Silver Dollar Trail

By Stardust

Even for San Francisco the hour was late. The poorly lit saloon was filled with cigarette smoke, and the smell of liquor, sawdust, and unwashed bodies. The deafening noise of a few hours ago had diminished to only a few muted conversations and the occasional slap of a card as the poker game continued at a table near the bar. At one end of the bar a tall Chinaman stood, a broom in hand, waiting for the game to end so he could begin cleaning before putting down the fresh sawdust that sat in a burlap bag at his feet. A Scotsman, with a bored expression on his face, leaned against the bar turning a shot glass slowly in his fingers as he watched the poker game. He wore a long black coat that seemed stiffer on one side than it should have been. Dressed in a fashionable suit, Jerrod Barkley, also leaned against the bar, and sipped a beer as he watched the game and his brothers.

"I’m out," said Heath, as he tossed his hand face down on the green baize. He tipped his chair back so he could watch the other players. He was interested in knowing who would win, as were the rest of the few onlookers. The game had drawn out, even though the pots on the table had never involved very much money. It had started out as just a friendly game to pass the time but somewhere along the way it had become more than that between Nick and The Gambler. The cowboy next to Heath tossed down his cards, too.

The Gambler’s sidekick, Billy, glanced at the cards he held and added eight bits to the small stack of coins in the center of the table. "I’ll stay, and raise a dollar," he said. "How ‘bout you, Brady?"

"I’ll see your dollar, Billy," said the gambler, Brady Hawks as he pushed a coin out of what he had in front of him. It wasn’t a fortune, but he had more in front of him than the others did.

On the Barkley ranch Nick was considered a fairly good poker player but he was beginning to wish he had dropped out of this game a long time ago. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered and picked up a silver dollar from the small pile of coins he had beside him. The coin was well worn, and had a small chip in the side. Nick wondered where he had gotten the badly abused coin. He barely noted the Philadelphia mint mark one it as he spun it onto the table and watched it clank against the other cash and currency and then came to rest in the accumulated pile of money. "Call," he said, and laid his cards face up for the others to see the three queens he had been holding.

Billy gave a sigh and showed his hand, a pair of six’s. "Beat’s me."

Nick’s big hand reached for the stack of money. "Wait," said Brady Hawks. He fanned out his cards for all to see a pair of eight’s and a pair of aces.

Nick snorted in disgust at loosing, but couldn’t help but comment. "Dead Man’s Hand, Ace’s and Eight’s. Everyone knew that had been the hand Wild Bill Hickok had been holding when he was killed.

"Not tonight," said Hawks, as he gathered the money to himself and began placing it in a leather bag. He kept out a few coins, one being the chipped silver dollar with the P mint mark that had been Nick’s last contribution. "Last drinks on me, bartender," said Hawks as he stood, and using his cane walked to the bar and placed the silver dollar and some others on the bar.

"Drink up," said the bartender, as he grabbed the money and thrust it under the bar. He set out nine shot glasses and poured a bare swallow of whiskey into each. He downed one himself as his customers drank theirs and then left through the bat-wing doors, the last to leave being the silent Scotsman.

"Chinaman," commanded the bartender. "Time to earn your keep. Sweep up. And make sure you empty them spittoons. Oh, and here’s your pay fer tonight." He reached under the bar and then tossed the chipped silver dollar at the Chinaman, who caught it and dropped it into the leather pouch, that he had around his neck and shoulder. As the bartender placed the chairs upside down on the tables, the Chinaman began sweeping.

**********

 In the small hours of the night, after he had finished cleaning the saloon, Kwi Chang Caine had found a corner on the wharf where he could wrap his blanket around himself and try to catch a few hours of sleep. He woke at the sound of gulls screeching at the rising sun, and then again at the sound of a foghorn as a ship pulled away from the harbor. The sun was barely up and exhaustion claimed him again so that he didn’t hear the sound of light footsteps as a gang of waterfront ruffians slipped up to try and take the leather pouch and anything else he might have of value to them.

At the first tug on the strap Caine was on his feet and wide awake. The robbers had not expected that and were caught unawares. Caine kicked out and connected on the chin of one would-be-thief. The man crumbled onto the pier and lay still, but that only served to enrage his friends who rushed at the Chinaman. The Chinaman, wide awake now, fought back with his strange Kung Fu moves. But it was six to one and they had managed to surround Caine when there was a yell. "Make way. Leave the mon be." With a shove the Scotsman pushed one thug off the pier and into the water.

The ringleader of the group drew back and with a roar pulled a long-bladed knife as he sprang at the Chinaman’s rescuer. "Be off, you, or I’ll cut out your heart."

The Scotsman laughed and answered in his Scottish brogue. "Come ahead and try. If you’ve got the guts for it." His hand disappeared inside his long black coat and came out with a sward. He swung it in an arching figure eight, causing one of the robbers to jump into the water so he wouldn’t be hit and two others to run for cover around the corner of a warehouse. They had thought it would be easy to take from a Chinaman. They had just decided to find easier prey elsewhere.

They leader’s eyes went from the sword to his knife.

"Mine’s bigger than yours," taunted the Scotsman and before he could blink the last two ruffians followed their friends in flight, the sound of the Scotsman’s laughter following them. The swordsman turned to the Chinaman, his sword still extended, really to be used.

"Thank you for your help," said Caine to the Scotsman, bowing slightly.

The Scotsman’s sword seemed to magically disappear back under his long coat. "Come," he said with a nod of his head. "Let’s go before they regain their nerve and return." The two foreigners to American soil left the wharf to walk toward a small business district.

"Thank you, again," said Caine, "for your help. I am called Kwi Chang Caine."

"It was nothing. Not even a good fight. And I am MacLeod, Duncan MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod. I liked the way you fought. The moves you make."

"It is called Kung Fu. An old defensive way of fighting that I learned in China."

"Would you teach me?" asked MacLeod.

"Yes," said Caine, "but it is only for defense of one’s self or someone who needs help."

"That is a good way of thinking, and I, too, prefer to think that way," said Duncan. "I think you Chinaman have good ways and ideas."

Caine chuckled, and shrugged his shoulder. "Some do and some don’t, as with all peoples."

They had come to the door of a small eatery. "But first we must eat. I am hungry." The Scotsman and the Chinaman learned of each other’s ways as they lingered over their meal and cups of hot tea. When they left, Caine paid his share with the chipped silver dollar.

**********

 Minutes later the waitress put the coin into another’s hand, as she made change. “Mr. Paladin, it has been good to see you again. Will you be staying in town long this time? We’d certainly like to see more of you here.”

“It would be nice,” replied the rough voiced man, as he took in the comely sight of the Irish girl, “and much as I would like to share your company for a while, I have to leave again tonight.”

“Oh, and where might you be goin’ to this time, sir,” asked the young woman, her eyes bright with wonder at the idea of always traveling.

“Arizona Territory,” answered Paladin, as he dropped his change into his pocket. “Tucson, Arizona.”

“Oh, and how exciting’.”

Paladin winked at the waitress, causing her to blush. “I’ll tell you about it when I return.”

**********

Days later Paladin entered the mercantile and paused to let his eyes adjust from the hot, bright sunlight of the Tucson street to the shadowy interior of the store.

The shopkeeper looked up from where he was building a stack of horse blankets. "Hey, Mister, see you’re still in town. You find that fella you was lookin’ fer?"

"Yes, I did," answered Paladin, "and now I’m ready to leave. But I need a few supplies."

"Sure, sure. What do you need?"

"A half a pound of coffee, another half pound of sugar, and a couple of cans of tomatoes and ------ some of those peaches." Paladin pointed at the fruit in jars on a shelf.

"Sure, sure thing, mister," the shopkeeper began gathering up the required items, and placing them in a burlap bag. "That’ll be a dollar and fifty cents."

Paladin dropped two silver dollars on the counter. One had a small nick in the edge of it. He reached into a box and took out four cigars. "Add these."

"Be two dollars even, then." The shopkeeper grabbed the two coins and opened a cash register and dropped them in. His customer picked up the filled burlap bag, slid the cigars into his vest pocket, then turned and went out the door. Just at that moment several cowboys crowded through, almost running into Paladin.

"Pardon me," said Paladin moving back a step to give the men room.

"Sure thing, Mister," said one man.

