“That’ll be a nickel, Mister.”

The barkeep put the glass on the scarred wooden counter in front of the lanky drover.  Rowdy Yates tossed the coin to the man, took a long pull on the beer and turned to survey the room with a satisfied sigh.

“Three Queens.” The card sharp at the corner table laid down his hand and raked in the pot.  Rowdy Yates grinned.  He did love the ladies.  The Queen of Hearts had certainly been kind to him this go round.  If he hadn’t drawn that high card, Pete or somebody else would have had the pleasure of laying over a day in town to get the mail.  It wasn’t much of a town but it boasted a saloon and the general store doubled as a mail drop in these parts.  It was far enough from the trail to warrant Mr. Favor springing for a room for one lucky jasper, at least this once as late as they’d pulled into the bedground Pete Nolan had picked out for them.  Cows didn’t move much more than eight miles a day average.  Rowdy looked the place over while the bored card players set up for a new deal.  This seemed to be the center of most social activity in town if you didn’t count the schoolhouse combination church he’d passed coming in.  He’d be spending the night upstairs and having breakfast here in the morning.  He debated sitting in on the game but the limited jingle in his pockets and the emaciated state of his wallet dictated some prudence in the matter.  He moved over and took a seat in the corner close to the back of the room, seating himself so as to have a good view of the kitchen door.  He took another swallow of the beer and patiently waited for the door to open.  Yep, and there she was.  This business establishment was a family affair and the barkeep seemed to have married a good-looking woman at some point cause his daughter sure seemed to have taken after her mother.  She wasn’t much into her twenties, if that, a slender reed of a girl with big doe eyes that Rowdy would love to have the opportunity to fall into under a mane of chestnut hair held demurely back in a bun.  Her dress was plain almost Spartan in it's modest simplicity.  Unlike most saloons, there were no soiled doves billing and cooing over anybody and Rowdy speculated the locals weren’t encouraging their import.  Men did their drinking and went home to their wives.  The joys of civilization, he grimaced.   Still, she was a pleasure to look at and beat all hell out of the cows he’d been keeping company with this past month, not to mention the equally smelly, dirty drovers who made up the Gil Favor outfit.  The pot calling the kettle black, Rowdy acknowledged ruefully, shifting in his chair and regretting his failure to dump some of the dirt off in the street before he came in.  Still, he gave her his best smile when he caught her eye and got a brief acknowledging flash of teeth back.  God, she had dimples too. What more could a man want?

There was the sound of horsemen from the street as a party of riders pulled up in front of the establishment.  He could hear voices, Spanish and laughter from at least four men now hitching their horses to the rail as high-heeled boots hit the plank walk.  The sun had set and some locals were taking advantage of their free time.   The door swung open and a good looking decked out Tejano came busting in heading for the bar followed by four other more casually dressed men.  This vaquero sure had done himself up spit and shin.  He was a dark-haired golden skinned scion of the old blood, the original settlers before Texas had won her independence from Mexico.  His companions were apparently the hired help, older men, being of the weathered demeanor of the open range.  The boy’s teeth flashed white as he roared for drinks all around in an exuberance of good will and financial wellbeing.  Well, if he was buying Rowdy wasn’t going to turn him down.

“Gracias,” Rowdy lifted his glass to the new arrival as the now blushing girl carried the tray of mugs around to the room’s occupants.   It was to be expected he’d be noticed, he suspected, as his was probably the only new face in these parts.   He was mildly surprised they didn’t head over to his table that being the case but they bellied up to the bar and settled in for some serious drinking.   The girl made a pretext of cleaning up the tables and rearranging chairs, making several trips back to the room from the kitchen, so much so that Rowdy began to get an inking of the way the wind was blowing.  He had to admit the boy was a looker and well to do.  He didn’t begrudge the competition since he’d be pulling out in the morning and she wasn’t going to be in his life more than a day, but it would have been nice to have sat and maybe talked to her awhile.  He heaved a sigh. Looking in the barkeep’s direction, he smothered a grin.  That was an unhappy man.  He fumed around behind the bar and kept trying to catch his daughter’s eye.  Wishbone would have been fussing at him about now as to how his face was going to freeze into that scowl if he kept it up much longer.  No sir, that was not a happy man.

