks were talking of putting up a church. Like I mentioned, on this night the town of Kirbyville really made headway.

A young man with a surprisingly good tenor stood up and sang, "Danny Boy." First he was solo, then the rest of the people fell in, and it sounded as good as any choir I had ever listened to. I felt a presence beside me and found the lure of the music had drawn Noah in to the circle as well. I was going to get up and spell him, but the music had me in its grasp, and I stayed put. It could have been my last mistake.

It slowly dawned on me that we had company. Standing back of the circle, standing right in back of me, as a matter of fact, were three Indians that I took to be Navajo. They did not look happy.

I slowly rose and made the universal peace sign. There was no response.

"You speak English?" I asked, but once again got no reply. One of the braves made a comment to another in a guttural sounding language. A language that sounds sinister if you don't know it. The leader looked me in the eye as if sizing me up. Somehow I knew that he understood my questions and was just waiting to see what I would do. So with a swing of my arm I motioned him to come over and have something to eat. He did not, but a slight nod of his head told me he appreciated the gesture. Finally he made up his mind.

"We coming looking for man that shot our brave," the leading Indian said.

I chose my words carefully. "I am sorry to hear of your loss. We had not heard of it. It is a tragic thing."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:08 EST

He held out his hand, and in it were two empty 32-20 cases. I looked and nodded, then pointer toward the fresh graves. "Same man kill these people."

The warrior looked, then walked up to the markers and inspected them. "Whole family."

I pointed to the grave of the girl. "She was only thirteen."

"Evil man," he said. "You find him?"

He caught me off guard. The sniper should be stopped; that much was for certain. I had not considered trying it myself, because I was not a lawman, and I figured it was the law's business. Then I looked at the graves and knew that the law was too far away. Whatever justice there was to be had to come from one of us, and I was the logical one to do the job. I was a self-proclaimed gunfighter, although I was having second thoughts about that. And I was alone out here. I had no immediate family to take care of.

"Yes, Sir, I will find him."

"Good." Then with the only smile I ever saw him crack, the head Indian turned to his friends and said, "See, me Sir." They all grinned like it was the best joke they had ever heard.

And then they vanished without a sound.

Noah was the first to speak. "Why should anybody shoot a poor Indian?"

"Simple," I said, "Someone wants to start a war.?

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:09 EST

Four days later, I rode down the main street of Flagstaff. This wasn't an 'end of the line' town, at least not now, but it remained a wild and wooly place for young men fairly fresh from the East. The travelers of the railroad were as varied as the vistas they had seen on their travels on that road. Miners, lumbermen, cowboys, Europeans, Chinese, English barons - all were in a hurry to get somewhere, for the boom mentality was on them. They all thought that if they could hit the right place at the right time, they would be rich. I suppose they were correct, if they could find that combination of time and place.

The commodities moving through the streets were just as varied. Ponderosa pine logs were moving to feed the demand for building material and mine shoring. Ores of gold and silver traveled under heavy guard. Copper ore was now the up and coming mining interest, but it lacked the glory of the more showy metals.

The buildings and businesses were also a sight to see. Here an elaborate hotel with a huge false front advertised oysters in the dining room. There a small building made from scraps of wood offered venison and beans. A rooming house I passed was offering more than that, if I could judge by the scantily clad ladies looking out a second floor window.

"Hi, Handsome, come on up and have a good time."

I doffed my hat and smiled up at them but I sped up my pace a little bit. Somehow I had an urge to check my poke, just to see that it was still there. Just inside an alley a couple were.....Well, I wasn't sure just what they were doing. It's not polite to stare so I just got kind of a sideways glance. Seems like my Pa hadn't told me all the ways of the outside world. Course, he had probably never run into this activity, either. I made a note to check it out sometime in the name of science.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:10 EST

"I tell you, I ain't seen lice like this since the Johnny Rebs had me in prison."

"You know it, Seth. I think I'm going to fumigate and then move out into the hills. Lot less vermin out there."

This conversation was from two drovers that were just leaving the hotel that I was headed for. Call me persnickety, but I changed my mind about entering and decided another night in the woods would suit me just fine. After all, think of the money I would save.

I had gone back to tracking the 32-20 shooter upon leaving Kirbyville. There wasn't much to go on for the first day, but then I found where the man on the big horse had joined him again. They had pulled off the trail to converse, then traveled to where the big horse was hitched with his teammate. I had been right. The man was a wagoneer.

Memory of the description of Hazeltine came to mind. Could this be the same wagon' The one with the removable signboards" I thought it was likely. Their tracks mingled so much with others on the trail that I headed north in a straight line. I had been told that anyone traveling in this area would end up in Flagstaff sooner or later. This sounded like good advice so here I was, hoping to find a peddler's wagon, as well as a man that shot a 32-20.

A sign advertising "Guns, Ammo, and Fine Sundries" drew me into a store. I could see the place did carry a good selection and I asked the clerk, "Do you sell much 32-20 ammo?"

"Yes, it's becoming quite popular with the sheep men. Shoots a little flatter so they like it to keep the coyotes away. It does a better job than you might think. A lot of deer are shot with it, and I've even heard of a couple of bear. Would you like to look at a rifle?"

"No thanks, a friend of mine shoots that caliber and I thought he might have been through here. It wasn't such a common caliber where we came from."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:11 EST

"Oh, and where was that?" This fellow was getting plumb nosy.

"Yonder," I answered with a tip of my head that might have meant anywhere from across the street to a small European country. I went on down the street to see what else I might see. There were many livery stables, so I figured to hit them all.

The first three only catered to one parent company, but at the next I got the first lead that I was on the right track.

"Yeah, I had a peddler through here two day age. He left his team overnight. I've seen him before. He said he was involved in a land development business."

"Do you remember his name?"

"Sure do, he said it was Byrd. Funny, 'cause I would have sworn it was different on his last trip. Maybe my memory's going bad."

"Somehow I doubt it. He just has a different name for every day of the week. You should hear what it is for Saturday."

This added to the difficulty but it was not insurmountable. Out here, names didn't amount to much. I was almost automatic for a lot of folks to make up new ones when they moved West, hence the song, What Was Your Name in the States. Descriptions were much more apt to ring a bell.

"Do you know where he was headed when he left here?"

"Nope, he didn't volunteer any information. The team was out in the street for quite a while, then it was gone."

"Did you see where he went while he was here?"

"I did notice him going into the assay office. And it seems like he had his meals at Mrs. Murphy's place down the street."

I thanked him for the information and went off looking for more. Mrs. Murphy turned out to be a blowsy woman who just loved to talk. She was also a great baker, and I had two pieces of pie and plenty of coffee while I got her around to the question at hand.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:11 EST

"Oh, Lord, yes, Mr. Byrd is such a nice man. Has a good appetite, you know. He is helping the poor farmers from back east move out here and get a fresh start. Never thinks of himself - just tries to help others."

I noticed that her walls were covered with the new fangled wallpaper. I had to look at such things to keep the look of sheer disbelief from my face. Boy, had this guy ever fed her a line.

When I thought I could keep a straight face I said, "That's amazing. What does he live on' "

"Oh, he has mining interests. He said he had had good luck in the past and he would soon be having more with a new prospect south of here." She lowered her voice conspiratorially even though we were alone in the room. "He's even going to let me in on the action. When he comes back I'm going to invest a hundred dollars. Mr. Byrd says it will pay back forty- to -one. Now wouldn't that be nice?"

"Ah, yeah...yeah, it sure would. Did he say where he was going" Maybe I could get in on that deal too. I've got a little saved up."

"You seem like a nice lad. And I could put in a good word for you. All I know is that he said he had to go a ways east, but he would be back in a month at the latest. Maybe you should just hang around and wait for him to come back."

I smiled and shook my head. "Too restless. I'm sure I'll run into him somewhere."

"Well, good luck to you. And say "Howdy" for me."

I left the eatery thinking the woman would be lucky if she didn't lose everything she had. For her sake I hoped I was wrong, but any man that would set up those poor settlers would certainly think nothing of taking a widow's savings. Her mention of mining interests sent me to the assay office.

A small man wearing a visor looked up when I entered. The room was neat and organized, and this added to the air of competency that the man gave off.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:12 EST

"Yes, what would you like tested?" He wasn't trying to hurry me; it was just an attempt to save time.

"Actually I've got a couple of questions."

"Sure, I'll tell you if I know the answer. What about?"

"Do you know anything about oil" Back home in Pennsylvania there were some wells that made some money. Or at least they had speculators investing in them."

"Yes, oil, well, I think it will be one of the great riches in the future. Even now it's being used more and more in place of whale oil. I hear whales are getting scarcer and that drives the price up. And all the young men are coming west. Not many want to go to sea. I don't blame them.

"Do you know that well refined Pennsylvania oil has sold for over a dollar a gallon in Chicago and New York" Well, it has, and I expect its use to increase as the railroads start hauling it all over the country.

"Why do your ask" Did you find some" Not down on the Navajo land, was it?"

"Well, it was pretty close to it. I take it you know about that area."

"Oh yes, It's fairly common knowledge in the trade, but unless you can convince the Indians to drill for it then it will stay in the ground. If anyone went ahead and sunk a well on the reservation land he would probably start a war."

"What would happen then?" I remembered the murdered brave. Somebody was trying to start a war.

"Our side would win, just because we have more people and arms. Throw in the southerners and we can out-breed them. After that the laws would be so tangled up that wells could probably be run for a long time. But it wouldn't be worth it. Who's to say which one of us would die in the war? There is still plenty of gold and silver out there. Go find some of that."

"I wasn't interested for myself. I have reason to believe that at least one man is planning on starting that very war."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:13 EST

His eyes widened with sudden comprehension. "It's Byrd, isn't it' He's been asking a lot of questions, but always skirting the location of the oil he's found. He hasn't staked any land either. That tells me that wherever he wants to drill is not open for it. The Navajo land is the only area like that I can think of."

He sized me up for a second and then motioned me over to a map table. There he rolled out a section that covered the whole Navajo wash area. "This is the area in question, right' Who else would benefit from boundary changes" Figure that out and you could defuse the situation. Somebody should."

He was right. Somebody should. I supposed I was the most likely to do it, although I was not a lawman. I kept telling myself I was a gunfighter, but that voice was growing steadily weaker. Anyway, I was liable to get into some shooting if I tried to stop these men. Wasn't that what I had dreamed of? Putting my skills to work for a good cause? Here was the chance.

The assayer had asked who else would benefit from the scam. The one person that came to mind was the one I had been so sure of, the one that had convinced me he was only trying to hold onto what was his own. That person was Ben Drisco.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:14 EST

The reception I received at Kirbyville wasn't as extravagant as the one I got before, but it was warm nevertheless. I was surprised at the changes that had occurred in the short time I had been gone. Neatly spaced soddies had been erected, and fields had been laid out and plowed. There was a main street staked out for the town, and already three buildings were up. One was a livery, and its owner said he would rather shoe horses than plant seeds any day. Even if the horses kicked.

The second was a caf" put up by a middle-aged couple named Bouchard. They had always wanted to do this, and there was no better time than the present. She turned out to be the cook with the best mock apple pies at the party they had thrown for me. When it turned out that she also made donuts, the future of the little restaurant was assured. Most cowboys would ride a long ways if they heard there were donuts available. Sweet treats were hard to come by.

The last place was an honest-to-goodness general store. It was very small, but it did seem to have a little bit of everything. The proprietor had been on his way further west, but when he saw Kirbyville, he saw a need, which he hoped would result in a profit. In his hurry to get started, one half of the store was a tent, and the other was made from the wood that had been the body of his wagon. He was an open and friendly man named Knox, and everyone seemed to take to him. He would make out just fine.

I was glad to see that Noah Cross was acting as the unofficial leader of the town. He was the logical man to come to in emergency, for he was always calm and steady and not afraid to learn new things. He caught my eye while I was conversing with the others and motioned that he'd like to talk to me in private.

It was obvious what he wanted to know. "Did you find out anything" We've been warning people coming from the east, but lately I had the feeling that we were being watched. Maybe Drisco's gunmen are getting curious."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:15 EST

"You know, they might be getting itchy, at that." I told him about the oil I had found. He had never heard of it, and I had to explain how it took the place of whale oil and how much it had sold for in the cities. I also told him that it looked like the reason the settlers had been sent was to drive a wedge between Drisco and the reservation and start another Indian war.

"Hazeline must have a partner in this, I would think. It's an awfully big undertaking for one man." I didn't mention my recent suspicions. I wanted to see if Noah came up with the same idea.

"Snake, I remember what you told me about Ben Drisco. Could you have been wrong" It sounds to me like it would be to his advantage as well if the border went into dispute. But in that case why should he have put guards on the road to turn back settlers?"

"I think I know. The instructions were actually to shoot, not turn people back. Most of those guys would shoot from ambush and not be seen. In the meantime Hazeltine's man with the 32-20 is sniping Indians. If each of those sides got blaming the other, Drisco might be left sitting back looking pretty."

"How can we put a stop to them?" That was the thing about Noah Cross. He was always ready to jump in to help without being asked.

"In this case, Noah, I think you are better off guarding the people here. You said you were being watched. If there should be an attack, you'll be needed to fight right here."

I had ridden as far as Winslow to see where Hazeltine went. People I talked to there said he hadn't even stopped, just kept on going eastward. He'd be back, I was sure, so I had come down to Kirbyville to wait. In just a short amount of time, these folks had made me feel like I was part of their community.

Cross and I set up a system of guards to watch against unfriendly intruders. I took my turn along with the rest, and happily there was nothing to be seen for the next few days. I usually did a night shift of watch and took a ride out from the town in the days to look for any new sign. Men from the Drisco ranch had been watching from a distance. More alarming was the set of tracks I found coming from the north. It looked like the 32-20 shooter was still in the neighborhood. I didn't know what he was looking for, but I was sure it wasn't good.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:17 EST

I had forgotten the danger to be found in this little town. I was just sitting down to eat my supper when a voice at my elbow startled me.

"I was wondering if you would come back." It was Laura Smith, and as usual she had primped herself up before approaching. "I've been lonely here."