" ‘Cuze me," said another.

"Por fa’vor," said the last, "please excuse us. My friends, their manners, well, they are lacking, and they get a bit hasty and rambunctious when they get a day off, sometimes."

"Only to be expected," said Paladin with a last look at the rowdy bunch, he went to his horse, placed the supplies in his saddlebags, mounted, and rode out of town.

Manolito Montoya watched the stranger leave, glad a confrontation had been avoided. That man had the look of a very dangerous man, maybe even a gunfighter. He had promised John and Victoria to keep everyone out of trouble. Most of the hands wee examining the various and sundry things that were for sale. Ropes, and bandannas, shirts, pants, boots, and perfume for their girlfriends. Manolito approached the counter and laid a list on it.

"Please," said the shopkeeper, his hands raised in protest. "The last time you High Chaparral boys were here, you left my place in a mess, an ab-so-lute shambles. Please no fighting in here."

"No, fighting, senior; the men will behave, I promise, and here is a list of things for the ranch, and," he pulled out another piece of paper, "and this is a list of things for my sister, Victoria."

"Sure thing, Manolito. I’ll fill it." Still he cast an anxious eye at the hands, even as he was glad for the business brought to him by the High Chaparral ranch.

One of the hands laid a colorful new shirt on the counter. "How much?" asked Blue Cannon.

"One dollar," was the answer.

Blue laid a five-dollar bill on the shirt.

"Paper money," the shop-owner picked it up and examined it. "Don’t care fer paper money. Banks don’t always except the different kinds."

"Will you take that one?" asked Blue.

"Guess so," the man was reluctant to turn down any kind of money, especially from the son of Big John Cannon. He put it in the money drawer and gave Blue back three one-dollar bills and one silver dollar in change. The old silver dollar.

Before Blue could close his hand, Sam Butler picked out the silver dollar. "Seems I remember you owing me a dollar, Blue Boy, and sayin’ you didn’t have no money to pay me with."

Just as quick, the silver coin left Sam’s hand as Buck took it. "And you, Sam, owe me a dollar." Blue and Sam both looked disgusted as the piece of money went into Buck’s pants pocket.

"Enough," intervened Mano before the three could get into an argument over the dollar. "Let’s go get a drink at the saloon while this order is being filled."

Following a night of carousing and to little sleep, Manolito, Buck and Blue sent Sam and the other hands back to the High Chaparral with the supplies.

"Shirt’s crooked." Buck poked a finger at his nephew.

Blue’s bloodshot eyes tried to look down at his new shirt. His eyes wouldn’t focus well enough to be able to re-button it properly. He fumbled with the buttons a moment and then gave up, and crawled onto his horse.

"It’s gonna be a long ride to Santa Fe," commented Buck to no one in particular.

"Si," agreed Mano, as he, Buck and Blue set off for New Mexico Territory, and a horse sale at a fiesta in the town of Santa Fe. John was sending them to buy some brood mares. It would be good to get away from Tucson and the High Chaparral thought all three as they rode off.

**********

The narrow streets of the small town were crowded. The adobe homes and buildings were hung with strings of red chilies, and bright cloth banners. Children ran and played, dashing recklessly around the legs of the many horses that moved with their riders through the streets. From the plaza Lucas McCain, rifle at his side and his son Mark watched the festivities. There were several groups of musicians, singers, and dancers. It was almost a circus-like atmosphere with the arrival of a group of acrobats, and jugglers. As they watched they ate bowls of stew laced with hot peppers and chunks of fried bread they had bought from a street vender. "Well, Mark, what do you think about your first Santa Fe fiesta?"

"It sure is excitin’," said the boy, as he watched wide-eyed. He wiped a smear of chili off his chin. "I’m glad we came. Just hope someone’s willin’ to buy some of the horses we brought."

Lucas gave his bowl back to the street vender. "If you’re through eatin’ we better get back to those horses. See if we can sell a couple, at least."

"I wish we didn’t have to sell them," muttered Mark. In his mind he was thinking about one bay mare he had become very fond of.

Lucas knew Mark had become attached to several of the horses they had for sale. They had spent long hours over the past few months, first capturing a herd of wild horses that had shifted their range onto the McCain ranch. Then they had gentled and green broke the wild bunch. Now they were here in Santa Fe to see if they could sell some. As they made their way to the edge of town Lucas thought about the horses and how much he could expect to get for them. H hadn’t told Mark how worried he was. He didn’t want his son to worry, too. They had to sell the horses if they were to hold onto the ranch, and make it through another year.

They found three men looking at the string of horses that were hobbled and tied to a rope strung between two short, stout Juniper trees. "Can I help you gentlemen?" asked McCain.

"Howdy, Name’s Buck Cannon, this here’s my nephew Blue and this is Manolito Montoya." Buck noted they way the tall man kept hold of the Winchester rifle, and of the boy who followed him. "Nice stock. You lookin’ to sell any?"

"That’s why we brought them here." Lucas reached out to shake hands. "Name’s Lucas McCain, and this is my son, Mark."

Buck nodded at a black gelding. "That one’s real nice."

Lucas smiled. "You got a good eye, Mr. Cannon, but that one’s not for sale." The black horse was his own special mount.

"Which one’s are? My brother owns the High Chaparral Ranch near Tucson. He sent us to buy some brood mares, and maybe a few good ridin’ stock."

"All of them. ‘Cept my black, and Mark’s sorrel gelding. The rest are for sale."

The four men and the boy went from horse to horse discussing the good points and bad of each animal. At the end of several hours, the High Chaparral hands and the McCains had agreed on a price for eight mares, and two of the geldings that were broke to saddle. Money exchanged hands and both sides were more than satisfied. The High Chaparral was getting good breeding stock and Lucas could pay off a loan that was almost due, and he still had six more horses he could sell.

Respect and liking grew between the families, so Lucas invited Manolito and the Cannons to camp with Mark and himself. The next morning they joined a large group who had come for the fiesta, and were now crowding around a makeshift, half-mile racetrack just to the south of the outskirts of the town. By noon several races had been won and lost.

"Hey, Mano," teased Buck, "why don’t you race Macado. That sorrel of yours could beat the hosses linin’ up to race now, real easy."

Hands on his hips Manolito looked at the competition. "I would not insult Macado by putting him in a race with those – nags – or – excuse me – those caballos. They look more to be in Rebel’s class."

Buck frowned at the insult to his horse, while Blue burst out laughing, as did Lucas and Mark.

Mano was unable to resist another gig at his friends, "or maybe Blue’s horse, Soapy."

Blue wasn’t about to take offense. "Soapy ain’t no racehorse. He’s just a good ridin’ horse, and a fair cowpony."

Mark had been watching and listening. Now he spoke up. "But Windy is."

"Who?" asked Buck.

"The bay mare. The one you bought. She’s really fast. I call her Windy. I bet she could be a racehorse."

Lucas put a hand on Mark’s shoulder. "Please excuse my son. He has a habit of naming the animals he likes and that bay mare – well – he is real fond of her."

"Ain’t nothin’ wrong with namin’ a horse," said Blue. "Shows you care for the animal. Man should always name his horse."

"The three of us," Mano indicated himself and the Cannons, "name our horses. Blue is right. A man should care for and respect his animals. And name them."

There was a gunshot and much shouting as the horses lined up for the race were off. A pinto surged to the front, and led most of the way, but then a chestnut over took the pinto and won by a neck. There was a lot of cheering and booing for the winner and the losers, while money changed hands as bets were collected.

Buck watched the goings on and then turned to Mark. "You say that mare’s real fast, Mark?"

"Yes, Sir," answered Mark. "I rode her some and so did Pa. I thought she was fast. Ain’t that so, Pa?"

"She does have some speed, I’ll admit," said Lucas, "but I wouldn’t say she’s a racehorse. Besides, you gota remember, she’s only green broke."

Buck took off his hat and scratched his head.

"What are you thinking, Amigo?" asked Manolito.

"Yeah, Uncle Buck, you’re thinkin’ somethin’, real hard. I can tell."

"Mr. McCain," asked Buck. "You think that bay mare, Windy," he looked at Mark. "Is she as fast as them last bunch of hosses?"

"Sure she is," cut in Mark.