The card game was breaking up and the card sharp had joined the ranks of unhappy people.  Some times you just had some dumb yokel fall into a filled straight and he was going to bed tonight just braking even on a day’s work.  The men at the bar had been hitting it steady and the barkeep’s daughter had finally been exiled to the kitchen.  Not that the barkeep was any happier.  He barely was civil to the men lining his pockets.  The night was getting late and Rowdy figured he ought to pack it in, morning would be coming early and he’d have to head back to the herd.  They were going to be doing the Little Snake River crossing in the next day or so.  One thing you want to be is rested and sharp when it came to rivers.   A last check up on Fox in the stable behind the building and he would call it a night.
 The horse was dozing, hip cocked head down when he came to the paddock and barely flicked an ear in his direction to acknowledge his presence.  The water bucket was full and he had a good feed of hay to pull at should he want some thing to munch on.  Rowdy propped himself against the top rail of the corral and let the cool evening breeze blow ruffling his bushy hair.  The evening sky was full of stars and the Milky Way wound its ribbon through the vault of the quiet evening from horizon to horizon with only a few clouds to obscure the night show.  Tonight, he’d be sleeping in a bed and not on the cantle of his saddle, he grinned, about as contented as his horse at the prospect.   A slight noise drew his attention to the back of the house.  He hadn’t been aware of people leaving after he stepped out, but somebody had followed him.  He heard the door open and while too far away to clearly hear anything, caught the soft sounds of a woman and man speaking.   The tone of conversation was tense and low, then the girl’s voice was saying, “I can’t!”

Rowdy straightened up from where he’d been propped and strained to see the back of the building.  The man’s voice was now tinged with urgency and there was the sound of scuffling from the back of the house.   The girl’s voice rose.  “Let me go!  I can’t!  My father…Please!”

Rowdy stepped quickly to the back of the building and dropping a hand on the man’s shoulder spun him around.

“Do like she says!  Leave her alone!”  Rowdy stood feet braced which was a good thing as the young vaquero came around taking a swing at the tall drover while the girl smothered a startled yelp.  Rowdy easily evaded the erratic punch and effectively put the young dandy down with a sharp jab to the solar plexus taking the wind and the fight out of the boy.  Gil Favor had done that once with Pete and Rowdy had stored that little tidbit away for future reference.  Rowdy stepped back putting himself between the young man and the girl.  “Mister, you pick yourself up and get on your horse. The lady doesn’t want you here.”

The girl had moved back and had the door partially closed between her and the two men, while peering through the slight opening.   Rowdy glanced back to her while the vaquero was getting to his feet.

“You alright, Miss?” Rowdy asked.

“Thank you, I’m fine.” She answered but her wide eyes were focused on the vaquero and not on the lanky ramrod.  The young man was slowly straightening up and Rowdy had to admit Spanish was a pretty language even when used to swear in.

“Gringo, this does not concern you!  Stay out of it!”  He painfully hissed at the lanky drover, his eyes fierce while he worked to draw breath.

“You should go home now, Juan.  You’ve had too much to drink.”  The girl’s expression was pained.  She flicked a glance at Rowdy, looked down for a moment then determinedly opened the door.  “Come in, Mister.  You can get to your room this way.” Her voice was steady and firm. “Juan, go home.”  She stepped back to allow the cowman entrance and Rowdy stepped past the unhappy youth.

“Kathryn,” The boy began anxiously but stumbled to a halt at her quick up thrown hand.

“Juan, just go home.” Her voice was weary and she shut the door firmly in his face.

Rowdy found himself in the storage pantry area behind the kitchen off from the main room where presumably her father was still tending to the hired help.

“Your name’s Kathryn.” Rowdy shuffled and awkwardly played with his hat string. “I’m Rowdy Yates.”  He could barely make out her large brown eyes in the gloom.  Well, he’d wanted to talk to her but not quite like this.

“Thank you, Mr. Yates.”  She threw a glance to the front of the building.  “I hope you won’t tell my father.” She looked searchingly into the cowhand’s face.

“Please, it would just upset him.”

“Rowdy.  You can call me Rowdy.” The lanky ramrod grinned, self- consciously then looked somber.  “It’s none of my business but that fellow, Juan?  Is he giving you trouble?  If he is…”

“Thank you, Mr. Yates…Rowdy.”  Her smile was brief, a wistful little break in the solemn seriousness her expression had born since she’d let him in.  “Juan isn’t usually like that, he’s…”  She hesitated and her eyes got distant. “This isn’t like him. He usually doesn’t drink like that.  I don’t think it’ll happen again.” She earnestly studied the lanky cowhand in the wane lighting. “I’ll be fine.  Really.” She touched his arm.  “I’d appreciate it if you would let me go in first and distract my father.  If you’d just go to the stairs and he won’t be any the wiser. Please?”  She did have eyes you could drown in Rowdy thought and who was he to say no?