"Lonely' Just you and a camp full of men?"

"All the good ones are married."

"Noah Cross isn't. Nor is his son Adam."

"Adam is too young, and..."

"He's only a couple of years younger than you are. There's not much difference."

She carried on like I had not interrupted her. "And his father, I don't know, he just doesn't seem to be interested."

"I think Noah is most interested in Adam right now. He would like to see the two of you get together."

"He'd have to wait a long time. Adam is still a boy. I'm grown up."

"Says you. You're working on it, but you're a long ways from grown up."

"Snake you're only a few years older than I am. You act like somebody's father. I'll bet you are scared of me." I was, but I wasn't going to let her know it.

"I am not. I'm just footloose, is all. It wouldn't be fair for me to carry on with you and then ride off to who knows where."

"Maybe I could change your mind about riding off." That was what I was afraid of.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:18 EST

"Maybe, but I doubt it. The West is a big place, and I've only seen part of it. I want to go to all the far corners, sample all the tastes it has to offer. I want to go to the highest points in the Rockies, and I want to see what the warm winters of the Oregon coast are like. They say there are fish called salmon up there that push each other right out of the water.

"There are wild mountain goats that cling to the rocks like birds, and big herds of elk that come to a shrill elk whistle. They say the grizzlies up north are bigger than the ones we see here. There's a lot of gold left in the streams, too. I think I would like to take one summer and just pan gold. Not to get rich but to have the experience.

"There are a lot of places I have yet to go," I repeated.

"You will," Laura whispered, and she laid her hand on my arm. "I love to hear you talk about those places. I love to hear you talk about anything."

Just then the voice of Noah Cross came from the direction of his camp. "Hey Snake, are you out here?" He came into view then and flashed a halfway grin like he was sharing a joke with me. I guess he was, at that. "Oh, I didn't mean to bother you two. I can come back later."

"No, that's okay," I quickly told him. There was something about being alone with Laura that made me nervous. "What can I do for you?"

"It's my old Army Colt. The trigger doesn't seem to snap back. I have to push it forward with my finger."

I took the proffered revolver and found his description to be accurate.

"It feels like it has a broken trigger return spring," I told him. "With any luck the new general store will have one. Do you clean this gun every time you shoot it?"

"Almost every time. You know how it is. You get busy and forget."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:19 EST

"No, I don't. You do. These cap and ball revolvers have to be stripped right down and scrubbed out good. Do you do that?"

"No," he said sheepishly. "I just clean the barrel and cylinder."

"Well, there's the problem. A cartridge revolver isn't as bad, for the case of the cartridge acts to hold back some of the residue. But a cap and balls gets the black powder gunk into every nook and cranny of the action. It has to stripped completely and washed out thoroughly. Let's go see if we can find another spring."

True to what Mr. Knox had claimed, his store did have a little bit of everything. He had the few parts for the Colt revolver that tended to wear out and amongst them was the spring we needed. I stripped the pistol and showed Noah the proper way to clean it. He was amazed at the amount of rust that showed on the interior surfaces. The rust build up was what had caused the spring to fail. Once the gun was clean, I did a little file work to fit the new spring and reassembled the old Army model. A lot of men hung onto the old model long after new types were available. There was a slight difference in the grip shape that some shooters liked. Oh course, a lot of them couldn't afford anything else. Like Noah, they used whatever was available.

"There, that feels better," he said when I handed the Colt back. "Maybe one of these day's I'll be able to buy a newer one."

When it got dark I took first watch, and after a half an hour of solitude something stirred at the edge of the brush. I was instantly alert and stayed plumb still in the shadow of a rock. Whoever it was moved fairly quietly but tended to drag his feet as if he was looking back.

I could see that this shadowy form was going to pass right in front of me, so I waited. When it was within three feet I quickly stepped in back of it and threw my left arm around the intruder while my right brought my pistol to bear. I quickly realized what I had done. This culprit was soft under my arm and smelled of a faint perfume. Laura!

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:19 EST

"What are you doing out here?" I whispered. "You might have been hurt."

:"It's okay, I trust you."

"That's not what I mean. If I had an itchy trigger finger I might have shot you. We've got to get you back home."

Again I had made her mad. I offered to walk her back in.

"No, I got out here by myself, and I can get back the same way." She stomped off and I looked after her, wondering at the secret to dealing with such a woman was. Woman' No, surely I meant girl.

And then I was running after her, for from the gunshots and whooping I knew the little settlement was under attack.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:20 EST

I caught Laura and shoved her down in back of a rock pile with instructions to stay there. Then I raced to see what the commotion was all about.

I reached the end of the street in time to see two riders bearing down on Noah Cross. He had his Army Colt up and shooting, but a misfire had left him in a bad position. When one rider stopped his horse and took a careful aim, I carefully let off a shot that cleared him out of the saddle. The other man turned and fired his rifle at me, and my return shot missed him. It must have been close enough for him to feel the wind of it, for he spurred his horse and sped away into the night.

Noah was unscathed. We walked over to look at the man I had shot and found him made up in a very poor disguise of an Indian. Streaks of paint were on his cheeks and a band around his head held two big feathers. Other than that he looked just like what he was " a hired gun. He was dressed much too well for a cowhand's wages, and the ornate silver studded gun belt was low slung for a fast draw.

He was somebody I had met as well. It was Toad, the gunfighter from the Drisco ranch. I pickup up Toad's fallen revolver and found it to be a Single Action Army that was almost new. The front of the trigger guard had been cut away, but that was the only apparent modification. I handed it butt-first to Noah.

"Now you won't have to wait for the money. And this one shouldn't misfire," I told him.

"Is it safe now?" This was Laura coming back in. She saw the body on the ground and shuddered, then scurried back to her family's cabin. I remembered the shot the other rider had flung at me. It was from a lever action, so I looked over the ground where he had been and found a 32-20 shell that had been jacked out. "Look at this," I said to Noah. "It's probably the same shooter that's been sniping innocent people. The cartridge might not be rare, but it's the only one I've seen around here.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:21 EST

"That means that Drisco has come out in the open, doesn't it' Sending his man along with the other one."

"I guess it does at that. It means something else, too. They are ready for the war to begin. It must mean that Hazeltine is close by, probably at the Drisco ranch. It's time I went over there and nipped this thing in the bud."

"I'll go with you," offered Noah.

"No, in this case I'm better off alone. You're needed here to look after Adam as well as the rest of the folks in Kirbyville. If I'm by myself, I know that everyone is an enemy. It's better that way."

Later I re-thought those words. Watching the ranch yard from a distance, it was hard to see any advantage in doing this alone. In fact I was feeling downright lonely. Now was the time for action, for Hazeltine's wagon was drawn right up to the house.

Secrecy had been thrown out the window. Maybe because they had tipped their hand with the botched raid on Kirbyville. That idea brought me up straight. If they were sure the settlers had figured it out, then they were liable to wipe the little town right out.

As if for verification of the idea, a band of men came from the bunkhouse and approached the house. I recognized some of them as the old group of gunmen that had been there, and the rest were obviously additions of the same ilk. I remembered that Drisco had planned on driving a herd to the mines this week. That must be where the regular cowhands were. With the crew's attention on the main house, I felt I might be able to quietly move to the back of the bunkhouse. I didn't know what the plan of action would be, but it had to be a better setting than where I was now.

I eased along, taking advantage of every tiny piece of cover that I could find. I thought I had it made until I stuck my head around the corner of the bunkhouse and found the end of a pistol barrel nearly touching my nose. More by luck than skill, I knocked the pistol out of the way and buffaloed the watcher. I was able to catch the revolver without it going off and avoided detection.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:22 EST

An obvious distraction would be to fire the bunkhouse, but I hated to do such damage, even if Drisco was as guilty as sin. Besides, I could make almost as much smoke in the stove. Bringing a handful of grass from outside, I mixed it with the contents of a feather pillow that belonged to the cook. I threw on a quarter of a pint of whiskey that belonged to him as well. What the heck, he was going to be mad anyway.

I stuffed this mess into the stove and shut the damper a little over half way. Then I removed the front cover and tossed in a match. At first the flames went for the chimney but there was not enough draft and soon the smoke was billowing back out into the room. Talk about stink. Nothing smells worse than burning feathers. Quickly I let myself out the rear window and awaited results. I soon heard shouts from the front yard.

"Hey, the bunkhouse is on fire!"

"Grab some buckets and we'll put it out."

"Who left the stove going?"

"The stove wasn't lit today. Must have been a cigarette."

"Hey, the stove is going. Look at the chimney."

Buck Hastings was the first to catch the obvious. "Somebody's here. I bet it's that old Snake come back. If anyone sees him, shoot him. I warned him not to come nosing around back here. You two men go around that way, and I'll go the other. We'll box him in back of the bunkhouse."

I picked the direction that Buck's voice came from and got ready for him. There might be two on the other side but I knew Buck was the most dangerous. Just as I heard his footsteps approaching, the unfortunate fellow I had clubbed started to wake up. He leaned with his hands on the wall to get erect, and at that instant Hastings came into view with his rifle at ready. The other man lurched, and Hastings shot him.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:22 EST

The man was on the ground, a look of amazement on his face. "Buck, you shot me."

Buck didn't even respond. Shooting a man on his own side bothered him no more than swatting a mosquito. But there was one thing that did bother him. When he saw me, he let his rifle dangle from its sling and faced me in the ready position.

"This time I'm going to beat a snake," he told me. I could see that he wanted us on even grounds, so I holstered my gun and nodded.

When I did his hands flashed, but I was on fire that day, and I beat him by a good tenth of a second, driving my 255 grain slug where he lived. He went down and stayed down without even a twitch. There were no last words from Mr. Buck Hastings. I knew what his problem had been now. That day I saved his life had put doubts in his head about who was faster. He had picked a hard way to find out, but in the end he did find his answer.

The two men in back of me were coming around the corner when I threw a shot at them to keep them back. Pure luck made my bullet hit the lead man's pistol and sent it spinning away. That fellow wouldn't be using that hand for quite a while.

There were still a slew of fighters out there, and they were all against me. At least I thought they were. Outbursts of shots were coming from the other side of the yard, and I couldn't imagine who they might be from. Even if Noah Cross had followed me after all, he would have arrived by the same trail that I had. Someone had come from the exact opposite direction.

A riderless roan came trotting by, and I scooped up the reins and leaped into the saddle. I needed the extra speed the horse could give me.

Drisco and Hazeltine had to be in the main ranch house, for I could see the puffs of smoke coming from the windows when they shot at the unknown target at the other side of the yard.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:23 EST

"If you would grasp a nettle," I thought, and I ran the horse across the yard and up onto the porch. The roan shied then, but I urged it on with my spurs, and we crashed through the door into the house. Two gunmen stood in the hall with mouths agape, and I thumbed a shot at each of them. One went down and the other backed into Drisco's office. I could see that the clearance was lower here, and I jumped from the back of the horse. I whacked it across the rump, and it kept going on toward the kitchen.

The man who had run into the office before me took his stand, and I shot him. Now Hazeltine turned to shoot. He had never seen me before and must have wondered who this strange intruder was. It didn't affect his shooting any, and a shot from his 38 Lightning caught me in the leg. My answering fire dropped him where he stood.

Ben Drisco turned and saw me after that exchange, his face twisted into hatred. "I should have let Buck have you. He said you were nothing but trouble."

"He's out yonder," I answered, "And he's as dead as a doornail. He made his try, and he wasn't good enough."

"Well I am," he bellowed, and he fanned his artillery Single Action Army. A slug buzzed past my ear and that threw my first shot wild. My second hit him solidly but he didn't even twitch. He threw one that hit me on the edge of the chest, and I almost went down. Again I hit him solidly - then a blow struck my head, and the room started getting hazy.

Just before I faded out I saw his hate filled face clearly and I planted my last shot right in the center of it.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:46 EST

When I came to the light felt like a branding iron being shoved into my eyes. It was some time before I could open them just a little bit, and then what I saw made me shut them fast. After a while I tried it again. There was something reflecting light, and slowly it took the form of a badge. Darn it, that was what I thought I saw the first time.

"Don't bother with jail," I told whatever was wearing that badge, "Just go ahead and hang me right here. Put me out of my misery."

"Why would I want to hang you? Or take you to jail, for that matter?" replied a faceless voice.

"Well, 'cause I shot up Drisco and everyone that got in the way. I ain't dead certain I did the right thing."

"You did, and you did a bang up job of it, too. I was after him as well but I met a regular army in the yard. Fact is, you saved my bacon. " He gave me a drink of water and then asked, "How did you happen to be hunting him, anyway' I've been working on his case for three months."

So I told him about my job for the ranch, and what had happened to the settlers, and the oil, and on and on until he had the whole story. He nodded his head through most of it, but acted surprised when I told him about the 32-20 shooter who had shot both settlers and Indians.

"So that was how it played out. I learned about the oil and how Hazeltine and Drisco were trying to steal the land. By the way, you nailed that rifleman. He was the fellow in the doorway of the office. His pistol was in the same caliber, probably so that he could use the same ammo in both."

"What's that badge you're wearing" It says Arizona Rangers. I've never heard of that outfit."

"You've heard of the Texas Rangers, haven't you? We're different, but close to the same thing."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:47 EST

I must have dozed off again, and when I awoke it was dark and the lawman was watching, waiting for me to wake up. As soon as he saw me stir he ladled up a cup of soup and spooned it into me. I don't think I ever tasted anything as good as that simple soup of split peas and fatback. I could feel the strength seep back into my body and my mind clear.

I lay back when I was finished. When he saw that I was going to stay awake the man asked me, "What are you planning to do now?"

I was completely honest when I told him I didn't have a clue. My dream of being a gunfighter had faded away after learning the nature of the breed. They were a far cry from the modern knights that I had imagined.

"You did a good job defusing the Navajo Wash situation before it came to a head. Have you ever thought of being a lawman?"

It had never even crossed my mind, but now that he had said it I liked the idea. I asked him to tell me more.