"Now, son, we don’t know that." Lucas wanted to say ‘yes’. He knew the mare was fast, but didn’t want to get Buck’s, or Mark’s hopes up. "I’d hate to say so for sure. Besides who would ride her?" Even as he spoke Lucas knew he had said the wrong thing.

"I can," yelped Mark. "I can." The boy was jumping up and down at the thought of riding the mare in a race.

"No!" His father quickly replied.

"The boy rides good, Mr. McCain." Buck was as caught up in the idea of Mark riding in the race as the boy was. "You got to admit that, and he’s a lot lighter than the rest of us, which would sure give the mare an advantage. I bet he could do it." Mono and Blue echoed him. " ‘Sides, there can’t be no harm in it. If he wins, - great, he wins. If not, no big deal." Buck had to grit his teeth as the last words left his mouth. He had plans to make some money on the mare, even though he had never seen her run. He was taking a boy’s word on it. But he was sure Mark had been around horses all his life and had a lot of knowledge about the critters. He knew she looked fast, and he had a hunch she really was.

It didn’t take much pleading from Mark, and Buck for Lucas to give in. Within minutes he, Mark and Blue had saddled the mare while Buck and Mano paid the entrance fee and placed a few bets with several men in the crowd of people waiting to see the next race. Many local people were more than glad to place bets with them when they learned the mare was barely broke and a boy was going to ride her. They were sure it was money already in their pockets, as they watched the mare crow-hop and shy at every little movement in the crowd as Mark and Lucas brought her to the starting line. It seemed the boy was barely able to stay in the saddle. Lucas was still a bit reluctant to let Mark ride in the race but couldn’t think of a real good reason to not let him. He knew Mark was a good rider, and if he should win, maybe they would be able to sell the rest of the horses while they were still here in Santa Fe.

Before Mark could get too excited at the thought of riding in a race he found himself astride Windy and moving into place with seven other horses and riders. But now Windy was getting even more agitated. She was still mostly a wild horse, and had never had any experience with anything like the crowd of people and horses she found herself in now. She was frightened and showed it by tossing her head, and prancing as Mark eased her toward the starting line. A stranger tried to help but Windy half reared and lashed out with her front hooves making him dodge back. Loud laugher erupted from the crowd making the mare even more nervous.

The race starter yelled over the crowd. "Quiet, everyone. Quiet. Son, you get that mare in line so’s we can have this race, or get her out of the way." Mark eased her almost even with the other horses. When the starter saw Windy move up he fired the gun he had pointed at the sky. The frightened Windy shied out and into the crowd, scattering watchers, as the other riders urged their mounts into a run.

"Come on, Windy, let’s go. Run!" shouted Mark into the mare’s ears, as he drummed his heels into her sides, and she leaped into a gallop.

Down the racecourse went all eight horses. A black horse stumbled and almost fell and Windy went swiftly by it. In moments she had passed two other horses, and then another. Three others were still in front of her. Mark barely noticed that they had circled the half-mile track once as he urged Windy to run faster and faster. She crept up on another horse and passed it.

Blue, Buck, and Manolito yelled and jumped up and down, cheering boy and horse on. Even Lucas couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement. "Come on, Mark, come on."

Legs flashing, hooves thundering, necks outstretched the horses bunched up into the last turn. Windy, a sorrel and a pinto raced for the finish line. Unable to keep up the pinto dropped back. With a final burst of speed Windy pushed herself out in front of the sorrel and almost flew across the finish line.

Gradually Mark slowed the very tired mare and brought her back to where the starter and race judges stood. Lucas, Buck, Blue and Mono rushed forward to congratulate him. Mark was thrilled at winning but knew he had to take care of Windy. With help from Lucas and Blue they unsaddled her, put a blanket on her and took turns walking her while she cooled down. Some time later Buck and Mono came back from collecting their winnings from the bets they had made. Having cooled down from the hard, frantic run, Mark was finally able to give Windy a few sips of water.

"That was a good race you rode, Mark," said Buck, even though he had already said it several times to Mark and anyone who would listen. "It sure was."

"Buck, do you not think Mark should have a little something for winning the race on a horse that you own?" asked Mano.

"He sure should," agreed Blue. "You won all that money, Uncle Buck. Mark should get a share."

Lucas was proud of his son for winning but not sure that excepting money won on a bet was the right thing to let Mark do. But how could he say no.

Buck reached in his pocket and pulled out a couple of silver dollars and handed them to Mark.

"No, oh, no. I couldn’t," protested Mark, as much as he wanted to reach for the money. Lucas smiled as he realized he had even more reason to be proud of his son.

"Amigo," gruffly whispered Mano to Buck. "More. More."

Reaching deeper into his pocket Buck pulled out a ten-dollar bill to add to the two silver coins.

Blue reached out, caught the money from Buck and stuffed it into Mark’s shirt pocket. "You earned it, Mark."

"Thank you," said Mark to his new friends.

"And one more," said Buck as he flipped a silver dollar at Mark. The boy felt the nick in the edge of the coin as he deftly caught it.

"Thanks," he said again. "Ah, - Mr. Cannon." Taking Windy’s lead rope that Lucas held, he handed it to Buck. "You will take good care of her, won’t you?"

"You bet I will," said Buck as he petted the mare’s neck, and rubbed her velvety soft nose. She whinnied softly as if agreeing with all of them.

"Senior?" A Mexican man had walked over to where they stood. The man was scowling, while the three men following him were grumbling darkly to themselves and each other. Immediately Lucas pushed Mark behind him. This bunch was trouble for sure.

"Senior Cannon? You fooled us. We want our money back," said the Mexican, and Buck could see his friends agreed.

"How you figure that, Garcia?" asked Buck.

Garcia spat on the ground. "You tricked us. You said the caballo, the mare, was wild. That the boy would ride her. That the boy, and the caballo have never raced. I do not believe it is so, Cannon. You and your friends lied to us. It is how you call it, a fixed race. We want our money back." He ground his teeth in his anger, and his hand hovered near the six gun that hung on his hip. The men backing him echoed his words.

"No one lied to you, Senior Garcia," said Manolito. "It is true, the boy and the mare had never raced before."

"Yeah," agreed Blue. "We was takin’ a big change that Mark would even be able to ride her."

"No one wants trouble," said Lucas as he shifted his grip on the Winchester that was always at his side. The rifle was almost, but not quite pointing at the renegades. "It’s like you were told. That mare was wild. I caught her about a month ago. She’s only green broke. But Mark is a good rider and the mare is fast. We decided to take a chance by putting her in the race. She could have lost just as easily."

"But she won, Senior, and you and your amigos have our money, and we want it back. We do not think the race was fair." Garcia was determined to get his money back. He and his friends were sure that the strangers to their town would back down from them, as others had. In Santa Fe they were known for intimidating and bullying others. They were sure they could do it with these men as well.

One of the men let his hand slowly reach for his pistol. "It is time to quite this talking, Garcia, and make them give us our money."

"Si," agreed another of the thugs. "Our money and theirs, as well. We want it all." The man’s hand had barely touched his pistol’s butt for what he considered a fast draw before Lucas McCain’s rifle was tipped up, the lever cocked and a bullet ripping its way into the man’s shoulder. Instead of pulling his revolver he found himself screaming and rolling on the ground in agony.

At the same time Garcia and the other two men reached for their guns, Mano, Buck, and Blue drew theirs. Mano fired and Garcia’s pistol when flying. Buck fired into the ground between the feet of another man, who, along with his friend and Garcia, raised their hands and started to back away. They did not want to be die on this day.

Lucas pointed at the man he had shot. "Don’t forget to take him with you."

Stumbling in their haste to comply, two of the Mexican’s grabbed the one on the ground. As they turned to leave they were almost ran into the Santa Fe sheriff. "Gracias, Seniors. I understand these four desperadoes have been steeling from honest people all day. I was just trying to find them, so I could arrest them. You will not have to worry about them disturbing you any more." He motioned to a couple of deputies and the outlaws were taken away.

The High Chaparral hands holstered their guns. "Thanks, Sheriff," said Buck. "We’ll sure sleep better tonight knowing them hombre’s is locked up." The Sheriff turned and followed his deputies.

Buck gave a low whistle "That was sure some fancy shootin’, Lucas," said Buck admiringly. "I had noticed you never let that there Winchester out of your sight. Now I know why."