“Sure, no problem.  I’ll see you at breakfast?”  He asked hopefully.

He was rewarded this time with a genuine smile that showed her dimples, even as dark as it was.  “Of course!  I’ll be your cook and waitress.  It’s the least I can do.”

Rowdy returned the smile with the crooked grin that he had on good authority ladies found irresistible.  “Fine, fine.  Well you go ahead.  I’ll, uh. I’ll sneak up the stairs and your dad will never know.”

Kathryn turned and led the way to the door of the main room with Rowdy in tow.  She peered through the entrance and then throwing a grateful look at the drover entered the room, leaving Rowdy to pick his own time of opportunity.

Rowdy opened the door to his room and didn’t bother to light the lamp.  The bed’s soft mattress beckoned.  While he wouldn’t be seeing her again after breakfast, he could hope she’d visit his dreams.  The Queen of Hearts had been a lucky card.  Pity he wouldn’t be sticking around.  Maybe, he’d a’ had a chance since Mr. Fancy Dan seemed to have screwed up.  She was a sweet girl and he thought she liked him.  He hoped so.

He fell into the bed with a contented sigh.  Tomorrow, he’d be back at the herd and Wishbone would be fixing his meals for the foreseeable future.

Breakfast had been a mixed blessing. The food was excellent.  Kathryn had been courteous but unfortunately, remote as was proper.  That was regrettable.   She had maintained her decorum as he saddled up and tipped his hat to her on the way out of town.  The crew would be wanting their mail and he’d have the devil to pay if he hung out in this town too long.  He lifted Fox up into an easy canter and headed out to rejoin the Gil Favor outfit.
 

The first hint of anything amiss had come where the route took a bend through a copse of woods and Fox shied.

“Don’t move, Senor.”  The warning was seconded by a cartridge being chambered in a rifle as four riders came out to bracket him fore and aft.  With no where to go, Rowdy slowly raised his hands and with a sinking feeling identified Juan’s hired help.

“What do you want?”  Rowdy worked to keep his features impassive.

“Senor, we want nothing.”  One of the riders came up behind Rowdy and pulled his pistol free from its holster.  “We are not thieves.” The rider smiled his expression deceptively pleasant.  “Please get off your horse.”  The rifle barrel dipped in emphasis.  “Now.”

Rowdy stepped awkwardly down from the saddle still endeavoring to keep his hands up as two of the riders likewise dismounted.  The gunman remained on his horse, as did a second rider who too held a gun covering the young drover.

“No, Senor, we do not want anything from you.  Rather, we want to give you something.”  The speaker’s eyes were hard above his smile.  “We have a message for you and we don’t want you to forget it.”

Cattle were some of God’s dumbest creatures, Quince reflected as he moved slowly around the herd.  Put three thousand of them in one spot and you just magnified the problem.  Moonlight could set them off in a stampede; they’d stomp all over each other in blind panic and while dumb they had a mean streak worse than a skin shedding snake. Leastways, these Texas longhorns sure did.  For the moment, all was peaceful with the herd spread out loosely grazing in preparation for the river crossing and wasn’t that going to be a joy.  That would come tomorrow which gave everybody a break and Rowdy would be coming in with the mail.  You had to give the boss credit for carrot and stick thinking. Quince hoped his niece would be dropping him a line about how she was doing with that fellow she took up with.  Maybe there’d be some word about his brother as well.  Yeah, he was due for a letter about now. Quince brought his horse to a halt and throwing a leg over his saddle horn, got out his makings.  Rowdy should be showing up soon and he’d be getting his relief from the noon hawk in time to grab a feed from the chuckwagon.  He thumb struck a match, took a drag on the cigarette and scanned the deceptively placid herd.   Mean as snakes, every one of ‘em, Quince grimaced.  The river wasn’t in flood and it wasn’t a bad one by reputation at this time of year so tomorrow shouldn’t hold any surprises, if these beeves cooperated.

The sound of approaching hoof beats drew his attention to riders coming and he straightened up in the saddle.  Three men were coming up from the town’s direction and Quince started to move to meet them. Two of the men pulled their horses up quickly and with a yell slapped the third, sending it Quince’s way as they wheeled their mounts and rode back the way they had come. Quince threw his cigarette down and spurred his horse as he recognized Fox and drew the obvious conclusion about the man who was slumped over in the saddle.