"Instincts are a big part of it, and you show good ones. Plus you need perseverance so that you work a case like a hound dog smelling out a lost track. Guts, intelligence; you have shown plenty of these. You would be doing good and you'd make wages. You wouldn't get rich but it's honest money and that counts for a lot. The Rangers could use another good man. What do you think?"

My mind was all ready made up. "I'd like that. You know, my real name is Torrence and I didn't like it because it made me sound like a lawyer. An Arizona Ranger, though, I like the sound of that."

"I think Torrence is a much better Ranger's name than Snake. By the way, my name is Bud Hagan. I'll show you the ropes before you get sent out alone."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:48 EST

My recovery was speedy, and I tried to exercise as much as possible to get back in the saddle. I worked on my draw, too, worried that I might have lost some skill while I was laid up. Hagan was impressed.

"I wouldn't have thought it possible," he said. "I've been around a long while and I've seen some of the best, and danged if I don't think you're faster. You really are quicker than a snake." And from that day on he would sometimes call me Torrence, and sometimes Snake.

Finally the day came when it was deemed that I was well enough to ride, and we traveled to Prescott to get me signed in all proper. At camps on the way I would practice. Sometimes Hagan would shoot with me, and he would think up all but impossible targets. I would work on them until I could hit them consistently. One evening we camped early by a spring. Bud apparently had been here before and when our make shift camp was complete he motioned me to come with him. I noticed that he carried his six-gun at ready and I whispered my query.

"Are you expecting trouble?"

"No, supper." And then I realized that we were hunting, not defending ourselves, and we walked through the tree clad area, shooting at the grouse that called this hillside home. We had each picked up two plump birds with head shots. Those grouse had of course been sitting on the ground. We were heading back to camp when a grouse flushed with a roar of wings and flew right to left in the brightness of the setting sun. Without thought my hand flashed to my holster and at my shot the bird plummeted to the ground.

"I wouldn't have believed it," was all Hagan said. And he repeated the same words again. Truth be known, it kind of surprised me, too, but I didn't let on.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:48 EST

The bird was shot through the chest but it was a clean hole and I ate that very bird for supper. I cast my own bullets and made them hard enough that they would not expand unless hitting a very solid object. Be it small game or a deer the slug made a clean hole that destroyed no meat. Of course, a big bore is necessary for that type of bullet to do its job. My 45 fit the bill very well, indeed.

In due time we approached town. As it came into view we pulled over beside the trail and I could tell that Hagan had something on his mind. The look of concern on the usually poker faced man was almost comic. I saved him his search for words.

"I'll just bet you're thinking we should stop and buy me some new duds. You're right. My old coat is so bad a dog wouldn't lie on it and my hat looks like it was used for target practice. I've got some money saved. You can show me what a ranger should wear." I said should because his outfit was nearly as shabby as mine. The difference was that he was an old hand and had to make no impressions.

Just goes to show what I know. We found a general store that carried everything we needed and I bought new pants and a shirt, plus a duster that matched a new black hat. I found the price of a new pair of boots a bit too dear and I decided my old ones had a lot of life left in them.

Hagan bought fancy duds the like of which I had never seen. A gold colored vest went over a white shirt and a turquoise string tie. He paid ten cents to have a boy shine his boots. The hat he picked out was a white ranchers model, and he bought a turquoise hatband to go on it.

At my stare of amazement he proclaimed, " Might go sparkin', and it never hurts to look your best when you see a lady."

"You got yourself a girl? Well, I'll be. Bet she's eighty years old and half blind anyway."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:49 EST

His wrinkled eyes twinkled. "Don't you believe it, boy. She's not much older than you, and you are not going to meet her."

I was never what you would call a Don Juan, but of course I didn't let on like that. Instead I gave my best tough guy impression and said, "Wise Choice."

We were a much better looking pair when we entered the Rangers' office and the captain made out that he didn't recognize Hagan. But then he quickly got down to business. Bud told him my story and I was quickly sworn in. I was given a badge and just like that, I was an Arizona Ranger.

Hagan had planned for me to accompany him and learn the ropes, but as it transpired his tutorship would have to be at a later date. The captain had a job for each of us.

"Bud, I just got in a wire. The Twombly brothers have escaped from Yuma. You can guess where they will head."

Hagan was a sight to behold. His usually calm demeanor was replaced with a frown that carried all the worry of the world. His mouth twisted downward, and he just said, "I'd better go."

"I knew you'd be in a hurry," said the captain. "I know this is important for you, and I just want to tell you to be careful. Don't let your emotions get in the way of your judgment.

"I know you were going to take Terrance with you but I have another job for him to do. From what you have told me, he'll be fine."

Hagan quickly embarked on his journey and the captain turned his attention to me. "We have an unusual situation concerning a mail order bride. Apparently one Penelope Grimes traveled out here to meet her potential husband. For some reason she changed her mind. That's not unusual. A lot of girls simply get back on the train and go back home. But when she changed her mind the man she came to meet grabbed her, through her over his shoulder and tossed her in his wagon. She screamed bloody murder when he carried her away and begged anyone to wire her father. Her potential husband's name is Neal Young.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:50 EST

"Her father is the mayor of Albany. Somebody did wire him and he is fit to be tied. He sent a message to the territorial governor, and you can guess where it went from there. So, as you can gather, this is important. Go find them and see what you can find out. They were last seen at Lee's Ferry."

And that was how it started. Pretty low key. I was given a badge and sent directly out on a case. I took the badge out of my pocket and gave it a closer inspection. It was a simple star with the words Arizona Rangers in the middle. Just a good target, Hagan had told me, but when I pinned it to my shirt a spring went into my step that had not been there before.

Hagan had told my one other thing- "Common sense is the most important requirement in this job." I hoped I had a sufficient amount to make the grade.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:50 EST

I had a roughly drawn map of the territory that looked like it might have been a copy of one of the old indistinct Spanish ones. What looked like a day's ride might take a week, and visa-versa. I was heading north, and the angle was wrong for me to see the Grand Canyon. "Maybe on the way back," I told myself.

I had no time for sightseeing right now, anyway. The captain had stressed the urgency of my mission, and I was letting no grass grow under my feet. When I pulled up to Lee's Ferry, I was feeling worse for wear. I met a group of people in a wagon, and their total lack of acknowledgement had me wondering if I had a Keep Off sign pinned to my back. I figured they must be some sort of church group, with two bearded men on the seat and fifteen or sixteen women in the bed of the wagon. Turned out I wasn't too far off at that. But I didn't find out until later.

At the ferry I was met by a man with a sour disposition. I was beginning to feel downright unwanted. Maybe it was the badge. There are some people that just don't like lawmen, even though the man with the badge is there to help them. I have to admit the ferry operator didn't look like he wanted or needed any help.

He was a big man to start with, and the extra pounds he carried around his waist didn't appear to slow him down at all. His heavy beard was stained with tobacco juice that dribbled from the huge wad of cut plug he had stuffed in his cheek. His wide brimmed black hat looked like it had been blasted with a shotgun. Age was hard to determine, but he might have been an old mountain man, judging by the artillery that he had stuck in his belt. He had two single shot guns, which used to be known as horse pistols. I didn't know the caliber, but they were certainly more than fifties. These were converted from flintlocks and may well have been sixty nines. That is the same bore size as a twelve gauge shotgun, and a round ball out of one of these would be like a' punkin' ball from the scattergun. Judging by the leer he gave when he saw me looking at that brace of guns, I didn't think the big fellow would have any compunctions about using them.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:51 EST

After I had boarded and paid my fee I asked, "Do you know a man named Neal Young" I'm looking for him."

In answer he spat a stream of tobacco juice that narrowly missed my boots. "You swim?" he asked.

I shook my head and decided that was enough questioning. This old river looked mighty swift. Deep, too.

I didn't hang around after getting off the ferry. The guy had his chance to be friendly - it was his loss, not mine. I did have the urge to look back, but I fought it. My back had a prickly sensation that I put down to sleeping on the hard ground.

I was greeted with a choice of trails, and I chose the one heading north toward Utah. I couldn't be too far from the border, and I wondered about actual jurisdiction. I knew what the old time lawmen would say, "If you're packing a gun, you can make your own jurisdiction."

I rode through some beautiful country and saw a lot of elk. I have heard these animals described in many ways, but the word that does them the most justice is 'majestic.' They are the denizens of wild country. The sound of a bugling elk will quicken the pulse of all but the dead. Here and there a bear watched them from a distance, but there was plenty of easy-to-find food at this time of year, and they didn't waste the energy chasing elk or deer.

A dim trail branched off to the west, and with no definite plans in mind anyway, I followed it up to a notch and into the thinly wooded valley on the other side. Through this little valley a stream meandered slowly through deep pools that promised fishy delights. Halfway down the valley and uphill from the stream was a little cabin that had a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney. About thirty head of cattle grazed in sight of the cabin, and a bear hide tack on its wall told of the end of an aspiring predator. Out in back of the building was a neatly tended garden, which had not only vegetables but also several bunches of brightly colored flowers that told of a woman's touch. All in all it seemed to be a little Eden.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:52 EST

In a way I hated to stop and spoil the tranquil scene, but I knew the cabin's occupants probably had little contact with the outside world and would be eager to have an outsider to talk to. I was proven to be right, but they did not rush out of the house like a bunch of greenhorns either.

When I pulled up in front of the cabin a voice came from my left side, from a man standing motionless amidst a few thin trees. His lack of movement was all the camouflage he needed.

"Light and come on in, if you're friendly," said a pleasant voice.

"I'm friendly," I answered, "I'm just looking for a little information."

"Be glad to help if I can, but I don't know much about what goes on outside this valley. Mary, we've got company. How about warming up that chowder?"

"It's all ready on, David," came a woman's voice from inside the building.

"Chowder" Out here? It's been six months since I've had anything but meat and beans."

"We've got all the makings right here. I caught the fish downstream in a big deep hole, and the onions and potatoes came from the garden. Mary insists on keeping a milk cow, so we have not only milk but plenty of butter and cream. We don't take in much money, but we live high on the hog."

"I sometimes dream of having a place just like this," I confided in him. "But with my new job as a Ranger I don't believe it will happen for a while."

"You never know. Come on in and get a bowl of chowder."

He suddenly remembered we had not been introduced. "I'm David Smart, and this is my wife Mary. I came out here and built this place, and then went back and got her."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:52 EST

His wife laughed. "There was a little more to it than that."

"Well, yes," David smiled. "Actually her father didn't like me and forbid her to marry me. I thought that was it, and I came out West to start a new life. When I found this place, I thought of Mary and built the cabin and garden with her in mind. Somehow I knew she would wait for me.

"The problem was her father. I didn't know how to win him over, and then one day I head of a new gold strike over in Nevada, and I went to stake a claim. Talk about beginner's luck. I claimed a stretch that others all passed by, and I found three nuggets that were pure jewelry rock. I sold out after that and went back East for Mary. When I showed her father one of the nuggets, I had him eating out of my hand. Why the old..."

"David!" Mary said sharply.

"Oh, sorry, like I was saying, now that he could see I was making a go of it, he changed his mind and said I was welcome into the family. I left that nugget with him to save or to use if he ever had need of it. I used another one to buy cattle and gear. The last one is saved away just in case. We take in enough cash to get by on. I sell a few head of cattle when the price is up. And the streams around here show a little color. Not enough to get rich on, but enough to put some ahead. Plus I trap in the winter and hunt for meat and hides. I don't have to travel far for mountain lions. Seems like they think my cattle are the tastiest ones in the West.

"One thing about lions - I like to eat them as much as they like to eat cows. Mary won't touch 'em, but I eat every one I can get. Stay for supper if you'd like to try a little."

I did stay for supper, and the night as well. The man was right - mountain lion was in a class be itself. It is distinctive, so comparison is not really possible, but it's almost like a cross between pork and veal. I knew that if I ever shot one none of it would go to waste.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:53 EST

When I asked them about the fate of Penelope Grimes, neither one had heard anything about it.

"Haven't been down to the crossing since spring," explained David. "Don't really need to go out this fall, but I know Mary would like to take a trip and buy some cloth and spices. Maybe we'll go over to Fredonia before snow flies. I was thinking about buying a pistol, but I probably couldn't hit anything with it."

Mary didn't get this, "Why do you need a pistol, David? You've got a rifle and a shotgun."

"A rifle gets in the way when I'm out working, and if I leave it home I see game everywhere I look. Plus I don't like to go around unarmed. There are plenty of outlaws roaming the old trail."

"There sure are," I told them, and I explained a little about the men I had fought before I joined the Rangers.

"David's right," I told Mary. "A handgun is a weapon of opportunity, both for defense and for hunting. You never know what you'll run into out in the wild."

I invited David to try a few shots with mine, and with very little instruction he was shooting quite well. He was a good listener, which helps a lot. One problem beginners have is trying to focus on the two sights and the target at once. The shooter should only keep the front sight clearly in focus. I doesn't matter that the rear sight and the target are blurry. It was clear that David was a natural and would be able to protect and defend his family with just a sidearm if required.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-11 13:54 EST

"The way your holster is set up looks like you shoot from the hip, right?"

"Well, right," I told him, "But that does take a lot of practice. As a lawman it's a good skill to have."

"Oh, show us," exclaimed Mary. "I've heard what the pistilleros can do, but I've never seen it."

I'm not one to show off, but with nice people like these, what can you do"

We had set up good sized chunks of wood at about twenty yards. "Okay, Mary, stand in back of me, take this stone and drop it on that one. When I hear it hit I'll shoot."

She did as told, and the sound of the stones touching was drowned out by the roar of my forty five. David slowly walked out to the target and looked at the hole.

"I wouldn't have believed it possible," was all he said.

"Nor I," said Mary. "I thought most of those stories were all made up."

Later a joke was had on me. I told them about the people I had seen at Lee's Ferry and how they must have been a choir or something going to a function, and Mary got the giggles.

It was starting to dawn on me. Mary put it into words. "Those were Mormons. They can have as many wives as they can afford to feed. Plenty of the men have six or eight wives."

I had to laugh when I understood my mistake.