Blue and Manolito were both taking second looks at the rifle, also. "Boy, I wish I could shoot like that," said Blue.

**********

The next morning Mark and Lucas McCain packed their gear on packhorses and saddled their riding mounts. They had sold the other horses, and said goodbye to the High Chaparral men who had already left. As they rode through the town of Santa Fe, Mark hesitated in front of a small display of silk scarves and bandannas that a young Mexican woman was trying to sell. She balanced a baby on one hip.

"What is it, son?" asked Lucas when Mark halted his horse, staring at the fluttering awry of bright colored material as they stirred in a slight breeze.

"Ah, Pa, you think, maybe I could get one of those fancy bandannas?" asked Mark.

"Sure, son, don’t see why not." Lucas realized it had been a long time since the boy had asked for something frivolous for himself. He guessed Mark had known more about the tight money fix that they had been in than he had given him credit for knowing.

After careful consideration Mark selected a red scarf with a gold design on it. "How much?" he asked shyly.

"One dollar, American, Senior," said the woman, so Mark handed her the chipped silver dollar, then quickly tied the bright piece of cloth around his neck. Remounting he and Lucas rode on.

As they disappeared down the street a man stopped by the woman’s scarf display. "You make any money, Rosita? Give me what you got." He opened the cigar box she used to keep her money in.

"No, Carlos. No." She grabbed at the box. "It is for the baby. We need food for the baby." But she was unable to stop him. Carlos shoved her away. The money held in his fist, he threw the cigar box at her feet. The baby started crying and Rosita turned away to comfort her as Carlos sauntered down the dusty street and into a cantina.

As Carlos pushed open the door to the cantina, three men came out. One tall rider reached down and picked up a coin. "Hey, Mister," said Buck Wilmington, but Carlos was already inside. "Oh, well," Wilmington started to put the old silver dollar into his pocket, then realized Chris Larabee and Josiah Sanchez were watching him. "I ain’t steelin’ it. I found it."

"So you did," commented Josiah, his tone saying more than his words.

Chris tipped his hat back, and grinned, enjoying the exchange between his friends without saying anything.

"Well, here," said Wilmington, disgruntled and embarrassed. "Put it in the church fund when we get back." He thrust the coin at Josiah’s open hand.

Josiah took the coin and held it up to squint at it, the sun glinting off it. His rough, callused thumb noted the nick in the edge. "The Lord sure do work in mysterious ways," he muttered as he slid the coin into his vest pocket.

Chris stifled a hoot of laughter as he and his friends mounted to leave Santa Fe and head back for Four Corners.

**********

 J. D.? I need some more nails," exclaimed Josiah, in an exasperated tone. "I done asked you twice. I gave you that silver dollar to buy ‘em with. Now quite sparkin’ that gal and go get them. That is if you going to help me fix this cabinet for Casey."

The young man and his girl sat on the end of the wagon’s tailgate, feet swinging, and holding hands. They had been watching Josiah as he repaired a broken drawer in a small end table. Casey had driven in with the broken piece of furniture hoping Josiah would fix it. It had, Josiah knew, been a good excuse for her to be able to see J. D.

"All right, all right," complained J. D. as he slid off the wagon and headed down the street for the hardware store.

Josiah had an annoyed look on his face. "And remember I said I need a half pound of four penny finishing nails," he added as he watched J. D. leave. Then he turned and winked at Casey, causing her to giggle.

There was a pound of hooves as the stagecoach appeared at the end of the street. J. D. paused to let it go by. It stopped in front of the saloon. The driver hollered down at his passengers as they disembarked. "Be ‘bout two hours, folks. Long ‘nough to take a good break, and change horses. Get you some grub, and then we’ll be headed out again." Several men got off the coach.

J. D. stared at the last man to get off. He wore a dusty, black suit and had a gunbelt tied low on his hip. To J.D.’s eye he looked like a man who knew how to use that pistol. A man who might mean trouble for him and his friends. Trouble for Four Corners. He sure did look like a gunslinger. The man went into the saloon and J. D. decided he should follow and find out what he could. Especially as he was the Sheriff.

He looked around and spotted two small boys playing marbles on the boardwalk in front of the newspaper office. "Hey, Billy. I got a job for you."

"Yeah," answered one of the boys. "Doin’ what?"

"Here," J. D. walked over to the boy. "Josiah needs some nails. A half-pound of four penny finishing nails. Go down to the hardware store, get him some and take them to him. Think you can do that?"

"So what’s in it for me," grumbled the boy. He hadn’t been observing the seven men who helped guard the town without learning a little bit of how to get things for himself.

"Well," J. D. thought a moment. "You can use the change to get yourself some candy. You and your friend."

Billy grabbed the dollar out of J. D.’s hand. He and his friend gathered up their marbles before running down to the hardware store.

J. D. paced down the street toward the saloon, taking a moment to rub the Sheriff’s badge pinned on his vest.

 "Now what’s taking that boy so long." Josiah laid his hammer on the wooden cabinet. He looked down the street but all he saw was two boys. He recognized one as Mary Travis’s boy, Billy.

"I’m sure he got sidetracked, as usual," said Casey.

The boys came on until they had to stop or run into Josiah’s legs. Billy handed a paper sack up to the big man. "Here’s your nails that J. D. said you wanted," said Billy around a mouthful of gumdrops. The other boy didn’t say anything as he sucked loudly on a licorice stick.

"Where’s my change?" asked Josiah.

"Ah – ah – h, - change?" stammered Billy "J. D. said to get some candy with it."

"He did, did he," Josiah could see he wasn’t going to get anything back. He was fixing the table and paying for the nails and for the kid’s candy, too. "You got any left? How ‘bout some for me?"

Billy held out another sack, and Josiah peaked inside, then withdrew a slightly damaged peppermint stick. "One for Casey, too," he said, motioning to the girl still sitting on the wagon’s tailgate.

Billy hesitated, eyes wide at the sight of his candy disappearing, but handed the sack over. Casey chose a jawbreaker. Billy and his friend were suddenly gone before any more of the candy had to be given up. Grinning at the boys and Casey, Josiah returned to work on the cabinet, peppermint stick in the side of his mouth.

"Wonder what happened to J. D.?" asked Casey. She jumped off the wagon and went in search of her errant boyfriend as the sound of hammering filled the churchyard.

"Youngin’s," muttered Josiah, as he gently tapped in another of the finishing nails.

*********

J. D. entered the saloon. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, he saw several of his friends sitting at a table and joined them. “Anyone know who he is?” he tipped his head toward the man who sat at a corner table eating a bowl of Inez’s good, hot chili.

“No, can’t say as I do,” said Buck Wilmington as he sipped a beer. “Or that I care.” He was more interested in staring at Inez as she waited on customers.

Ezra Standish moved a card on his game of solitaire. “Never seen him, that I can remember. Don’t think I want to either. He looks like trouble.”

“He sure does,” agreed J. D. “Wears his gun tied down like a gunslinger.”

Leaned back in his chair, hat over his eyes, Chris Larabee looked to be asleep, but he had heard and seen everything. “Leave that one alone, J. D. He won’t start any trouble, but he might just finish it, if it starts. And I don’t want no trouble today.”

Furtively a man came through the bat wing doors and sidled up to the bar. “Bottle of whiskey,” whispered the hardware salesman to Inez as he always did. It was an old story to her. He didn’t want his wife to know he had been in the saloon, but she was sure the woman knew about her husband’s drinking. Inez handed him a bottle of the cheapest liqueur she had, and he knowing the price, laid several coins on the counter. One coin was a grimy silver dollar he had just taken in payment for some nails bought by a small boy. He slid the bottle into a large pocket on the inside of his coat and was gone out the door. Inez hissed through her teeth. “Snake. He is a snake. He will never be a man.”

The stranger had finished his chili and the big, thick chunk of bread that had been served with it. Now he lingered over his beer. When he had drained the mug, he took it and the bowl back to the bar, setting them down in front of the waitress. “Good food. I appreciate it. What do I owe you?” His voice was soft with a southern drawl.

This one, Inez thought, was a man. Much man. “Thank you, Senior,” she answered. “One dollar, and I will throw in another beer.”

“You got a deal,” the stranger said. He searched through his pockets. “Sorry, ma’am. All I got is a ten-dollar gold piece. Used all my change I guess.”