“How is he?” Gil Favor demanded as his feet hit the dirt about the same time his horse’s front hooves did in a sliding stop.  Quince and Pete Nolan, the trail scout weren’t that far behind him.  The big trail boss and the two cowmen strode through the drovers grouped by the chuckwagon, heading to where Wishbone, the camp cook, was packing up his medical kit.

“He’s got two black eyes, all his teeth and some cracked ribs.”  Wishbone glanced disapprovingly toward the back of the wagon where Rowdy was propped against the rear wheel.  “And he got the mail.”

“What happened?”  Gil Favor moved to loom over the reclining ramrod now painfully angling his neck to look at his boss through a mask of colorful bruising.  Rowdy Yates wasn’t feeling well, and he looked it.

“There was a girl…” Rowdy mumbled through split lips, his jaws barely working, it hurt too much.

Gil Favor brows drew down in a scowl and he stiffened.

“A girl?”  Favor exchanged a look with Pete Nolan then glared back down at the stove up drover.  “You got beat up because of a girl?”

“Hell,” Pete shook his head. “You couldn’t have known her that long.  Just how many brothers did she have?”

“She don’t have any brothers.”  Rowdy weakly protested.  “And I didn’t do nothing.”

“Just what’s your idea of ‘nothing’?  Who were those men who brought you in?”  Favor was not to be distracted.

“The hired help.”  Rowdy shifted uncomfortably.

“Whose hired help?”  Favor growled impatiently.  “You just went into town to get the mail, for Christ’s sake.”

“There was this fancy beaneater came in last night with his men.  From around here, He was drinking and he started bothering Kathryn. Her paw runs the hotel.  She told him to leave her alone and he wouldn’t.”  Rowdy gave a small shrug.  “So I made him.  I guess he took it personal.”

“Is that when they jumped you?”  Pete was frowning and there were angry mutters from the crew.

“No.”  Rowdy started to shake his head and winced.  “They gave me the message this morning on the road.  Told me to mind my own business.  Stay out of what didn’t concern me.”

That made it worse in the eyes of the cowmen and the cursing was getting louder.

“We going to let them get away with that, Mr. Favor?” Scarlet’s normally placid features were grim.

Gil Favor looked at his crew and while sympathetic to their sensibilities would have to quell this right now.

“How many of those beeves got your brand on ‘em?”  He snapped.  “You hired on to move herd and we’ve got a river to cross in the morning.  I’ve already got one man stove up, There won’t be any more, is that clear?”

“But Boss,” Quince seemed to be speaking for all of them. “They had no call to jump him like that.  How many of ‘em were there, Rowdy?”

“Four.”  Rowdy gingerly felt his jaw. “They drew down on me.”

The crew’s sense of fair play was now fully involved and they were looking Favor’s way for justice.

“All right! That’s enough!” Gil Favor barked. “Your job is the herd.  You hear?” His eyes tracked the circle of his mutinous crew, who resentfully one by one backed down, looking away.  “I’m no happier about this than you are but that herds not ours.”  Favor looked at Rowdy.  “We’ll go into town after the herd’s across.”  Nobody seemed any happier and Favor capitulated to a point.  “All right.  I’ll go into town after I scout the river. I’ll decide about town after that.  That suit you?”  It was something and the mood lifted a little with the prospect of imminent action.  Favor accepted their acquiescence, looking them over and froze, glowering at Teddy and Collins. “Aren’t you two suppose to be out with the beeves?  What am I paying you for?” He roared.

Teddy and Collins exchanged looks and started stepping lively for the horse line while the rest of the hands moved off in a hurry leaving Favor and Pete by the wagon.

Wishbone walked over carrying a bowl of broth.

“Don’t you two have a crossing to scout out or something?”  Wishbone looked ominously at the two men.  “Why are you still hanging around here?  I’ve got a patient to feed!”

The two men stepped aside as the cook pushed between them, hunkering down by the injured man.

“All right, Wish’” Gil Favor moved to his mount and Pete followed.  “Take care of him.  We’ll be back.”

The Little Snake was a wide slow moving river with good godowns for easy access about two miles from the bedground. The beeves would only have a short way to swim almost mid channel.  The river bottom footing was good and while there was a drop away with some pockets of deeper water below where they would cross, if the men did their jobs and the steers cooperated, they posed a minimal risk.  The bank was steeper than Favor would have liked on the opposite shore with a narrow beach but if they moved the beeves loose trailing and spaced out, there should be no pile up on the other side provided they were moved out fast.  All and all, it promised to be an uneventful crossing.  Time consuming but uneventful.