"Torrence," Mary said, "most of the time you're a tough ranger, but sometimes I think you're just a babe in the woods."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:35 EST

Penelope Grimes was born and raised in New York State, and ever since she could remember, she had been unhappy. Her father was a big, imposing man with thoughts only of power. Anyone that stood in his way got hurt, and Penelope had tried to stay out of his way. He did not mean to harm her, but he didn't care either.

Her mother was a weak willed and very quiet woman who was also afraid much of the time and shared that information with Penelope. On the evenings that parties were thrown by Henry Grimes, the two females would withdraw early and cower upstairs, while the rum flowed and ribald stories were told below. Her father tended to get ugly after a night of drinking, and many is the night she lay with the covers pulled over her head scarcely daring to breathe.

Her mother's people were old, and they told of their childhood days when the Hudson Valley would ring with the cries of Mohawks and Eries, and how the redcoats came through trying to finish what the Indians had started. The stories were thrilling, but Penelope could picture all too well the images of women's babies being torn from their arms and killed, with the husbands scalped and left for dead in the yards. When she was very small, she worried the hordes might return and once again burn the Mohawk and Hudson valleys. When she grew larger she found her schoolmates to be even more fearsome.

The few close friends she had soon moved away, for the western exodus was on and the only people that stayed behind were the very poor or those well off. In some towns throughout the East, the whole middle class vanished. Along with the rich and poor stayed the people that lacked gumption or courage. Sometimes the two words mean nearly the same thing, for the courage of conviction often has a lot to do with starting a job in the first place.

Penelope sometimes wondered if she was to blame for the disappearance of her friends. It seemed that every time she grew close to anyone at all, that person went away. When her grandfather died, she was convinced of it and spent a lot of time after that in a shell. Her mother had her own shell, so why shouldn't she have hers? Once she dared to bring up her land of make believe to her father, and he boxed her ears soundly and said he had never heard of such foolish thing. For the rest of the years that she spent living at home, she never again confided in her father, not even the most trivial things.

She was a good student to whom good grades came easy, but other pupils saw this as just another reason to keep her from joining their games. Kids can be cruel to misfits, and her schoolmates excelled in making her days miserable. For her age she was quite tall, and the teacher asked her for help in arranging the pupils in their seats as they entered the schoolhouse. As the kids passed by her they chanted, "Stork, stork," until she would have liked to disappear. She ignored their comments as if they didn't bother her, but a deep seated anxiety built in her that stayed inside for years.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:36 EST

Naturally cries of "Teacher's Pet" followed. She was often pelted from out of nowhere with rotten apples. In short, her school years were a horror show that would haunt her for life. Her teacher encouraged her to study so that someday she could be a teacher. Penelope was too timid to take a stand, but she knew there was no way she would ever be a teacher. Her loathing of the school system was something that ate at her. Once out she knew she would never return.

As she grew older, she worked at being plain, so as not to stand out in any crowd. This lack of allure lent people to refer to her as a potential old maid, even to her face. When the other kids started going to dances and ice skating parties, Penelope found a job at the library. With it she found her first contentment in a long time. She was a neat and orderly person, and she found great satisfaction in sorting and grading the books and putting them neatly in order on the shelves. In slow times she was allowed to read to her heart's content, and she took full advantage of this.

The wonders of the universe opened before her, and in truth she lived in a much deeper land of make believe than she had before. Today she might be a queen from Shakespeare's Hamlet, and tomorrow the lady of one of King Arthur's knights. The amazing thing was she still was just as plain, and others ignored her, never guessing of the romantic dreams flowing through her.

One young man named Dominic showed a sudden interest, and her heart swooned. He visited the library several times before asking to escort her to a harvest dance. All her schoolmates would attend this event, and she was naturally apprehensive. Not enough, however. When they arrived a big circle had formed around straw creatures made for the occasion. Penelope was told she was needed to be the stork.

She didn't cry or carry on " she just left, and never spoke to any of her schoolmates ever again. She didn't have to, for she never went back to school. Her parents never inquired about her studies, so they didn't even know she had quit. Instead she picked up a second job for the daytime hours and saved her money like mad.

A month before the other people in her class would graduate, she left her mother a note and left home. She gave her father what he had always given her " nothing. Originally she had planned on going to New York City, but it would be like her father to feign indignity and come and find her there. So instead she went to Philadelphia, where she worked in a library for one year.

It was a pleasant change that she enjoyed, but she met no friends or suitors there. She rented a room within walking distance, and her little world was still quite sheltered. She watched the ads of the newspapers closely, and when an opening appeared for a librarian in St. Louis, she jumped at the chance.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:37 EST

For Penelope, St. Louis was a glimpse of people she had only dreamed of. She wasn't sure if it was still the "Gateway to the West" since the railroads had been built, but it was certainly the meeting point of the country. Eastern bankers in their tailored suits rubbed elbows with real cowboys in boots and spurs and ten gallon hats. A senator from an eastern state might be wearing a black broadcloth suit with a bowler, and he might be talking with a western representative wearing the same type suit but sporting a cowboy hat with a rattlesnake band and as often as not with a feather stuck in it.

Gamblers from New Orleans and those that stayed on the riverboats wore finery that rivaled that of the royalty of Europe. Penelope found out later that those lace cuffs were large in order to accommodate gambling helpers as well as a m"lange of hide out derringers and the like. The strange thing was, the gamblers were as well thought of as any businessman, unless of course he was caught blatantly stealing. Many lawmen and even politicians spent out-of-work times gambling.

There was as much variety of language as of peoples, and walking down the street she might hear English, various Indian dialects, German, French, Spanish, even Chinese. For a girl not long from home it was like living in a fairy tale. Of all the people she saw, the cowboys fascinated her most. With their chaps and spurs, big hats, kerchiefs and six-guns on their sides, everything they did they did well, from riding to rolling a cigarette with one hand. They were wild and wooly, truly a unique phenomenon.

One evening Penelope took a walk along the river after work, and a cowboy pulled up his horse, dismounted with a flourish, made a sweeping bow with his hat and said, "Good evening, little lady. May I escort you along your way' It might not be safe for a pretty girl like yourself to be walking alone here."

She was flustered, but managed to stammer, "Yes, thank you. I thought there might be a cool breeze along the river."

This meeting didn't amount to much, but on subsequent evening she took to walking that stretch and on several occasions talked to cowboys. She confided with Linda at work about her excursions and Linda simply said, "Why don't you be a mail-order bride?"

Penelope was aghast. "But Linda, You just can't marry a man you have never met."

"But Penny, they are cowboys."

She saw the logic in this and began to scan the ads. She wrote to a couple and was not in fact impressed with the results. One obviously couldn't write, for the letter was in a woman's hand. Another talked only of the brutal work that was expected of her. A third sounded like the man meant to put her to work in a brothel, and she not only threw the letter away, she physically burned it.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:37 EST

About the time that she decided she was meant to be an old maid after all, a letter came from a man named Young, and it was enough to set her imagination racing. He spoke of the fine land he had and the views to be seen from the porch of his house. He had installed all the modern amenities, including water that had a pump inside the house. When he told of how he would sit on the porch in the evening and strum his guitar for her, she felt her heart go out to him. She wrote back and said she couldn't wait to meet him.

In due time a letter arrived with all her tickets in it. He expected to meet her in one month's time at a place called Lee's Ferry. She changed her mind three times daily about going, and her friend Linda had to constantly argue in favor of going before Penny finally said yes. Once decided, she went into a flurry of activity, buying what she imagined would be needed.

On the day of departure she almost turned back from the train, but Linda was there to point her in the westward direction. Once on her way, she was thrilled with her adventure. She had read of the prairies, but still, the sight of the endless flat land instilled a pang of loneliness in her. As the hills and mountains appeared in the distance, she felt she was coming home.

The stage ride was very exciting. A shotgun guard shared the top seat with the driver, and she shared the interior with a rancher and his wife, a salesman, and a young cowboy that had lost his horse in a card game. Apparently the lad worked for the rancher, for when the older man would glower the cowboy would grin and say, " Heck, you were young once, too."

Finally, feeling very dusty and unpresentable, Penelope got off the stage at Lee's Ferry. A big man with a black, neatly trimmed beard left a wagon that had two women on the back seat and came forward to meet her.

Must be his sisters, thought Penelope, and they came along to give him their opinion of me.

"Hello, you must be Penelope Grimes. I'm Neal Young, and those are two of my other wives."

Other wives! What was this? The girl changed her mind in a hurry. "I'm sorry, I'm going back."

Young just laughed and threw her over his shoulder. "No, you're not. You're coming home with us. Don't worry, you'll fir right in. You'll enjoy it."

At this she began to scream and call to people to get help, to no avail. Soon they had crossed the river and were heading northwest. She didn't know if she would ever see civilization again or not.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:50 EST

It was with regret that I left the home of the Smart family and continued on in my search for Penelope Grimes. The next homesteads I visited were nowhere near as friendly. Some folk looked at a lawman with plain distrust. One family met me in front of a dirt soddy with leveled shotguns. They were clad in the poorest mixture of buckskins, Rebel uniforms and homespun that I had ever seen. When they suggested that I keep riding, I found their argument persuasive and remained in the saddle.

In a high canyon that must have seen ten feet of snow in the winter, I found an old mining camp. At first I thought it was deserted, for it was was littered with broken tools and crushed out rock. Then a high pitched cackle came from the mine shaft, and I knew there was still an occupant.

"Been a long time since I had a visitor," said a tall gangly man with long white hair and beard. At first glance he looked old, but at closer range I could see that he was but middle aged and prematurely gray. From the sound of him, he had spent a lot of time by himself.

"Get right down and make yourself at home, mister. Wait until I tell Suzie we've got company. Won't she be some old excited." So far I hadn't said a word, and from the looks of things I wouldn't have to. He could do the talking for the both of us. He disappeared into the mine and came back out leading a burro.

"This is Suzie. Say hi to the man, Suzie. He's come to visit us."

If Suzie was impressed she didn't show it. Perhaps if I introduced myself.

"My name is Torrence Jackson, and I'm an Arizona Ranger." Nope, the burro was not impressed. The prospector, though, was full of questions.

"Arizona Ranger" Never heard of such a thing. What is this outfit, new?"

"We've been around about twenty years."

"Oh, that explains it. I've been up here longer than that."

"Longer than that' Why, you must have come in before the Civil War."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:51 EST

"What Civil War" You don't mean the South finally seceded, do you? They had been talking about it for some time. That's one reason I moved in here. Nobody to fight with. It seems like every time you get two people together they find something to fight about."

"You've got a point there; you surely have. Then you don't know who else lives up in these hills, do you?"

"Not by name, but I've watched a lot of 'em pass by. I kept hid so they wouldn't see me. Who you looking for?"

I told him about the plight of Penelope Grimes. He didn't seem too shook up by it.

"There ain't any women up here, that's for sure. Hey, that's sure a fancy gun you got. Can I take a look at it?"

I didn't like the sudden greed in the man's face. "Sorry, regulations, you know."

I decided to beat a hasty retreat before he got any more ideas. Too late.

"That is one good looking horse. Horse meat is good eating, you know."

That did it. He was not getting close to my horse. This was no time for manners, so I mounted up and bid the man adios.

"Hey, where you going?"

"I've got miles to make. If you want my advice I'd take a trip out to civilization and see what?s going on. You have been by yourself too many years."

Without waiting for a reply I spurred my mount out of there. It just didn't seem like a safe place to be. The next time I approached civilization, I figured I was close to Utah. Emerging from trees on the brow of a mountain I saw several separate trails of smoke in the distance. It was smoke from chimneys and signaled a little village that wasn't even on the map.

I rode down and went to the first house that I came to. Here a man looked at me with unfriendly eyes and said he had never heard of Penelope Grimes. Moving on, I got the same reception at the next place, but one of the women there seemed to be trying to catch my eye. As I walked out to the hitch rail she passed close be me and whispered, "She's at the second place north of here."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:52 EST

"Thank you," I whispered back. Finally I had a lead.

I went directly to the house she had mentioned and found a group of seven ladies engaged in needlecraft. They were all dressed gaily in bonnets and laughed and talked as they worked. When I approached I could see that they were each making a square to a sampler quilt. It was a scene you might expect to see in the East; a church picnic, perhaps, with the girls gossiping and joking the afternoon away.

They smiled demurely when I rode up and announced, "I'm trying to find Penelope Grimes."

The blond closest to me said, "I'm Penny."

This was closely followed by a brunette who also announced, "No, I'm Penny."

Then A red-head piped up, "I'm Penny."

"I'm Penny."

"No, I'm Penny."

"I'm Penny Grimes."

This left only one woman that had not spoken. She stood in back of the group and stared at me intently. Finally she said, "I'm Penelope Grimes. Did my father send you?"

"No, ma'am, he wired the governor, and the order came down through the ranks. Somebody at Lee's Crossing heard you call for help and wired in."

She hesitated, then asked, "So what are you going to do now?"

"Whatever you want. It sounded like you were being abducted. If you want to leave I'll take you out."

"I, really..." she looked at the other women and they looked at her with disappointed faces. "No, I want to stay. These are the first friends I have ever had and I want to stay with them. When I got off the stage and Neal said I would be another one of his wives I panicked. I had heard stories and thought the worst. Since then I have come to know the family and I love them. The girls are just like sisters, and Neal is very kind. For the first time in my life I have a home. Yes, I want to stay."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:53 EST

The other women made much of her at this statement, for they liked her very much, and now she would be part of their family. They reminded me of fairies in an English forest as they danced around Penny and congratulated her on her choice.

It wasn't long before Neal Young showed up. He was a much younger man than I had expected. He wore clean broadcloth clothes and had a neatly trimmed beard. The women all seemed happy to see him. He wore a permanent smile that made him seem glad to meet everybody.

"How do you do?" he asked upon meeting me. "Checking up on our little Penny' I thought someone might, with the fuss she made. I figured she just had cold feet, and I brought her back to meet the rest of the family. It seems to have worked."

"Yes," I replied, "She seems to be happy. I'll be on my way and not bother you."

"Nonsense, you must stay the night. When these girls put their minds to it, they can really put on a spread. You'll enjoy it."