“Not to worry, Senior.” Inez took the gold coin, chose some change from a cash drawer, then handed it to the stranger. One of the coins being the battered silver dollar she had just received from the hardware salesman for his bottle of whiskey. The stranger dropped the coins in a pocket and added the bills to his wallet.

Against his friend’s advice, J. D. walked up beside the stranger. “Saw you get off the stage, Mister. You gonna be in town long?”

The stranger looked at J. D., noting the badge he wore with such obvious pride. “Don’t plan on it, Sheriff. You got reason for asking?”

“Just thought I’d let you know we don’t want no trouble here. Where you from?”

“That boy ain’t never gonna learn,” Buck growled, his right hand hovering near his pistol, as he took another sip of his beer. He, Ezra, and Larabee were ready and expecting trouble to break out, now that J.D. had decided to brace the stranger.

“Virginia, originally,” answered the stranger tolerantly of a question that generally wasn’t asked of strangers.

“Where you headed? What’s your business here?” J. D. knew he was pushing the man, but stubbornness made him do it anyway.

The stranger was getting a bit perturbed by the questions. “North, not that it’s any of your business.” He, too, was trying to avoid trouble with the young, persistent lawman. “I work for Judge Garth, at Shilo Ranch, outside of Medicine Bow, Wyoming. I’ll be leavin’ soon as the stage is ready.”

Chris Larabee left his chair and moved up beside the bar. “J.D., leave the man alone. He’s just passin’ through.”

J.D. realized he had been pushing to hard. “Just tryin’ to do my job,” he grumbled as he walked away.

Inez handed the stranger another beer. He took a big swallow, as she drew another for Chris. “Sorry,” Chris said. “J.D. don’t mean no harm. He’s still a bit young and takes his job seriously.”

“I can see that,” said the stranger. “Good thing to take a job seriously, most of the time.”

“You’re the one they call The Virginian, aren’t you. Sorry, I’m as bad as J.D.” Chris took a drink of his beer.

The Virginian chucked softly. “Some call me that.”

“Heard Shilo was a good ranch to work for?”

“It is.”

“Always wanted to see Wyoming and that Medicine Bow country. Hear it’s real pretty. Might head up that way sometime.”

“It is that. Stop in, if you do,” invited the Virginian. He had recognized Larabee as being a man a lot like himself.

The stage driver poked his head in the door. “Stage is ready to go.”

The Virginian tipped his hat to Inez. “Ma’am.” He walked out the door.

“Sure didn’t want no trouble with that galoot,” commented Buck Wilmington.

**********

A nicely dressed woman can out of the newspaper office, and looked up and down the dusty street of the small western town. She was the owner and editor of The Clarion News. "Billy?" called Mary, as she looked for her son. She spotted him across the street playing marbles with his friend. Disgustedly she took in the sight of her son. He was filthy dirty, and had the remains of sticky candy smeared across his face. The last jawbreaker was still in his mouth. "Where did you get that candy?"

Billy knew he was in trouble. "From J.D. and Josiah," he mumbled.

Mary sighed in exasperation, then took her son by the arm. Sometimes she wasn’t so sure the seven were a very good influence on him. "I think it’s time for you to clean up, young man." Mary marched Billy into the house for a bath.

**********

 The Virginian stepped off the stagecoach in Medicine Bow, right into Betsy Garth’s arms. “Oh, it’s so good to see you,” she squealed as she hugged him. “You’ve been gone so long.”

“Only two weeks,” he said as he hugged her back and shook hands with the Judge. The Virginian was as fond of the Judge’s daughter, Betsy as if she had been his own daughter. “It was good to get away from here, - and you – for a while,” he teased her. She punched him lightly on the arm.

“So I gather you had a good trip?” asked the Judge.

“Sure did,” answered The Virginian. “All taken care of, and it is good to be back.”

After a quick lunch, the rancher, his daughter, and foreman drove off toward Shilo ranch. Yes, thought The Virginian, it was good to be home.

A week of hard ranch work passed for The Virginian and his crew. Then another, and payday rolled around. Over the next few days several small poker games helped break up the evening hours in the bunkhouse. Even The Virginian sat in on a couple of hands one evening. After loosing several silver dollars to Trampas he left to go over the books with the Judge.

Trampas picked up the coins he had won and stacked them neatly beside himself. The chipped silver dollar caught his eye. He picked it up and held it up to the light of the lamp hanging over the scratched and scarred table. “Hope this one is real. Be just like the Boss to pawn off fake money on me,” he said. “Looks like somebody tried to take a bit out of it.”

“Looks real enough to me,” said Beldon, as he shuffled the deck of cards. “You gonna play or not.”

“Sure, sure, deal the cards.”

Within minutes Beldon had the silver dollar, but not for long, as Trampas won it back, and then lost it to another cowhand named Fred.

The following night another game was started and this time it was Randy Boone who ended up with the dented dollar. As the next day was Saturday and he was expected to play for the dance to be held that evening, Randy took off early to go to town so he could buy some new guitar strings.

On Monday the storekeeper where Randy had bought the guitar strings made a deposit to the bank. There were several silver dollars, including one that was chipped. As evening approached the banker drew the blinds over the windows, ushered old Mrs. Hemmer out and started to shut and lock the door. Just before he turned the lock the door was thrust open and a revolver shoved within inches of his nose.

“Hands Up! Don’t make a sound and do exactly as your told and no one gets hurt,” whispered a harsh voice. The banker’s hands shot into the air. He couldn’t speak; his mouth was to dry, so he just nodded his head. The bank robber had a bandanna tied over his mouth and his hat was pulled low, as did the man behind him.

The second outlaw threw a big, burlap bag at the woman teller. “Fill it,” he commanded in a hoarse voice. “Be quick.” The other teller, a young man, raised his hands.

White-faced with fear, the woman did as told and dumped her drawer and the other tills into the bag.

“Now the safe,” said the robber, wiggling his gun in the direction of the small, walk-in safe, that the banker had unlocked only moments before in anticipation of adding the money from the day’s transactions to it. The woman ducked inside the safe and when the bag was bulging the robber grabbed it from her.

“Don’t nobody stick your head out this door, or I’ll shoot it off,” said the first outlaw, as he and his companion turned to leave, but the other teller, the young man, thinking to stop them, grabbed a gun hid under the counter. Seeing what he was doing, one of the robbers fired a shot and the would-be hero fell to the floor, blood pouring from his arm where the bullet had smashed it.

The two bank robbers darted into the street where a third man had been waiting with the horses. As the outlaws mounted, the banker yelled from the doorway, and fired the pistol his teller had tried to get.

Taking a couple of quick shots back at the bank, the outlaws raced out of town, the bag of money hanging from the saddle of the leader.

At the sound of gunshots Deputy Sheriff Emmett Ryker, ran out of his office, and was almost run down by the escaping bank robbers.

“It was Butch Cassidy,” yelled the banker. “I been robbed by Butch Cassidy, and I think I hit him. I shot Butch Cassidy!”

**********

 Moving along at a good pace, but not to fast, Josh Randall noticed the sun hitting something shiny in the dirt of the road he was traveling. There was another one about ten feet from the first.

"Whoa, boy," he spoke to his horse, and swung down out of the saddle to have a look. "Now, that’s what I thought that was," he said to himself as he picked up the quarter and brushed it off. He looked around to see if anyone might be watching him. It might be some kind of a trap. "Now, who would a left a quarter just a layin’ here in the dirt. Somebody must a lost it."

He walked to the next coin, a nickel, and picked it up, and then to the third one, another silver dollar, with another nickel beside it. There was two more quarters near it. Dropping the coins in his pocket Josh hunkered down to examine the fresh horse tracks that surrounded the coins. At the sound of another horse approaching, Josh stood up and led his horse to the side of the road; his right hand resting on the modified carbine rifle he wore tied to his leg.

The rider pulled up when he saw Randall, and the two men stared as they looked each other over.

"Josh Randall? Is that you?" said the rider.

"Yeah, it is," agreed Josh. "What are you doin’ out here, Ryker?"

Emmett touched his badge. "Deputy Sheriff of Medicine Bow. Had a bank robbery this evening. I’m tryin’ to catch up to the robbers."

Josh looked around and down the road behind Ryker. "Well, where’s your posse?"