“Come on, Pete.”  Favor finished pulling on his boots and climbed dripping into his saddle.  “Let’s go see what Kathryn looks like.”

The scout was equally wet but the ride into town would give them time to dry out.  “You think she’ll be prettier than Louise?  He quipped.

Favor shook his head. “The latest one’s always the prettiest as far as Rowdy’s concerned.”  Favor looked thoughtful. “What do you know of the spreads around here?”

“They’re small cattle ranchers, one or two old Spanish grants, but mostly Anglos.  Oliver Loving caught the Snake in flood in a bad year and had to get replacement stock.   The Grande wouldn’t sell ‘em for what Loving wanted to pay. Old Oliver pitched a fit but he gave him the money” Pete grinned. “He’d contracted for a thousand beeves and he was in a hurry.” Pete shook his head. “Loving badmouthed that Don all up and down the trail till the Indians got him.  One thing for sure, that man sure knew how to hold a grudge.”

“Big spreads?” Favor’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” Pete nodded sobered.  “Lots of land and lots of men.  They managed to keep what was theirs after the war.”  Pete wasn’t talking about the ‘War Between the States.’

“I want to hear what that town thinks about their neighbors.”  Favor was grim.  “Do they make it a habit of giving people ‘lessons’.”

“Can I help you?”  The thin, middle-aged man sweeping the room was a new-Englander by his accent with a pinched look to his features.  The two drovers had come into the cool of the room from the street and paused, letting their eyes adjust to the lighting.

“This your place?”  Favor asked looking around.  At this time of day he wasn’t surprised to find no one around although he could tell meals would be served soon by the smells coming from the back and that probably would change.

“Ayah.” The proprietor nodded.  “I’m Caleb Winslow.  You looking for a room?  I can give ya’ meals too but that’ll cost ya’ extra.”   He set the broom down and moved toward the counter.

“My name’s Favor.   Got a herd at the Snake.  One of my men stayed here last night. He said your daughter had some trouble.”  Favor had moved to lean against the bar but he halted as Winslow stopped pivoting to face him.

“Trouble?  My daughter?  You sure?”  Winslow expression ran a gauntlet of emotions Gil Favor couldn’t read.  “Yeah.”  Favor nodded slowly.  “A Mexican and some of his men came in.  My drover said the man was bothering your girl and he had to step in.”

“Mister, I was here all last night.  I didn’t have no trouble in here and neither did my daughter.”  His voice was climbing in pitch and volume. “I don’t know what your man told you, but he got it wrong.”  Winslow was almost defiant in his denial.

Both Favor and Pete exchanged a look and moved to flank the man.  Favor cleared his throat and leaned in over the shorter man, using his physical stature to good effect.  “Are you calling my ramrod a liar, Mr. Winslow?”  His tone was almost conversational but there was an edge to it.

“Maybe we ought to ask the girl.” Pete wasn’t near as tall as the boss. but he wasn’t a small man either. Both men had made no overt threat s but Winslow was begging to sweat.

“Maybe it’d be best if we talked to your daughter, Mr. Winslow. Is she here?” Favor looked around the room and started toward to the kitchen door.

“You can’t go back there!  Mister, I’ll call the law, you hear?”  Winslow protested as Favor pushed through the door while Pete placed a restraining hand on Winslow’s shoulder.

“Mr. Winslow, why don’t you and I sit right down here and you tell me about this Mexican ‘jasper’ who come in here last night.” Under the firm pressure of Pete’s hand, Winslow had no choice but to fall into the chair Pete kicked out for him.  The Scout sat down within grabbing range of the unhappy man and looked at him with an encouraging smile.

“This Vaquero, is he from one of the old holdings round here?”

Winslow pulled his attention from the back door to the waiting scout.  “You got no call to come in here like this.  You’re trespassing.  I can have you arrested.  Ya’ hear?”

Pete’s expression remained friendly and the threat didn’t seem to faze him.  “Rowdy Yates isn’t a liar, Mr. Winslow.  There was trouble all right whether you knew about it or not.  Some of that Mex’s crew jumped him this morning and worked him over on account of your girl.  We just want to square things.”

Winslow slowly shook his head but he had to believe the man’s sincerity. “Was he hurt bad? Your man?”

Pete leaned back in his chair.  “Rowdy’ll mend.  He’s been hurt worse riding broncs.  This Mexican, does he handle all of his problems this way?”