I was never one to pass up a good meal, so I was glad to accept his offer. The meal was delicious. Later we told stories and sang. It hadn't been dark long when Young announced that it was time to hit the hay. He was a hard worker and rose before daybreak every morning.

"Terrance, I built a guest house because my wives have so many relatives. Make yourself at home, and I'll see that you get waited on while you are here."

I tried to tell him that I was well able to wait on myself, but he would hear none of it. While I was his guest, I was a king and would be treated as such.

I had no sooner turned in than a giggling gaggle of females came in the door and gathered around me. Four of the women had arrived to do my bidding. I didn't have any, but they wouldn't hear of this. In fact, they were crowding my bed so much they were beginning to make me nervous. Really, that was an understatement.

"Oh, I think he's shy." This was accompanied be a round of tehees.

"I'll bet his feet are cold. Do you have cold feet, Terrance?"

"Maybe he's never seen a girl before. Where are you from, Terrence" Do they have girls there?"

"You're not nervous, are you, Terrance? Neal told us to take good care of you."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:53 EST

"How can we do that if you keep pushing us away' "

I was at a lot for what to do. I was trying to be a gentleman, but these females were making it very difficult. They were Young's wives and I thought they shouldn't be here in the first place. But he had told them to wait on me. My moral reserve was tested, to be sure, and I was relieved when the sun came up in the morning.

I met Young at the breakfast table. He looked at me closely and laughed.

"You seem to be a mite tired this morning" Did you get a good night's sleep?"

"Not really. I'm used to being alone and I couldn't nod off with the other people there."

He laughed again. "Why, they scared you, didn't they' Stay another night and relax this time."

"No, I can't," I blurted out, almost too quickly. "I've got to get back and go out on another case. I'll tell them that everything is just fine with Penelope."

"If you must. But stop in again when you're up this way."

In my mind I had shifted the border to just south of here, and I wasn't going to cross it if possible.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:56 EST

Arizona is a land of extremes."

This is the profound statement I uttered to my horse as I traveled into Mohave County. I was in search of a trio of bank robbers that had stuck up a bank in Prescott and then fled for the desert. My horse did not answer.

According to witnesses the trio looked like Californians, with their silver embellished tack and Mexican style California hats. If the three hadn't ridden together I might have already lost their trail, for the wind rapidly swept out their tracks when there was no shelter from it. I was losing ground, for at the last water hole all I found was mud, and I had to dig a little deeper and wait for the hole to fill up before I could travel on.

I found their campsite from the previous evening and it was easy to see what had transpired. A blanket had been stretch out between them, as evidenced by the remnants of food and cigarette ashes that formed a neat square on the sand. At first I thought they might have been dividing up the loot but changed my mind when I found several small denomination coins with the litter. They must have been gambling here last night.

Getting on my hands and knees I looked at the ground from close range and learned more. One man had been at the head of the blanket and the other two at the opposite corners. I could see this from where their boot toes dug in. They must have been playing a dice game. One man on a corner had lunged forward. This must mean there was an altercation with the shooter. There was no blood to be seen so the situation had not gotten out of hand, at least so far. If there was distrust over the game, how about the split of the stolen bank money' Might this not be the cause of a falling out of thieves? It sounded like it to me.

It was a cinch they knew the area, for in the afternoon they turned north into a gully that had a spring at the head of it. The little water that overflowed quickly sank into the sand and rocks, so other than a tiny patch of green there was no sign that it was there.

The animals knew, though, and I found the sign of most of the local animals with the exception of mountain lion. I figured that if a cat claimed that hole then the desert bighorns would not be visiting on a nightly basis. My mount and I drank, then rested a couple of hours and drank again. I had a water bag and a canteen, but they wouldn't last long if we didn't find another spring.

I figured I was one day behind them. There would be moonlight until about midnight tonight and I figured to made up for lost ground. So far they had headed straight for California and I was sure that was their destination. So sure that I almost missed some obvious sign. As it was, my horse was the one to pick up on it.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:57 EST

As we traveled through some sparse creosote brush he shied. This was prime snake country and I expected to find one near his feet but instead of that I found a bloodstain. The tracks skid there and as near as I could make out the last man in line must have made his play for the leader. He blew his chance, but the return shot wounded him.

His tracks booked it into the mouth of a small gulch with the other man's horse in pursuit.

Only one set of tracks came back out.

I gingerly made my way into the canyon, not anxious to see what I might find. I turned a corner and found two buzzards walking toward a dead horse. They were cautious and making sure no life remained. I shooed them off, but they were reluctant to fly, looking at me with beady eyes as if wondering when they would get a chance at me. I don't mind admitting that the foul birds give me the creeps.

After another hundred yards I found the remains of the would-be bushwhacker.

He must have lost his nerve and ran, for the other gunman chased him down and emptied his pistol into the man's back. The body had been left where it hit the sand, not even rifled.

He had been a medium sized man with a knife scar dunning down across one cheek. His clothes had once been good but now they were ripped and dirty. In his hand was a Baby Dragoon .31 with only one shot fired. It looked like he might have done better if he had stayed with his knife. His boots had the big California rowel spurs strapped on, further verifying his home base.

I dragged him to a hollow under some loose rocks and rolled these down on top of him. It wasn't much of a grave, but when a man goes down the outlaw trail he is lucky to end up with any grave at all. The only thing I saved was the little Colt pistol, for I hate to see a good gun ruined, even if it is outdated. I had no loading supplies, but the gun still had four chambers ready to go. In the dryness of the Southwest the charge will remain good for a long time. Back East in the mountains a cap had to be changed daily and the nipple cleaned.

A short craggy hill in the distance looked to be the next destination. If they should bed down there I would be seen following over their back trail. I didn't like the sound of that so I found what shade I could in the shadow of a boulder and waited for darkness. My horse finished his water right there. I had a half a canteen to go. We had to find more by the morning.

As darkness fell I started riding again. There was no light in the distance but I really didn't take these men for tenderfeet. With a half a mile yet to go I dismounted and led my horse, ready to cover his nostrils if he should start to whiney to the other horses.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 16:59 EST

It didn't happen. Nothing else did either. The men had simply ridden around the base of the hill and left me sitting back yonder. I lay up to catch a little sleep before daybreak.

When morning came it was one of the hottest kinds. I had a drink of water, and then gave the rest to the horse. The bank robbers were forgotten for the moment - I had to find water. Desert sheep had bedded down here on occasion but there was no sign of a water hole. There weren't any likely spots on the desert floor, either. A deer trail skirted the base of the hill apparently headed for a hill in the distance.

Was it worth trying? If I went to the other hill and found no water I would really be in trouble. But what the heck, I was in trouble now, so I got up in the saddle and walked the horse to the next peak, a distance of maybe three miles. At the base the trail went up and I knew I was on the right track. Sheep tracks joined those of the deer and on a shoulder of the hill I sound a wet seep. A small amount of green vegetation grew on its sides, hidden from outside view by the rocks.

To speed things up I dug a hole at the lower end and water immediately started filling it in. My mount and I were fully sated with water, at least for a while. On my map it looked like we would cross a river in another day's travel and I was sure the outlaws would head for it. When I next cut their tracks, though, they had turned north.

I figured that the men were just naturally cautious. They had to expect someone would come after them after the hold-up so they were making it difficult for any follower. If they were heading for the Juniper Mountains then perhaps they were going to make a big circle and hit another Arizona bank.

Most outlaws upon making a score will head for a watering hole and spend the loot as fast as they can on booze and women. Then they wake up one morning stone-broke and in need of more ill gotten gains. The crooks that break this pattern are the ones that are hard to catch. If this pair was of the last type then I had my work cut out for me.

I almost missed the spot where the horses turned off. They had been moving in a straight line, and then suddenly veered sharply to the northeast. I looked around to see what the reason was. Either they acted on a whim or they had lined up a series of peaks and turned when they came into line. I memorized the lay out as best I could in case I wanted to find this spot again.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:00 EST

The tracks once again headed for a series of low hills, but I was so far behind now that I rode right ahead. The men had gone into a large cut that ran between the hills and then took a small notch that ran north. They were no longer riding in line but rather twenty to thirty feet apart, as if discussing something as they rode along. It must have been a controversial subject for when I came round a rock there was a pool of water in the otherwise dry streambed that had a man's foot sticking out of it.

He had been shot in the back of the head as he bent down to drink. So, now there was only one left. One thing about it, if he shot his partners so readily he would have no qualms about cutting loose at me. From here on in I would have to be doubly cautious.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:00 EST

I couldn't stand to leave that unfortunate body face down in the pool, so I pulled him out and buried him below a field of scree. Then I pulled some of the loose rock down and that was that. My horse was eager for water so I took him to the next upstream pool to drink. Somehow I didn't believe I would ever drink from that bottom pool, even if years should pass.

While walking my mount to a suitable place of refreshment I noticed that the last outlaw had dismounted and gone on up the gulch on foot. This was unexpected, and I had already come to look at unusual events with suspicion, even though I was but a few months with the Rangers.

About midway between the walls of the gulch a series of white flecks caught my eye. Another step and they were gone. So I stepped back and sure enough, a series of chipped rocks pointed out a trail. This time I stayed in line as far as I could and found that I was stepping in the tracks of the outlaw. The chip trail ended on a section of plain flat rock that held no markings. From here the outlaw could have gone in any direction to pick up supplies or cache his loot. When I gave it some thought I was sure the later was the real story. So far the man had broken the normal rules of outlaw behavior so I wasn't surprised that he continued to do so. Few and far between are robbers that actually stash their money rather than spend it as soon as possible.

Oh, well, I figured, it's not my loot. As I mentioned, I had only been with the law a short time and didn't have the rules down at that point. Back at the mouth of the gulch my man turned northeast again. It looked like he might be taking a big loop back to the organized towns to make another heist.

"Must be a man with big plans," I told the horse. "A man with delusions of grandeur often sets up for a big fall."

If the horse was impressed with my philosophy he didn't show it. Well, come to think of it he didn't buck or try to bite me, so maybe he was in agreement. The last time I broke into song he did both so I made it a point to remain tuneless while riding. Most men that spend a lot of lonely time on horseback talk to their animals, whether they admit it or not. I never saw any harm in it as long as you didn't start to hear the horse talking back. I think an animal likes to be spoken to and will respond by helping you in ways you don't even notice, such as staying on a trail if you should drift off to sleep. I will keep talking to my horses.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:01 EST

There was nothing else to do but follow the outlaw's tracks in hopes of catching up someday. If he wanted to go faster he now had a spare horse to shift onto while I would have to stop and rest mine. It would be nice to take a shortcut on him but I didn't know the country and didn't have a clue to his destination.

By the end of the day I thought I knew where he was going. X-ed out on my crude map was a boomtown called Nobleboro. The name had changed to Wooten's Folly just before it was crossed off my map. I had heard the story of what had happened.

It seems like a man named Ben Wooten had found, or said he had found, a promising mix of placer and hard rock, which oozed with gold. He sold lots and shares to a lot of people who wanted to get in on the ground floor and had missed the last big boom. They threw up a haphazard town rich in gambling and whiskey, but the workers in the fields found that the original colors soon played out. A miner could hit just as good a spot as this nearly anywhere in the Southwest.

The miners were growing suspicious even before Wooten got drunk and bragged in too loud a voice about how he had scammed a whole town. He was taken out and hung and left hanging until the buzzards picked him clean. The town was not even taken down; it was just abandoned and it stayed a ghost town such as many that littered the West.

All right, now I could take a cut through the hill to the north and be much closer to the outlaw, providing my speculations were correct. He would undoubtedly follow the north end of a small river for ease of travel. I made good time, considering the roughness of the terrain, but I had no illusions of beating my man to the ghost town. When I felt I was nearing it I took a northern circle to approach from the opposite end.

I left my horse ground hitched in a dry creek bed and gingerly walked in on foot. I didn't believe I was expected, but you never know.

I crept around to see down the length of the only street, and sure enough, there were not two, but three horses. So that meant there were at least two men. Two enemies" Or was this just a chance meeting" One way to find out.

I eased my way along the back of the buildings and found the one that had been the saloon. Voices came from inside but I could not make out what they were saying. A door that entered into a storage room was ajar on one hinge and I crawled in to find the door leading into the bar was solid and closed. Putting my ear to the keyhole I was able to get the drift of the conversation.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:02 EST

"It's good that you didn't bring the others here, but what about the loot' Why didn't you bring it right in the way you were supposed to?"

"Because I don't trust you anymore than I did my other two partners. They're dead, by the way. I killed both of them."

"Oh, you...., but why don't you trust me" Haven't I always been square with you?"

"So far, but I know that you were Wooten's backer. You never lifted a finger to save him. What did you do, clean out the safe and run"

"You did, didn't you? I can tell by your face."

"Well, what would you have done?"

"I would have shot him free," replied the outlaw I had been tracking. "I sure wouldn't have left him swinging in the breeze. What do you think you're going to do now, anyway' All you did is set me up with"WAIT A MINUTE"you set me up with two backstabbers, didn't you. That's why they each made a play to get the loot. I was supposed to make the hold up and they would kill me and bring you the loot."

"No, no, Kid, you got it all wrong. I didn't know those guys from Adam. I was just trying to get you some back up."

"Those guys backed me up the way a rattler warms up your blankets. You...Aha"

The sound of gunfire came through the door and as it did I rammed the door with my shoulder and burst in on the scene. A man clad in black with silver ornamentation stood with smoking gun in hand. On the floor a bald headed man in a suit managed to raise his gun hand off the floor and the Kid blasted him again, then turned his gun toward me and cut loose. His shot splintered the doorframe and then his revolver clicked on an empty chamber. I tried to rush him but he sped out the front and ran down the street.