"Ah, hell. Them city folks. They all wanted to eat their suppers first. Bank teller got shot, so’s now they’re all afraid. Most likely I can make better time by myself anyway. There’s three of them. Ridin’ hard by the looks of the tracks. Banker said one was ridin’ a sorrel. Two on bays. He said it was Butch Cassidy and he shot and wounded him."

"Shot Butch Cassidy?" quarried Josh.

Emmett chuckled. "He fired a gun at the robbers, but I doubt he hit one. I was surprised he had the guts to even shoot at them. I ain’t seen any blood and they ain’t slowed up none. And if it really is Cassidy, I’ll only believe it when I catch him. You seen anyone, Randall?"

"No, I ain’t But there are three sets a fresh tracks here." He pointed at the ground. "There a reward on these men?"

Emmett dismounted an examined the tracks. "Same one’s I been following from Medicine Bow. No, not that I know of. Banker didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout a reward, but I didn’t ask. But if you was to help me catch ‘em, he or the town, might be willin’ to make it worth your while. Can’t say for sure."

"Will, I ain’t in no rush to be nowhere. I’ll tag along for awhile, if you don’t mind?"

"Would be obliged for you help." Ryker and Randall mounted their horses and followed the tracks. A mile or so down the road Emmett pulled up and got down. He picked up several coins and a dollar bill. "This is the second pile of coins I’ve found. I’d say the bag they put the money in has a hole in it."

"Maybe so," said Josh. He didn’t say anything about the few coins he had picked up as he watched Emmett put the money in his saddlebags. It might be the only pay he got for helping the town of Medicine Bow. Minutes later the trail they followed left the main road and began to wind and twist across the Wyoming prairie. Now the outlaws were trying to hide their trail and it took longer to follow it, and dark was closing in, even on this long summer day.

********

It was the afternoon of the next day before the lawman and the bounty hunter topped a ridge to see their prey. They had not realized they were that close on the rail of the robbers, and it seemed the outlaws were just as shocked to see the two man posse almost on top of them. They kicked their horses into a run. Randall and Ryker were hot on their heels, and the chase was on. In a quick mile the distance had closed to a few feet and the fugitives where shooting back at the lawmen. Emmett drew his pistol and fired. In amazement he watched one thief tumble off his horse. While Randall continued after the other two, Ryker pulled up, leaped from his saddle and collared the man who had dropped his gun when he fell.

“Don’t shoot!” gasped the man, cowering on the ground. “Don’t shoot. I think my arm’s broken.” He held his right arm gingerly with his left hand. Blood leaking between his fingers.

Ryker didn’t feel to sorry for the man. The teller at the bank would be glad to know that the man who had shot him had suffered the same fate. Emmett snapped a pair of handcuffs on him and then tied a makeshift bandage on his arm, hoping it would stop the bleeding. At the same time he was listening to the gun shots from the fight in the rocks a few hundred yards on down the trail. The other two outlaws had holed up in a stand of trees and boulders. Josh had settled in behind a rock outcropping with a juniper tree on top of it. He knew he would be glad of the shade if the fight lasted very long. He decided it might, as there were several trees where the outlaws were, too. It might last a long time or at least until someone ran out of bullets or water. Or both.

Josh peaked over his rock, and a bullet thudded into the ground in front of him throwing up a geyser of dirt. He fired a shot in return at a patch of blue shirt he could just barely see. The man yelped in surprise as a shower of rock chips struck him.

Josh wondered what was taking Ryker so long as he continued to shoot at the robbers to keep them pinned down, and they at him. He didn’t relish the idea of the fight lasting any longer than was necessary. He took of his hat and wiped at the sweat in it with his bandanna.

Emmett had tied his prisoner to a tree and gone to help Randall. Seeing where his friend was positioned and how he had the robbers pinned down, Emmett took his time to make a long, slow, circle so he could come in behind the bandits.

“Could you use some help, Emmett?”

Emmett spun around, gun ready to fire, at the voice. He thought he recognized the man who knew his name. “Cheyenne?” he asked at the sight of the big man. There was another man beside of Bodie. “Jim Crown?”

“None other. What’s goin’ on, Emmett?” The Marshal gestured toward the occasional sound of gunfire.

“Got two bank robbers pinned down. I’m tryin’ to get behind them.”

“Who’s that fella up on the ridge?” asked Crown.

Emmett smiled. “You’ll never guess. It’s Josh Randall.”

“The bounty hunter?” said Crown and Bodie in unison.

“The same,” answered Ryker.

“If they’re who I think they are,” said Crown, explaining why they were there, “these men been robbin’ banks, and stagecoaches over a large area of the west. I been on their trail for several weeks. Cheyenne’s been helping me.”

“Well, let’s go give Randall a hand,” said Bodie, pulling his large revolver.

Ryker was glad they were there. “Glad to have your help. I already got one of them tied up back there, a ways.”

From different directions, the three men sneaked up on the outlaws, who were concentrating on Josh Randall, and were unaware that anyone was behind them. Emmett called out. “Put your guns down, and your hands in the air!”

“Your surrounded,” yelled Cheyenne who was about a hundred yards to Emmett’s right.

“I’d do what they say, if you know what’s good for you,” added Marshal Crown from his place to Ryker’s left.

At the sound of three different voices, and knowing there was at least one or more men who had been shooting at them, the two robbers looked at each other in disgust, dropped their weapons, and put their hands in the air, as instructed. “Don’t shoot. We’re comin’ out.”

“Hold your fire Randall, we got them covered,” Emmett yelled out so that Josh would know what was going on.

Randall was glad Emmett had the outlaws captured but he wondered who ‘we’ would turn out to be. Could it really be that one of them was the notorious Butch Cassidy? He wasn’t thrilled when he found out Bodie and Crown had joined the posse, but was happier when the two decided to head on back to the Cimmaron, while he and Ryker took the prisoners back to Medicine Bow. It was the nearest town to find a doctor for the injured man, and the lawmen would let a judge decide what jurisdiction would get to try the outlaws first for the many crimes they had committed.

********** 

A couple of days later Ryker watched as Randall saddled his horse. "Still say you could stay for a while, Josh. I sure could use a good deputy. The town wouldn’t object."

"No," said Josh. "No I don’t think so. Don’t seem to pay very good." He considered the small reward the town had given him for helping bring in the bank robbers. That banker had sure been upset that it hadn’t been Butch Cassidy that had robbed his bank. But he had been glad to get the money back. Or most of it. No one had ever mentioned the few coins Josh had picked up. There were still in his pocket. He and Emmett had found a hole in the bag that the money had been slowly escaping out of.

"Yeah, you got a point there," agreed Ryker, "but Medicine Bow is a good town to live in. And it’s a job."

"For you, maybe, but not for me." The bounty hunter turned and looked at the street and buildings of the small town. The pay was less, but maybe it would be better than the constant riding from place to place and never having a place to call home. He noticed a group of cowboys as they rode up the street, joking and teasing each other, ready for a night on the town. "Who’s the fella on the buckskin?" asked Josh, as he took a second look at the man. He was sure he knew him from somewhere.

Emmett was watching the men, too, and hoping they wouldn’t cause too much trouble tonight. "That’s the Shilo crew. That’s Trampas on the buckskin. You know him?"

"Uh huh. Him and me had a run in once. Think I’ll just mosey on out a town." Randall quickly mounted up.

Well in that case it might be a good idea, thought Emmett, as he shook Randall’s hand in farewell. He didn’t need Josh and Trampas getting into a fight. "Where you headed?"

"Oh-o-o, I was thinkin’ ‘bout headin’ on down t’ward Texas for a while. I remember a pretty gal I knew down there once." He touched his boot heels to his horse’s sides and clucked to it. "Let’s go."

**********

 Not a breath of air stirred as the sun beat down mercilessly on the small bordertown. Puffs of dust lifted from the ground as the hooves of the black horse pounded the ground as the horse and rider walked slowly up the street. The unbearable heat had pushed most people indoors or into a patch of shade somewhere for an afternoon siesta. Four men sat in the shade of a porch in front of the mercantile, where it was only a few degrees cooler than out in the street.

"Look’s familiar," growled a gravely voiced man, as he watched the stranger stop at the livery stable and dismount.