I stopped to check the man on the floor and found him to be beyond help. Rushing out on the street I saw the outlaw disappear into the mouth of a livery stable. I grabbed the reins of the three horses at the hitch rail and took them out the other end of town. I wanted my man to be on foot to cut the chances of escape.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:02 EST

With the horses out of the way, I slipped across the street and came up the other side in back of those few buildings. A sudden rustling on my left made me draw down on a pack rat, which sat up and looked at me for a second and then scurried away. A slight squeak came from ahead and above and I dove instinctively under cover. That was a sound I had even heard back home. The sound of a second story hatch door opening, as if to load in some hay. Sure enough, a bullet clipped the dirt near my boot heel. I eased around but the man was not in the doorway. It opened the wrong way for him to get a clear shot. Running on tiptoes I made a dash for the corner of the livery and listened for more noise.

I was surprised to see the brim of the man's hat start to emerge when I realized that something was amiss. I looked the other way to see a gun muzzle poking out of a hole in the wall. I dove around to the rear door and rolled into a stall. I knew what the chap had done. A wooden block and tackle still hung from the projecting beam and he attached a single rope through it and attached it to his hat. Then he could pull it out in the opposite direction.

"He must be somewhere right over me, ' I thought. Sure enough, dust started to sift down through the cracks as he moved.

"Who are you?" he hollered. I didn't answer, and I realized the strain of the past few days was weighing heavily upon him.

Again he spoke. His voice was moving to the front. "How come you're chasing me" Are you some kind of a lawman?"

Sometimes I get inspired. Now was such a time. I stuffed my bandana into my hat then covered my mouth with it. Then I simply said, "This IS a ghost town, son. Do you know what that means?"

The feet above me started running for the little door in the rear. He snatched the rope as he flew out and tried to achieve a smooth landing. He neglected to inspect the two poorly wrought square nails that held the pulley in place. The whole business let go and the Kid from California ended up on the back of his neck. Dead.

I had cleaned up a town without firing a shot.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:07 EST

"What's the trouble, little one?" I inquired of a little girl that I had just found running from rock to rock in the desert. At first I thought her an Indian who was into trouble, but then saw her blond hair and blue eyes and realized with a start that she must be from a German family. Her facial features proclaimed this

Her lips were silent. She looked at me with big eyes and simply stared. She showed fear when she looked over her shoulder, and I knew she was running away from something. It wasn't hard to figure out whom.

With hand motions I managed to ask if she wanted to ride in back of me, and she nodded yes. When we had ridden for a little while I got the urge to know for sure what the trouble was. I pulled up onto the top of a hill and stopped in the shade of a large rock. The little girl tugged at my coat in askance. Again in sign I told her I wanted to see her pursuer, and she nodded yes, but she didn't look too sure about it. I wondered if she had just forgotten English and spoke only an Indian dialect or possibly Spanish.

"Tu hablas Espanol?" (Do you speak Spanish") A blank stare answered my question. I was sure she understood some English. Maybe she didn't talk at all after her experiences. I had heard of such cases.

In the distance a single trail of dust appeared. Only one person, then. The little one tugged violently, wanting to get far away from the trailer. To ease her fears I rode on.

After a couple of hours I reined in the horse, and the girl and I dismounted.

"What's your name?" I asked. She smiled but said nothing.

"Then I shall call you Abby. That is the name of a little girl I played with when I was your age and you remind me of her." Another smile came to her face.

"Now, what I would like to do is find out who is following you and turn him back. See?" (Pointing to my badge.) "I'm a Ranger and this is my job." She looked a little confused by the long speech, but she did put up her hand and feel the badge.

Between talk and sign language I explained that I wanted to surprise her pursuer and get rid of him. She finally nodded okay. We mounted up and rode directly past the end of a rock spur; then simply circled back and waited under cover. As the rider approached I saw that he was a fat while man, wearing clothes that a scarecrow would scoff at and boots run down so badly that it was hard to tell if they ever had heels. Two buttons had popped off his shirt and a dirty roll of fat protruded. A sombrero topped his head that would not keep out sunlight, let alone rain. All in all, he was the most despicable character I had ever seen

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:09 EST

At twenty-five yards I stepped out into the trail with gun leveled.

"Hold it. Arizona Ranger."

"What the hell do you want' I'm minding my own business," said the uncouth looking man.

"It looks like you are tracking us" How come?"

"You've got my little girl, and I came to get her back." He had the sound of someone that had been wronged.

"She's your little girl" She doesn't act it." She was clinging to my back and tugging for us to get away.

"She sure is. I traded for her, and I want her back. She's my property."

"I don't believe so, pig boy. She's not going to work on any hog farm for you."

"What are you talking about' I haven't got any hog farm."

"You should. You look like one." Before he could decide whether or not to take offense I laid down the law. At least as best I knew it. "Mr. Lincoln delivered an Emancipation Proclamation, and since that date it is illegal to buy people in the United States. Period. I ought to arrest you and take you in."

"Hey! I traded for her fair and square and she belongs to me, and just because you got a tin badge doesn't change it."

I had been inching closer to him as we spoke. When he wised up his eyes widened in alarm. "Hold it, now. I just want the girl, and I'll get outta here."

"Are you deaf and stupid" I said you can't have her back. I ought to shoot you and be done with it, but I don't do things that way." He had a big canteen tied tight to his saddle horn, and when the angle was right I put a slug through it. His horse acted up but he managed to get it under control.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:10 EST

"What did you do that for?"

"So that you'll spend your time hunting water on the way back instead of following me. You look like a man that knows how to find the water holes, and you can work your way to Chino Creek, and you'll make out.

"Now listen closely, if I see you up my way I'll think you're hunting me, and I'll shoot you. If I come down your way you'd better hide, for the same reason. Got it?"

In reply he unleashed a string of profanity and swung his horse around. He reminded me of an animal that flashes his teeth and then runs away. I wouldn't be hearing from him again. At least I hoped I wouldn't.

Abby was beaming with relief. She stuttered a little and then said, "Good."

That one word gave me hope. She had probably been taken from her parents years ago and had forgotten how to speak English. Maybe it would come back to her. Now my problem was"what to do with her. I'd heard enough stories about orphanages that I knew I was not going to leave her in one. I would have to report her found and see if anybody was searching for her. If not maybe the Smarts would like the little girl's company.

We took our time, and when we got to Prescott I took Abby to a widowed woman that ran a rooming house and gave her the money for new clothes and a bath. I got cleaned up myself as well, and then we walked down to headquarters where I introduced Abby and explained the situation. She looked awe struck at the array of guns and cells. I suppose a jail is a fascinating place to a youngster.

The captain listened to the story and then was lost in thought for a minute. "A family named Hendricks went out alone and was massacred about four years ago. People remembered seeing them with a little girl, but she was not found at the scene. I'll bet this is the same girl."

"No wonder she doesn't talk much. She didn't know many words when she was taken, and then she's been through an ordeal. She's got a fine spirit to get through and still be smiling."

The captain smiled at the girl and she smiled back. "She is a spunky little thing, isn't she" Now, the question is, what are we going to do with her?"

"How about next of kin" Any relatives?"

"We never found any. We never heard from any relatives. As far as I know she hasn't got any."

"I hate to put her in an orphanage." I told him about the nice couple I had met and how they might give her a good home.

"That sounds like a fine idea. Why don't you take her on up there and see what they say."

"Thank you, Captain, I know the Smarts will take her right into their family." As I turned to walk out, the captain started to say something and then changed his mind. "It can wait until you get back. Good luck."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:13 EST

The Smarts recognized me as we rode up and came rushing to greet us.

"Terrance, who did you bring to see us?" cried Mary Smart. She was all ready gushing over Abby like a mother cat over a kitten.

"This is Abby, and she needs a home." I told of finding her in the wilderness and the sheriff's presumption of who she was. "I hate to put her in a state home. I was hoping you folks might raise her."

"We'd love to," said the Smarts in unison.

"She might even have a little sister before long. It's early, but I think it's going to happen."

"Why, that's great," I said. "The next time I come through you'll probably have a passel of young-uns."

"Don't wait that long. Terrance. We like your company."

"You ought to find yourself a woman and settle on yonder hill," said David. "Then we could be neighbors."

I was touched to think that anyone would want me as a neighbor. "I appreciate the thought. Maybe some day I can do that."

"Can't you stay a little while?" asked Mary. "While Abby gets settled in?"

I ended up staying three days, and while I was there Abby made tremendous progress. While certainly not a chatterbox, the little girl was talking quite a bit when I left.

Being a Ranger was always rewarding. Sometimes, I thought as I rode away, sometimes it's downright satisfying.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:14 EST

"Go back out there" I've been in the saddle for the last six months. It's getting hard to tell where the horse leaves off and I begin." To say I registered surprise would be an understatement.

"I know, Terrance, and I'm sorry. But after reading your report I realize that you are the only man that knows the whereabouts of the bank heist money.

"Let me give you some background. We always figured that if we got the loot when we nabbed the robbers then we'd bring it back, but we didn't go on any treasure hunts. Our job was to catch the criminals.

"Well, this banker doesn't see it that way. He is inferring that the Rangers might be padding their pockets with recovered money, and that just doesn't fly. It's your job to set the matter straight."

"Didn't I just say that I was itching to get back in the saddle?" I was itching to get out there now. I wanted to show that dumb banker the error of his thinking. "Only trouble is, if the wind has washed out the tracks, I'm liable to have a might of trouble finding the trail."

"We have an old timer here who sometimes acts as a scout. He's an Indian, but I think from a tribe that's died out. He rarely talks, but he understands what we say and always does his job. His name is Albiethy."

The captain had not been fooling when he said that Albiethy didn't talk much.

I had told him the story of my previous trip chasing outlaws, and he grunted and led off.

"Lived here all your life?" I ventured.

Dark eyes regarded me as they might look at a rock. "Not yet."

"Had a neighbor like you once. Come to find out he was dead for five years before anybody noticed the difference. He'd always kept himself pretty well pickled, so the body held up well. Ended up using it in a field as a scarecrow. Always did know a good job would show up for Eugley if we waited long enough."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:14 EST

This netted me a grunt and a nod. I gave up for the rest of the afternoon. Albiethy was in the lead, and I could see he was taking us cross country, not bothering to find the original trail that I went in on. I just sat back in the saddle and watched the countryside, content that I was in good hands.

When the shadows lengthened, the Indian suddenly veered and struck out on a tangent with no visible target that I could see. When we had gone a half a mile, we pulled up the horse to a pool of water below a clump of rocks that looked just like any other clump of rocks in miles. I eyed him closely but he said nothing. Finally I had to ask.

"Did you smell this water?"

He looked at me with no expression. "Yes, good nose," he said as he tapped his prominent beak. As I was turning away he added in a voice so low I barely heard it, "Plus I was through here last week."

I caught on then. He had the sense of humor of a New Englander I once knew. He was amused at the efforts people went through to get him to talk. When he did answer, it was trite and liable to go over the head of the listener.

As we ate our supper, I tried to get him to tell me what tribe he was from, but he just shrugged his shoulders. He wouldn't speak unless it was his idea.

His hair was in two long braids that nearly touched his waste. He wore well worn buckskins, and when immobile on the sand, he was hard to spot. His hands and face were so leathery from exposure to the sun that he looked like he was a hundred years old. For all I knew he could have been.

For some reason I wanted him to understand me, so I told him my whole story"how I had ventured West with the idea of being a gunfighter, and how the allure of that profession had faded. I told him about my job at the ranch, and how I had discovered the plot to put the Indians and white men at war. Finally I told him of how I happened to join the Rangers, and how it was good to have a feeling that I had helped someone as I did my job.

I received no answer, and had not really thought I would get one, when a surprisingly refined voice jumped me from near sleep. "You have grown up. That's good. You have discovered that true satisfaction can only come from helping your fellow man. Many people go their whole lives without learning this. The search for riches is well and good, but it does not bring the well being of the simplest of good deeds.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:15 EST

"You ask of my people. We called ourselves The People, but then most of the tribes do that. My people are ancient. We were a strong band centuries ago, even before Cortez came. We were forest dwellers and did not take to the horse the way many tribes did. My forefathers thought a good runner could outdistance a horse in the forest. In some cases it was true, but only with the very best runners.

"That stubbornness was our downfall. From hundreds our numbers shrunk to a very few. There are still some left, living in the mountains of what you call California. I think we will all be gone soon, with no history left behind." He shrugged. "Does it really matter" I think not. We lived, we enjoyed life, we died. It is the same with all men. It is good."

"How did you come to speak English so well?" I asked.

"In New Orleans. I once traveled with a pair of missionaries. They thought I should go and see the white man's world and maybe go to school in the East. My eyes were opened in New Orleans. I saw that the Indians were fighting a battle that they must lose when they stood against the whites. There were too many of them, and they just kept coming. Their machines were beyond belief.

"I might have gone to school, but I met a French girl of my own age and we fell in love. When this became known, I was no longer a charming savage but a threat to the white man's honor. One night we were set upon in a park, and Monique was killed by a bullet meant for me. I reverted to a true savage. I killed all three with my hatchet. Then I scalped them and cut their bodies into small pieces. I carried Monique's body to a church, and then I came back out West."

"Do you hate the white man's world?"

"No. For a little while I did. But there are rotten people in any tribe. I work for the white men and take pleasure in helping them. Sometimes I dream the old dream and feel like scalping someone, but that doesn't occur very often. Sleep tight." And with that he rolled over and was almost instantly asleep.

I was tired but had trouble closing my eyes. He had been kidding me, hadn't he"

When morning came I still had my hair so I figured it was a good day. Albiethy grinned when he saw me reach up and touch my head.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:16 EST

"Something bothering you?" he inquired.

"Nah, just had an itch."

"I'll bet you did. I've felt one myself in certain camps."

Again we struck off cross country, and I wondered how the old man could find his way so unerringly. When I asked him he just said, "Being lost is just a state of mind."

"Well, then, my mind was once lost for three days." I told him.

"That's too bad. You seem so sane."

It came to a point where I just had to laugh, and to my surprise the old man joined me.

"You're okay, Snake. Most white guys don't care enough about some old Indian to ask the right questions. So I give them a hard time, and they figure me for a half crazy old coot. You've got a sense of humor, and you can't ask for much more than that. A lot of white men figure an Indian hasn't got a sense of humor, so they don't listen."

"To answer your first question, I really don't know where we are, but if we keep heading in this direction, we will eventually come to a stream. Then I just have to figure out whether to go up or down. If I can't figure that out, then my mind is lost as well."