"Simmer down, Bennett," came another voice from under a hat pulled low over his face. The Ranger had his legs stretched out so he could prop his feet on the porch rail. "You always think ever body looks familiar. This heat’s getin’ to you."

"It’s getting to all of us," said the third man who had been leaning against a post. "But Reese is right. He does look like someone I should know. Keep an eye on him. I got more of that damn paper work to do."

"Sure thin, Captain," answered the forth man for himself and his friends. "But we might have trouble comin’ from another direction. Especially for Joe." Chad Cooper nodded his head down the street the other way.

The other three Texas Rangers looked that way. The one with the hat over his face, used one finger to push it up enough to see what Chad was talking about. "Oh! No!" groaned Joe Riley, as if in pain. Then he was up and gone, disappearing around the corner of the building.

Reese let out a harsh cackle of a laugh, as Chad chuckled with him. The sight of the odd Indian couple, Blue Dog and Linda Little Trees was the only thing that could make Riley move that fast. It had been an on going problem for some time now. Linda Little Trees was completely enamored by Joe and wanted to marry him. Blue Dog was in love with Little Trees, so consequently wanted to get rid of his competition, namely Joe Riley.

As they watched Blue Dog passed something to Little Trees. Captain Ed Parmalee smothered an oath. "Those two crazy Indians have a bottle of whiskey. Cooper, Bennett take care of this before there’s a problem." He turned on his heel and left. He remembered the mess it had caused a couple of times before when the two Indians had become drunk and disorderly. Of course they were usually disorderly even when they weren’t drunk.

The relentless sun still beat down, causing heat waves to shimmer at each end of the town of Laredo, Texas. The Rangers watched their Captain head for his office and then watched the familiar looking stranger leave the livery stable and walk toward the nearest saloon, which just happened to be where Blue Dog and Linda Little Trees were making their inebriated way toward.

Reese Bennett took off his hat and used a dirty bandanna to wipe out the sweat and re-seated the hat on his head. "It’s to hot for any trouble to break out. Even from them two."

"Reese, for once I think you might be right. Anyway, I sure hope so." Chad Cooper sat down in the chair that Joe Riley had vacated, propped his feet on the rail and tipped his hat over his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to have to arrest anyone today.

***********

 Josh Randall barely noticed the two Indians as he entered the saloon. His only thought being it had to be cooler inside than out here in the street, and, oh, how good a cool beer was going to taste. And it was cooler inside, at least by a few degrees. Josh flipped a coin on the bar. "Beer, bartender."

The lethargic bartender drew a mug full of beer and placed it in front of his only customer and palmed the coin. Hearing the swish of the batwing doors opening again he looked up and swore viscously when he saw who had entered.

Josh looked around but could only see the two Indians. Surely they couldn’t be that big of a problem. Maybe the bartender just didn’t like Indians. A lot of people didn’t. Josh thought of them the same way he did anyone else. As long as they didn’t bother him he wouldn’t bother them. Unless they had a price on their head. He turned back to his beer. It wasn’t cold, in fact it was barely cool, but at least it was wet and cut the dust.

As he raised the glass to his mouth his elbow was jostled, causing him to get the foam from the beer all over his face. He swiped at the froth, turned and he found the Indian woman leaning on the bar and staring at him, kind of like a moon-eyed calf. She reached out and patted his arm. "Me like you, white man. You like Indian woman. I make you good woman."

Before Josh could think of an appropriate answer he felt someone push him from the other side. "You no want woman, white-eyes. Linda Little Trees my woman. You leave her alone. Or I cut your throat."

The rank smell of whiskey breath that enveloped Josh caused him to take a step backwards. "That’s fine, Mr. Indian," said Josh to the short, stout man. "That’s just fine. I ain’t got no interest in your woman." He turned to the tall, slim woman who might have been halfways good looking if she had been cleaned up. "Sorry, ma’am. I don’t need no woman, least wise not right now. Just my beer." He held up the almost empty mug and tired to step away from them.

The woman shoved him in the chest with both hands. "You no like Linda Little Trees? Why you no like? I like you, white man." She ran her hands up and down his arms, roughly, almost pinching Josh. "Very strong. You look very strong. I like very strong man."

"No, ma’am," said Josh quickly. "I ain’t strong. I’m week as can be." Josh tried to pull away from the persistent woman. He didn’t want any trouble. He just wanted to get away from her. From his other side the other Indian was pulling at him.

"Little Trees is Blue Dog’s woman, leave her to Blue Dog. You leave my woman alone or you loose your hair. Me got big scalping knife."

"I bet you have. And I’ll gladly leave your woman alone, if she will leave me alone," said Josh. It was way too hot, and he was too tired for this kind of a problem today. He turned to leave the bar. "You just take her away." He tried to push the woman toward the Indian man.

"You, Indian, Blue Dog," yelled the bartender. "Get outa here. I don’t need no trouble with no drunk redskin. Mister, you got problems with them Indians you take it outside. I don’t need no trouble in here. I’ll call the rangers." He pulled an ax handle out from under the bar, and raised it threateningly. "Outside now."

Rangers, thought Josh, as he moved through the bat-winged doors and into the street. All he needed was trouble with the Texas Rangers. He realized the two Indians were following him. The woman was still asking him if he was strong and if he needed a strong woman, and the man threatening to cut his throat, and take his scalp, although Josh noticed he didn’t have a knife in his hand yet.

From across the street Bennett and Cooper watched the commotion in front of the saloon. "Damn it, anyway," said Reese. "now why couldn’t them two a just gone an slept it off somewhere."

Cooper stood up. "Come on. Let’s go stop it ‘fore the Captain hear’s ‘em." The two drunk Indians and the stranger were raising their voices in argument, and the bartender stood at the door threatening all of them with an ax handle if they tried to come back in.

Josh had had about all he could take of the obnoxious couple. All he had wanted was a cool drink, a meal, and to rest awhile. "Now, look," he pushed Blue Dog out of his face. "That’s enough. I ain’t got no interest in no woman a any kind. Now get out a my way, an leave me alone."

Linda Little Trees grabbed hold of his arm and hung on. "I go with you, white man. I no like Blue Dog no more. What your name, white man?"

"No!" growled Josh harshly, jerking his arm loose, which caused the woman to lurch and stumble and fall to sit ungainly on the ground, her legs sprawled out in front of her.

At the sight of the love of his life sitting on the dusty street, Blue Dog got mad. He howled an Indian war cry, as he yanked a big knife out of a sheath on his belt and pointed it at the stranger, but he didn’t get any farther as Josh planted a fist in his midsection, causing the Indian to sit down on the street beside of the Indian woman.

Now it was Linda Little Trees turn to get mad at the sight of Blue Dog getting hit. She screamed and with a flurry of fist, feet, long black braids and bright calico skirts, she attacked Josh, hitting and kicking him. Blue Dog got onto his feet and shrieking an Indian warcry, jumped onto the back of the bounty hunter, causing Josh and the two Indians to go down in a heap where they rolled in the dirt fighting and yelling. Dust rose almost obscuring the view the rangers had of the scuffle.

Chad grabbed Little Trees and pulled her out of the fight. "Whoa, whoa. That ain’t no way for a lady to act."

"She ain’t no lady," hollered Reese as he waded into the fight and let loose with a wild swing, that left Blue Dog sitting on the ground rubbing his jaw. "You, there. Stay put and behave yourself, Blue Dog." He grabbed the Indian, pinning his arms behind his back. "Stop that!"

By now Josh was really mad. He got to his feet and was reaching for his gun, but it wasn’t where it should have been in it’s holster on his leg. He looked around in surprise.

"You lookin’ fer this," Joe Riley held the fancy, sawed-off gun in one hand, and Blue Dog’s knife in the other. "Now what’s goin’ on here?"

Josh knew when he was outnumbered. Actually he was thankful for the interference. He sure hadn’t been winning. He wiped at a smear of blood and dirt on his chin. One eye was beginning to swell. "These two started in on me. In the saloon there. I don’t want no trouble." He bent over and picked up his hat, dusted it off, and resettled it on his head.

"Don’t want no trouble, he says," chuckled Cooper. "Brawlin’ in the street and he don’t want no trouble."

The bartender walked up. "You Rangers best keep them Indians outa my saloon, if you know what’s good for you. And get that feller outa here, too. He started it. Bringin’ them Indians into my saloon."

"I did not," yelled Josh. "I don’t even know ‘em. They started it. I just wanted a beer."

"Don’t matter who started it," said Chad, "you’re all goin’ to jail. Now come on. And you," he gave a weathering look at the bartender. "Get back inside before you finish cookin’ what little brains you got left. Go back to your bartending."

Appalled at the Rangers attitude toward him, the bartender ducked back inside the saloon.

"Jail," questioned Josh. "I didn’t do nothin’, ‘cept defend myself."

"Yeah, jail. And you can sleep it off," said Joe.

"I ain’t drunk," complained Josh.

"I don’t care," said Reese, as he began walking Blue Dog down the street toward the jail. "You can sleep it off anyway. I ain’t in the mood for no trouble from the likes of you fellas. Not today."

Within minutes Josh found himself locked in a jail cell, and thankfully the Rangers put Blue Dog and Little Trees in another cell. Well, anyway he was out of the sun and had a bunk to rest on. It wasn’t the first time he had spent a night in jail. If only the two bickering Indians would be quiet.

It was late evening when Josh woke up, but the sun was still making it’s journey across the sky, although it was low in the west now. His mouth was dry as cotton, and his belly was trying to remind him it had been a long time since he had eaten. His jaw was sore and he could barely see out of his left eye. To top it off Blue Dog and Little Trees were at it again. Only now it seemed Little Trees had turned her attentions toward the Ranger, Joe Riley.

Joe sat in a chair, feet propped on an old, beat-up desk. He, too, attempted to ignore the arguing Indians. Little Trees was declaring her undying love for him, while saying how much she hated Blue Dog. Blue Dog was devising all kinds of bodily harm for Joe, if Joe even looked at ‘his woman’. Finally Riley couldn’t take any more of the nit-picking couple. "That’s enough," he said in a loud voice. "I don’t want to hear no more from either of you. Just shut up."

"Yeah," agreed Josh. "Just shut up. Let me sleep some more."

Blue Dog spun around to look at Josh. "You, white eyes, you shut up. You no tell Blue Dog what to do. Blue Dog only do what Blue Dog want."

"Yeah, your gonna do it from a jail cell, huh," mumbled Josh.

Reese came through the open door, with Chad following. "Cap’in Pramalee, says turn them three loose, and run ‘em out a town, so we don’t have to feed ‘em tonight."

"Fine with me, long as they leave town, and don’t cause no more trouble," said Joe.

Cooper plucked the keys off a wooden peg on the wall, and unlocked both cell doors.

"Thanks," said Josh, as he picked up his hat and stepped out of the cell. "Be obliged for my gun."

Joe stood up, and handed him his weapon. "Make sure you leave soon as you can saddle your horse. Don’t plan on spending the night ‘round here."

"Oh, I’m goin’. I can’t wait to get out of this here town. It’s about as unwelcome as a town can be."

Chad ushered Blue Dog and Linda Little Trees out the door. "And you two stay out a Laredo, too. We don’t need your drunken shanagans around here. You done caused enough trouble today."

"Me want Joe Riley. I stay with Riley. Or I go, if he goes." It was Little Trees again, arms crossed, feet planted on the boardwalk, and a ill-humored, sullen expression on her face.

"NO!" yelled Joe. "I ain’t gonna have you followin’ me ‘round, Little Trees. Now go. Get. Just get outa here. Vamoose. And don’t come back." Anyone could see that Riley was aggravated and getting irritated at the Indian woman by the second. She had been plaguing him for a long time.

Blue Dog pushed Linda Little Trees out the door as he spat cuss words in his Indian language as well as in English. But Little Trees suddenly had a different idea. "I go," she said. "I go with this white man. Strong white man. What your name?" She had latched onto Josh’s arm. He tried to shake her off, but she clung tightly.

Blue Dog pulled at her. "No, Little Trees. You come with me."

Little Trees turned loose of Josh and swung a fist at Blue Dog, who ducked, and it was Josh who got hit. Josh staggered back a step, and into Reese Bennett. "Not again," bellowed Reese.

By this time Josh had had all he could take of the outlandish goings on between the Texas Rangers and the Indians. His temper raising to a hotter temperature than the heat of the sun at midday, Randall doubled up his fist and swung and hit Bennett square on the jaw. The Ranger went down with a loud thud. Hitting the big Ranger didn’t seem to accomplish much, except to make all the Rangers mad at him again, and Josh suddenly found himself back in the jail cell with the key clinking in the lock. Josh sat down on the bunk and leaned back with an exasperated sigh. "Just what I wanted," he said, as he tipped his hat over his face, and clo0sed his eyes. "Just what I wanted." That is as long as the Rangers ran Blue Dog and Little Trees out of Laredo and brought him some supper. A night in jail would be worth it, if he didn’t have to ever see those two Indians again.

Reese stuck his head back in through the door. "By the way, what is your name, Mister?"

Josh raised his hat back up, and answered Bennett. "Randall, Josh Randall."

For a moment Reese didn’t say anything, then it came to him who Josh was. "The bounty hunter?"

"Well, yeah, guess I am," said Josh. "When do you feed your prisoners, Mister Ranger?"

It was late the next morning before Bennett released Josh from jail. "Before you go, Mister Big Bounty Hunter," said Bennett. "There’s the little matter of payin’ the fine."

"Fine?" asked Josh.

"Yeah," said Reese. "Fine. Fer hittin’ a Ranger." Reese held out his hand. "Pay up."

Josh sighed in annoyance. Boy would he be glad to get out of Laredo. "How much?"

"Oh, I figure ‘bout five bucks ought a cover it."

"Five bucks. That’s robbery." Josh reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of change and slapped it into the Ranger’s outstretched hand. One silver dollar was badly worn and had a nick in the edge of it. Josh remembered it was part of the coins he had found that had escaped from the bankrobbers up north in Wyoming. Oh, well, he thought, as long as he could get out of this crazy town. "That enough?"

Reese chuckled and said, "It’ll do."

"Then I’m leavin’. And hope I never have to come back to Laredo again." Josh beat a hasty retreat from the Ranger jail, almost running into another Ranger. Captain Parmalee sidestepped to keep from being run over by Randall, then entered the Ranger office.

"Make sure you don’t, bounty hunter," said Reese to the man’s retreating back. "Bounty hunters, always troublemakers."

"Bennett, I want you, Cooper, and Riley to ride out to that trail herd, north of town, and check the brands," said the Captain. "Make sure they match the trail boss’s papers. What’s that money for?"

Reese was still holding his hand out with Randall’s fine in it. "Oh – that. Oh – Aaaa, nothin’, Cap’in – just nothin’." He slid the money into his pocket. "Yes, Sir, Cap’in Parmalee. We’ll go check out them trail herd brands. Do it right now. I’ll go get Cooper and Riley, and get right on it." The Ranger left the office almost at a run.

Parmalee watched Bennett intercept Cooper and Riley who where just leaving a nearby café, and they headed for the corrals, where the Ranger horses were kept. He wondered, as he always did, how he had been saddled with three such goof-offs. But, he thought, they did make life interesting.

********

The three Rangers waked their horses into the trailherd camp and waited to be invited to dismount. A bewhiskered man with an apron tired around his waist watched them a moment before he asked. “You fella’s lookin’ for work?”

“No,” said Chad. “We’re Texas Rangers. Been sent out to check over the brands with the trail boss.”

“All right,” said the cook. “Light down and have some grub and coffee. Boss’s been expectin’ you. He’ll be here directly.” He turned to a cowhand that was just finishing his noon meal. “Scarlet, go tell Mr. Favor we got company.”

Chad, Joe, and Reese dismounted, picked up tin plates and cups of the tailgate of the chuckwagon and helped themselves to stew and coffee. While they ate they watched the cowpunchers at work putting the trailherd together.

In a few minutes two riders made there way around the edge of the herd and into camp. They dismounted and the cook handed each a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Wishbone,” said the younger man, while the older, taller one just nodded his appreciation. Both men wore heavy, cotton shirts and pants with the added protection of rawhide vests and chaps, and well-worn boots and hats. They had been working for several hours under the hot, Texas sun and were covered with dust and sweat.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” asked the taller man. His attitude and mannerisms left no doubt that he was in charge.

“You the trail boss?” asked Bennett. “We’re