He did figure it right the first time, though, and in good time we came to the mouth of the very same canyon I had been in before. When we entered and passed the scree where I had buried the outlaw's body, I was surprised to see an empty hole. Somebody had dug him up.

Then we rounded the next outcrop of rocks and both pulled up short. The bones had been picked clean by the buzzards, and then someone had arranged them into the shape of Cocopelli, the Goatsucker!

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:16 EST

"This is not a good situation," proclaimed the stoic Albiethy. His eyes darted to both sides of the canyon as he spoke.

I had seen the figure depicted by the bones in the silver jewelry that was widely made in Arizona. I had always thought it was a good luck charm. Now I was not so sure.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"Depends. For the Aztecs he was the god of mischief. Other small tribes claim his sign is found when their goats are drained of blood. What these bones mean I'm not so sure. There are many tribes I am not familiar with, like the Hopi and the Seri. It looks like it is a sign that the canyon is sacred, or maybe haunted." His eyes kept patrolling every inch of cover.

"Are you afraid of ghosts?" I asked innocently.

"Uh-uh, it's living people that bother me."

It sounded like good common sense.

"Show me the trail of rock chips."

I did so and he started at them intently. "Many peoples use this system. Even my own people did, but I don't think this one was made by them. Ho, what?s that over there?"

He led to a rock with a badly weather flat face. Now I could see that it was covered with many markings. How could I have missed such a thing on my first trip through' I had thought myself a skilled outdoorsman, but beside Albiethy I was a child in a strange place.

"Look at this. You recognize the mark" No. Look more closely and relax your mind."

"Why it kind of looks like one of those old Spanish helmets. Do you mean to say that the conquistadors were in this very valley?"

"It sure looks like it, Snake. And now look at all these other figures. All different peoples leaving note of their passage."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:17 EST

"Should we do the same?"

"It's hardly the same thing, is it' I don't think so."

"Stop and think about it. This is a history of the peoples that have stopped in this valley. We are just as much a part of history as they were. We can add to it."

"Well, for a young buck you do make a good point. Okay, I suppose we can leave our sign. On the way out. "

"Okay, I read you. We'll do it when we are leaving."

We followed the trail to its head and looked around at the cliff bases surrounding us.

"Now what?" I asked.

"He must have left some kind of a sign. I hope. There have been some that buried riches and not marked them. Then they die or forget how to find it, and another lost treasure story is formed. Most of them have some basis in fact.

"You take that side and, no, come to think of it, stay with me and maybe I can show you how to look. You don't seem to see what is right in front of your face sometimes."

If anyone else had said this I would have been mad. I liked Albiethy, though, and did not take offense. In fact, I knew he was right and that made it worse. I tended to pass right by sign that glowed like a beacon to the old Indian.

"Okay, look here. What do you see?" asked the old timer.

"It looks like a buffalo there, and, oh, I see, it's a story."

"Right. See the men passing the pipe over the fire" It looks like they made a pact and this is the record of it. That must be what makes this canyon sacred to them - it is a meeting place of the great chiefs. If we get caught in here it will not be good."

"We'll leave just as soon as we find the loot."

"If we find it is more like it. The guy might have used a mark that is supposed to look like an Indian sign. That should be easy to spot."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:18 EST

"If you say so." I was having enough trouble spotting the real thing without looking for fakes.

We pored inch by inch over the rocky surface, finding nothing of importance. Then a slight reflection caught my eye. It was a bit of bronze fashioned on a plate of steel. I pulled back the rocks covering it and saw that it was a Spanish breastplate. More digging produced a couple of small bones that must have been all that remained of this Spanish explorer.

"This fellow died a long way from his home."

"It is the way of the warrior," said Albiethy. "But it looks like this man was more than a warrior. What does this rock look like to you?"

Now that he pointed it out I could see that it was a tailings pile from a hard rock operation. It was very old, for the weathered rocks looked like they had always been there. Human nature being what it is we were both soon at the head of the tailings checking out what was left of the old mine.

"Snake, I've got no use for such things, but you should remember where this mine is. See the raw ore in that vein" I know enough about it to know that is rare. This would be a rich stake. You might need it someday. Take your bearings. "

I was a lawman now and saw no need of riches, but I could see what he meant. This was a heck of an ace in the hole. Just in case.

"I'm thinking the fellow must have gone the other way or he would have seen this mine. Let's look over there." Personally I didn't see where the outlaw would have seen it when I didn't but I went along with the Indian. He was probably correct.

As it turned out I was the one to spot the resting place of the bank loot. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a pile of rock that didn't look just right. Of course! It was newly turned. The shape was that of a small cairn. It was too small for a grave, I hoped, and I started flipping rocks. In seconds the two leather messenger bags appeared. It was no surprise when I unfastened the covers and found cash and double eagles peering out.

Albiethy clapped me on the shoulder. "Good work. You're learning. Another fifty or sixty years and you'll be as good as me." His tone changed suddenly.

"Snake, I think we took a little too much time," and he nodded to the canyon rims as he said it. Puffs of smoke were rising from both sides.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:19 EST

"What are they saying?"

"How should I know, I learned to read and write, not make smoke signals. If I had to make a guess I'd have to say it has something to do with our presence in this canyon."

"All right, we won't even look up. We'll just saunter over to the mine and see what we can find for cover." I had automatically taken charge when trouble appeared. The old Indian didn't argue.

The mine was only cut about fifteen feet into the hillside but this was plenty enough for good cover. Only trouble was - would it turn into a trap"

I piled some rocks up at the entrance for more cover while Albiethy had a look in the rear. "The walls are wet," he said. "It is good."

I thought it was an odd remark to make and the old fellow was just talking. I should have known better. I could now see Indian heads peering into the canyon, first by the smokes and then up and down the rim. Reinforcements were responding to the signals. As darkness approached I could see that there had to be hundreds of them lining the rim. I felt like I was facing a gauntlet.

Now Albiethy dug in his war bag and came out with a wooden flute.

"Oh, that will come in handy." I am afraid I was a bit sarcastic but the Indian ignored me. He went to the back of the mine and started wiping the moisture from the walls onto the instrument. On top of the rim fires were being lit along the length of both sides. Shadows were dancing on the walls and floor of the canyon.

"Come on in back and light a match," demanded Albiethy.

"Light a match' We're exposed enough all ready."

"Just light it," was the answer, so I did as I was told and was surprised to see the flute giving off an eerie glow!

"Good," said the Indian, "Now we'll see if we can't out-superstition them."

He then rubbed the phosphorescent moisture over his arms and legs. When he was satisfied he looked out of the mouth of the mine and nodded.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:19 EST

"Okay, let's see what they make of this. I'll lead off and you follow with your head bent and leading the horses. It will seem natural to them that I have a mortal for a servant. Just follow my lead and don't panic."

Then he led out, with his arms and legs at crazy angles and playing his flute. It sounded like he was playing a hornpipe to me, but how would I know what Cocopelli sounded like? I glanced sideways at the rim and saw it was lined with silhouetted Indian heads sporting everything from single feathers to full blown bonnets.

I kept my head down in a condescending manner as we went down the canyon. Albiethy outdid himself, head, arms and legs in constant movement, occasionally circling with a few steps of a jig. When we reached the sign of the bones he danced a circle around them and then blew his flute at the rim, as if in thanks. We continued out of the mouth and did not stop until we were well away from the reflections of the fires.

Then we took one long look at each other, mounted up, and rode out of there like the Devil was on our tails.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:20 EST

Albiethy and I parted company on the edge of town. I had offered to buy him a good meal and whatever else he might want but he declined.

"Tell the Captain I'll be in someday for my pay. I don't feel like going out again right now. I think I used up my good luck for some time to come."

"I think we both did," I said while offering my hand in friendship. "Good luck to you, Albiethy."

Ass he started to go he turned back and said, "Hey Snake, you forgot something. Go on back to the canyon and finish if you're a mind to."

I was incredulous. Why would I want to go back to the canyon"

"What do you mean?"

"You were going to leave the record of our visit. You can if you want to."

I grinned and declined. "Hey Albiethy, how can I get in touch with you if I want to?"

"Send up a smoke," he said, and then he was gone.

"Quite a tale, Torrence, quite a tale." The captain looked up from my report and nodded. "You really did a good job. I wish I could have seen Albiethy imitating Cocopelli."

"He had me scared and I knew what the trick was. The Indians must have been amazed."

"They must have been or I would be calling you 'Baldy.' Like I said, good job. You've earned some time off."

As I smiled and turned to leave he added, "You were there for the start of Kirbyville, weren't you?"

"Yeah, why do you ask?"

"There's a feud going on. A clan from back east moved close by. Looks like they must have had bad blood before that."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:21 EST

Kirbyville didn't look much different when I rode into it. There were a few more buildings and no evidence of folks still living in wagons. Noah Cross stepped out of a store and smiled when he saw me. He now sported a badge proclaiming him an official peacekeeper. I was glad to see it.

"Hey, Snake, it's been a while. How is the new job treating you?"

"I can't complain, Noah, I really can't. It's hard work but sometimes it is deeply rewarding." I told him of the little girl I had rescued and placed in a good home.

"That is really great. The only rescue I've done was to find a lost kitten. Then the damned thing clawed me when I took it to its owner."

"A cautionary tale," I told him, "It's good to know where potential troubles lay.

"Say, Noah, I heard there was a shooting feud starting up around here. What gives?"

"Yeah, I guess it is almost a feud. You remember Laura Smith, don't you? Yes, I thought you would. Well, she married my son Adam six months ago. She's settled down and is making him a good wife. He has started a short freight line and it looks like he is going to do pretty well.

"About three months ago a big family named Nason came through and saw Laura. It seems like she had been engaged to one of their boys when she was only thirteen. For her it was just a kid type thing, like playing make believe. The Nasons didn't see it like that. They figured she owed them a wedding and they were plumb put out when they heard she had married Adam.

"Sammy Nason is the actual lad involved, and he doesn't look like he's bright enough to mind the slight. But the old man, Moses Nason, is one of the Wrath of God types, and he figures we owe him. He's old and wiry and moves like a cat. He's an old timber beast and can sneak up within a few feet and you never know it.

"Most of the time you don't know he's even around. The other evening I felt like I was being watched, and all of a sudden he just stepped out in the open right in front of me. Then he disappeared just as fast. I never knew where he came from or where he went. When he starts taking scalps, he'll be a hard one to stop.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:22 EST

"He carries a long rifle like an extension of his body. It's only a thirty-two, but Jim Smith swears he saw the old man kill an elk with it with one shot. He's a deadly shot. My big worry is that he'll decide to shoot Adam when he's driving his team."

"Is Moses seeking revenge or trying to steal Laura?"

Cross thought for a second. "You know, I don't think he's moving in either direction right now. I think he's trying to wrap the town up in fear, and then he can do whatever he wants."

"Where do these Nasons live?"

"Over in those yonder mountains. A hunter passing through there said he saw some crude huts that must belong to them. He also saw gun muzzles sticking out the doors so he didn't hang around."

"Friendly bunch. I'll tell you what"I think Laura is the most vulnerable, so we show make sure she is protected at all times. Then we can branch out from there."

"You still don't waste much time. I'm glad you showed up. I thought of trying to get in touch, but, you know how it is."

"I think that's called false pride. I know I do the same thing myself. Let's see what we can do for the girl and then we'll work with Adam."

The Crosses had built a long ranch house, with living quarters for Adam and his wife on one end and for the father on the other. In the center were a large kitchen and a general living room. A nice long porch was on front. All in all, it was a very comfortable set up.

"How many doors in the living quarters?" I asked.

"I just have the one, but I made a back door for the kids in case of fire."

Noah looked sheepish when we examined the back door he had installed. "I've looked around since I built this and I see that it should have opened out. I've got it just backwards."

"That's good. It makes our job easier. Now were can just build a couple of brackets and a crossbar and nobody can push it open."

When we had finished this task Laura came in, and I voiced my concerns. "Do you keep your revolver handy?"

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:23 EST

"I leave it under the pillow, but Adam made a belt and holster for it. I could wear it around the house."

"Yes, do that. For a while, anyway."

"Oh, and I could bring in my puppy too. He's so good, I bet I won't even have to house train him."

Noah kind of snorted when she said this, and I asked, "Oh, what kind of a pup have you got' There aren't many dogs out here."

"I'm not really sure. I found him in the brush and he was mighty glad to see me. I'll go get him."

"I'll let you decide what he is," said Noah when Laura had gone out."She don't believe me."

When Laura re-entered leading her 'puppy', I understood what Noah had been trying to tell me. The long hooked jaw, the big feet with the long toes, and the obvious wild spirit in those yellow eyes; this could only be one breed of animal - a wolf. I suppose he was about half grown at forty or fifty pounds. It was easy to see that he liked his surroundings.

"What do you think he is?" Laura asked me.

"There's no question'that's a wolf. He seems to take to you okay."

"Oh yes, he likes people. Here, come say hello."

I did as asked and found the animal to be affectionate. He wouldn't lap my face like most dogs, but he would shove his muzzle under my arm in hopes of getting more scratches. He got them. He knew an easy touch when he saw one.

"He's a good fellow. My only question is, will he bark at an intruder or welcome him in?"

"He'll protect me. I'm sure of it." Said Laura. I figured she was right.

It seemed like that was all we could do there, so we went down to where Adam had built the headquarters for his freighting outfit. I was surprised at what a sturdy building the boy had erected.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:23 EST

"The businessmen helped him put it up in return for lower rates for the first year. That works out well for he would be leaving Kirbyville empty at times. He's got one team here and another left over at Winslow. He switches on that run and on others he stays overnight and brings the same team back the next day. Here comes Adam now."

The wagon came running into town and when swung up in front of the stable the horses seemed to prance. Good horses know they're the center of attention and act it.

"Hi, Snake, good to see you." He held out his hand to shake. Then he doffed his hat and held it out for us to see.

Dead center in the crown was as neat a bullet hole as you could hope to see.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:27 EST

I took the hat in my hands. "Looks like a small caliber. Could have been a round ball."

Noah was of the same opinion. "More than likely. You had a close call, boy."

"Not as close as you'd think," said Adam. "I was swatting flies in Buzzard Notch. There must be something dead in there because the flies are really thick. Anyway, I rested my hat on the brake handle for a second and Blam, there's a hole through the top."

"Warning shot, I'll bet. Why warn him, Snake" Why didn't he just knock him off?" Noah was obviously relieved that the shooter hadn't. He was just perplexed about the reason why.

"Darned if I know. If it is the old man, he may be deranged. Sometimes those fire and brimstone guys do go off the deep end. Who can say what runs through a mind like that?"

I hung around the town and the Cross house for the next two days and nothing happened. In the evenings I would make the rounds down Kirbyville's main street, sometimes by myself and sometimes with Noah. One evening when I was by myself I found out what Noah had been talking about.

The sun was getting low in the sky and the shadows growing long when I had a feeling of somebody staring at my back. Trying to be nonchalant, I slowly turned and scanned the street but saw not a soul. Be that as it might, the feeling persisted. "Maybe just because my gut's empty" I told myself, and I entered the caf" of the Bouchards.

A gushing lady came forward to greet me.

"Hello, young man, I've been hearing stories about you. My, my, an Arizona Ranger, now isn't that quite something. Well, you certainly helped us out here. Now, unless I miss my guess you want a nice sweet dessert, isn't that right' Try a piece of this gingerbread with whipped cream."

"Oh, that sounds good." Before I could say anything else she was cranking a beater, making the best whipped cream I had ever tasted. I soon finished the first piece and she insisted on seconds to use up the cream. In no time my stomach was filled to bursting.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:28 EST

Mrs. Bouchard brought a refill of coffee and sat down at the table. In a low voice she said, "A man just peeked in the window. I think he was looking at you."

I caught myself before turning around in my chair. A lot of gunmen always sat with their backs to the wall so as to avoid surprises. I had held back from this practice so as not to seem melodramatic. This was going to change as of right now.

Trying not to sound anxious I said, "Oh, really. Did you happen to see what he looked like?"

"I think he was an old man. He had long white hair and a beard, and he reminded me of one of those characters out of the Bible. He must be up to no good, or while should he be going around spying in windows?"

"Have you ever seen him before?"

"Maybe. A couple of times recently I thought I saw someone along the street, but when I looked again he was gone. I thought I was seeing things."

Telling her there was nothing wrong with her vision I went back out onto the street and walked to the general store. Knox had expanded with everything there could possibly be a market for.

"Do the people have the money for all this stuff?" I asked upon entering.

"No, but about everyone has something to trade. The merchants of this town have a pretty good arrangement. If I take in eggs that I don't need I trade them with the Bouchards. If Jim at the livery trades a horse for a rifle that he doesn't need he'll bring the rifle over to trade, or he'll leave it here on consignment. Either way, we keep things moving and everyone is happy."

"That's great. Hey, have you had a business from a family called the Nasons? I heard they were living around here in the mountains."

"Not very often, but when they do show up they have prime hides to trade for powder and lead. They don't trap, either. All the pelts have a single hole through the head. Mostly they bring in bobcat and gray fox. Sometimes coyote, but they're not worth much right now. I've heard the Indians have ways of calling these critters in. I wouldn't be surprised if the Nasons know how.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:28 EST

"Sam Nason is the one exception. He looks stupid, but he consistently brings in wild honey. He seems to have a gift for finding wild bees. He goes off by himself for days, and when he returns he always has honey."

"And does he trade just for powder and lead?"

"Nope, he's a totally different case. He likes fancy little modern guns. Last week he bought a silver plated Florbert pistol. It's a target pistol meant for shooting in the parlor. He didn't care what it was for. It was pretty and he wanted it. He's got others in the same category. A Reid's Knuckleduster and a Moore's Derringer are two that I sold him.

"And get this - there's one other item he likes: books. Where he ever learned to read I couldn't say. But he must know how, for he gets a new book almost every time he comes in. He's not fussy. He might get a classic this time and a penny dreadful the next. I'll bet he's the only one of the Nason clan who's even been near a school."

"Very odd. Thanks."

The feeling of being watched was still with me. There was only one good place for a watcher that I could see, and this was an alley between two buildings. I sauntered along until I was directly across the street from it, then quickly strode over to look into it. There was nobody to be seen, but a plank leaning on a wall drew my attention. On it were written the words, "Come to the mountain."

The words were scratched into the wood with the point of a knife and looked fresh. Old man Nason lived on a mountain. Was this message a directive from him' It was the only answer I could think of.

On the chance he could shed more light on the Nasons I went over to meet the owner of the livery stable. Turned out his name was Frank Chambers, but everyone called him Red because of his fiery hair.

"Nope," he responded when asked about the mountaineer family, "I've seen 'em around occasionally, but never had any business with them. The old man must have a horse somewhere but I've never seen him ride. He seems to be always on foot."

"Have you ever seen him sneaking around the back of the town; maybe in the alley?"

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:29 EST

"Yes, I have. Business is slow so far, and I've got a room upstairs where I spend a lot of time reading or just looking around. More than once I've seen him skulking around looking for who knows what. He always has that long rifle glued to him but I haven't heard of him shooting anybody. It takes all kinds, but I wonder what some of these people are thinking of."

"You and me both. We think the old timer is a threat to Adam Cross and his wife, but if nothing has happened yet maybe it never will. That would be contrary to previous experiences I've had, though."

Later that night I made plans with Noah.

"There hasn't been any crime, and yet we both know something is going to happen. I think I'd better take him up on his offer and go to the mountain."

"I'll go with you."

"No, I'd better go by myself. I think he wants to parlay. I'll be okay."

Now as I slowly made my way up the slope I wondered at the wisdom of my words. I felt mighty exposed but there was nothing I could do about it now. As the elevation increased so did the vegetation and there was plenty of cover a sniper could use if he so desired.

Noah had received directions from the hunter that had been threatened. I was beginning to wonder about their second hand accuracy when I climbed over the edge of a shoulder and saw a crude cabin ahead. There was no sign of habitation but this just made me more edgy.

A voice from beside a tree jolted me.

"I figured you might not dare to come," said Moses Nason. He was standing next to a tree and if he hadn't spoken I never would have seen him.

"Sure, why not' I just wasn't sure if the message was meant for me."

"It was. I'll not be talking to that supporter of the devil Noah Cross."

"What are you talking about' I've known Noah Cross since the town started. A finer man can not be found."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:30 EST

"Oh, then why did he support his son when he stole my grandson's betrothed?"

"The boy didn't steal her. They decided to get married because they're in love. When Laura spoke to Sammy they were both play-acting. They were too young to made any decisions."

"Too young" I married my first wife when she was twelve. Age has nothing to do with it. I want you to break up the marriage and bring the girl up here."

"You must be insane. They are legally married and will stay that way. You just leave them alone."

I had said the wrong thing. The old man's hair and beard seemed to bristle out as he screamed, "Get off my mountain! I thought you might be sensible but I see you're a fool. Well, then beware, for I will strike, and strike hard. You had best better leave or you'll be buried along with that Cross boy. NOW GIT!

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:31 EST

I looked around for watchers then adjusted the hat for the umpteenth time. Well, actually it was the hat of Adam Cross. It was too tight, and when pulled down snugly, it made the top of my head go to sleep. It was a good match for the coat that restricted the shoulders and the pants that nearly made me look like I was going wading in a stream.

As with so many enterprises, it had seemed like a good plan at the time. It had made perfect sense to be disguised as Cross until old man Nason made his move. We knew that Adam was not quite as tall, but other than that it looked like we had a good match. Now I was regretting the decision. I was chafed, getting a headache and feeling foolish besides. In short, the day was a couple of notches below average.

I was hauling freight on Adam's regular schedule. This was the third trip and no sign of Nason had been seen yet. The last two runs had been to the east, so maybe that explained the lack of activity. Today's run was west, an all day run. I would sleep over at Williamson's, and then retrace the route tomorrow.

The worst thing was, I wasn't much of a team driver. The horses back on the farm would go all day by voice commands, so there was no need for reins. The team in front of me (heathen brutes was my pet name for them) seemed to take a savage delight in doing things just wrong enough to make me look bad. They knew there was an audience in town, and they would take a corner just a little short and tip the wagon up, or they would just keep walking if I neglected to hitch the reins for just a second. They weren't dumb animals?they were plenty smart when it came to pulling practical jokes.

I pulled out of Kirbyville without undue embarrassment and headed down the trail. This was the same route that had been the scene of much of the excitement before I had become a Ranger. Since the known ambush points were known, this could well work to my advantage. Just the same, the open flat stretches were scanned carefully, for an immobile man in tan clothing could remain unseen even though in plain sight.

I stopped the team for a rest before we reached the rock face that previously housed a sniper. It was a likely place to use, but there was no sign of humanity to be seen.

The trouble was that the set-up didn't feel right. Unless I missed my guess, the enemy was near.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:31 EST

We traveled on toward the face, and as the wagon neared it, the more my attention was drawn to the spot that had housed the previous shooter. It was a long rifle shot now.

Adam's shotgun was in its scabbard on the back of the seat. It made a poor weapon to return long range fire, but it was a regular part of Adam's gear and had to be included. A rifle would have shown an offensive capability not normally there.

The danger was not in front. Suddenly a shot rang out, and a bullet cut a furrow across the rump of the near horse. Immediate confusion ensued. The horse jumped to the left, slamming into the off one. He apparently took offense and tried to push back. I was able to yard him to the haw side, but of course this put us off the trail. The horses didn't seem to care and simply picked up speed. When I tried to muscle the reins, we crossed the trail but were heading for rocks, so we had to cross back over.

While this was all happening I was trying to get a look around to find my assailant, but that was impossible. There would have been no way to shoot even if he had been located. The ride was way too rough. I had always figured my folks were too strict when they prevented me from hanging out with the teamsters when I was a lad. Now I was sure of it. Their colorful language must have been developed for just such times as these.

Feet braced and full strength back on the reins accomplished nothing, but one thing did. It was a rock that sat all by itself in an open area. How they zeroed in on that rock I'll never know. Perhaps they enjoyed their short cutting trick in town so much that they had to try it here. But when the wheel hit, the wagon came unglued, and the drag of the broken axle brought the horses to a halt.

I picked myself up from my landing spot on the ground and checked out the horses. They showed no signs of remorse, apparently having enjoyed the recent fiasco. Neither was even lame. The one with the grooved rear end was released and shooed back in the direction of Kirbyville. If Amos should spot him, he would know there was trouble out here.

I hoped the other one had been ridden bareback at some time in the past and hopped on. So far, so good. He acted like this was an everyday occurrence.

Unless Nason had ventured out here on foot, which was very doubtful, he had a horse stashed somewhere out of sight. There were two ravines on this side of the rocks; that would be deep enough. Otherwise, he must have left it on the other side.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:32 EST

The first one proved to be empty. We raced toward the second, and the barrel of a long rifle made an appearance. There was no time for defensive measures"the rifle cracked and my horse reared, dumping me on the ground. He had burned this horse too. The man was an uncanny shot.

No matter how fast he is, it takes a man a while to reload a muzzleloader, and I rushed the ravine on foot. It was empty. Somehow he had made an escape when I hit the ground. His only possible direction was to the rocks. I was almost up to them when another shot rang out. This time it hit at my heels, and I understood what he was trying to do. For some reason he was herding me to the west.

From cover to cover I went, constantly trying to find Nason's whereabouts. No luck. This changed on the other side of the hill, for there stood the horse I had been riding. Instead of going back to town he had circled the hill, perhaps to come to my rescue" I didn't know, but a more welcome sight had never been seen.

Once re-established on his back, I headed for an area I was familiar with?Navajo Wash. From the brush by the river I could watch my backtrail and for a change spot Nason before he bushwhacked me.

We were really tearing up the ground when I looked over my shoulder and saw Nason riding hell bent for leather and gaining on us. He was riding a fast, wait a second; he was riding a mule! It was a mule the likes of which I had never seen. It looked more like a thoroughbred racer that a work animal. Somewhere far back in my memory came the story of a southern boy with a racing mule that won all kinds of money running against local favorites. This must be the same type of animal.

The gap had closed considerably when we at last reached the greenery of the Wash. I swung down and hied my horse on, confident that he would stay by the river. I had lost sight of Nason. That was not good. The old man was like a cat and could be anywhere.

A shot echoed, and I knew that my horse had breathed its last. And I was starting to get mad. That horse had given its all for me, and now Nason had shot it for reasons only he could comprehend. Heading in the direction the shot had come from, I was sprayed by bark from a small tree. He was still trying to herd me. I rushed the spot where I thought he was, trying to beat the time it took him to reload.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:32 EST

He was surprisingly fast. I spotted the end of his barrel just as it spouted white smoke, and I emptied my pistol into that patch of cover, then dove into a low spot to reload. Now Nason's stentorian voice rang through the brush.

"Boy, you have sinned. You have stolen the girl that should have been our kin, and you will pay for your misdeed. I shall drive you into the desert where you shall wander from this day forth, ruing the day you wronged the Nasons."

The sound of footsteps in water told of his location. He kept talking as he tried to circle.

"You will die a withered shell of a man. The desert saps a man of all things, especially life. You will feel the wrath....."

The wading had turned to the struggling sounds of a man going down. I broke out of cover to see Nason waist deep in quicksand and losing ground. Upon sighting me he still had enough hatred left in him to try to shoot, but his lock was fouled and the rifle remained silent. He dropped it and pulled a knife from a neck sheath and threw that, narrowly missing my face. I tried to find a limb to extend to him but there was no time. The last I saw of Moses Nason was his angry face disappearing under the surface, there to stay forever in No Man's Land.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-12 17:33 EST

I had walked for an hour before Noah Cross came to my rescue.

"Is it over, Snake?"

"Yeah, Noah, it's over. Your grandkids can be safe in Kirbyville." He smiled his thanks and we rode back to a town full of friendly faces.

The End

Topic: No Man's Land

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