“That greaser can get anything he wants.  You’re right.  He was here.  He’s always coming in here.”  Winslow sounded bitter.  “Mendoza’s only got the one boy and Juan’s a wild one.” Winslow seemed to sag in his chair. “Old Mendoza’s no one to mess with.  He’s bankrolled a lot of folks around here.  People think he can do no wrong.  I swear I’m going to go back to St Louis.”

“The old Don keeps a loose line on ‘em, huh?”  Pete asked.

Winslow grimaced. “He’s got his own crew of babysitters if that’s what you mean. No better than he is.  Aside from that he comes and goes like he pleases.  His daddy springs for most anything he wants.”

“Well, I don’t think waylaying somebody is something he’d be proud to have his name hitched to.  Think me and the boss ought to take a ride out to his place.  Sort of lookin’ out for his reputation away from these parts.”  Pete folded his hands across his middle rocking the chair, balancing on the back legs.  “If that Mendoza is as bownecked about his good name as I think he is, he won’t hold no truck with it.”  Pete looked at the smaller man.  “Maybe he’ll tighten the rope on that colt and give you some peace.  You never can tell.”

“Good luck to you then, friend,” Winslow’s expression was far from hopeful.  “But I think you’ll be wasting your time.”

Favor was surprised to find no one in the kitchen although there was evidence of cooking, a roast in the oven and dough rolled out for buscuits.  He moved to the back door and looking out spotted a young woman sitting on the edge of the water trough by the stable.  He stepped out and came up behind her, somewhat alarmed by the sound of quiet weeping.  He cleared his throat so as not to startle her. It didn’t help.  The girl bolted to her feet, pivoting swiftly in alarm, dropping what she’d been holding in her hand. Favor bent down and picked up the item from the dirt.

“I’m sorry, Miss.” Favor took his hat off and held out the heavy necklace in her direction. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Her features were fine boned and she was a pretty girl even with the evidence of weeping upon her.  At the moment her hand was at her throat albeit she had taken the jewelry piece by reflex from his hand  unconsciously shoving it in to her apron pocket.

“You're Kathryn? Are you alright?”  Favor inquired. “I’m Gil Favor.  You met one of my men last night.  Rowdy Yates?”  Favor was speaking softly.  This girl was as ready to run as a wild deer.

“Rowdy?”  She hesitated and then scrubbed at her cheeks to wipe the tears away. “I’m sorry.  You startled me.”   She sniffed and tried to smile.  "Yes. You’ve got the herd over by the Snake.  Did he forget something?”

“No Miss.” Favor shook his head.  “There was a Mexican here last night.  I understand you had some trouble with him.  Is that right?”

 The girl was looking at him with growing alarm.  “He told you about that?  Why?  How could he?”  She was beginning to get angry.  “He had no right!”

“Miss.”  Favor tone was sharp. “It wasn’t like that.  He ran into some trouble on the way back.  That Mexican had him jumped and he took a beating.”

She was looking wide-eyed at him, her anger abruptly gone and distress beginning to take its place.  “No!  You must be wrong.  Juan wouldn't do that!"

"I'm sorry," Favor shook his head.  "I'm telling you what happened.  Rowdy wouldn't lie."

"Is he all right? Oh, this is all my fault.  He was just trying to help me.” Tears began to well up again in her big brown eyes.

“He’ll be alright.  Miss, please!”   Favor was feeling uncomfortable himself.  “He’s fine. Really!  I need to know about that vaquero.  Who is he and where can I find him?” Crying young ladies reminded him of his own girls and they could wrap him around their little fingers in a heartbeat.  It was mortifying to be unmanned by a slip of girl.

“He’s Juan Mendoza.”  She was trying hard not to cry. “His father has a ranch three miles north this side of the Snake.  Mister, I’m so sorry.”  She was losing the fight. “I wish…” She gulped back a sob and turned moving quickly toward the building.

Pete and Winslow looked up as the distraught girl came running into the room and headed up the stairs.  Winslow was on his feet and Pete dropped the chair legs down getting up as Favor came in close behind.

“Mister, what’d you do to my daughter?”  The trail boss may have beat Winslow on height and weight but Winslow had him on outrage.

“I didn’t do nothing. The vaquero had said some words to her.  It happened like Rowdy said.  I told her what happened and she just took it bad.” Favor was sounding a lot like his ramrod, he acknowledged wryly to himself.

Winslow looked at him suspiciously then grudgingly nodded.  “You got what you wanted.  I think right now, you’d better leave. No offense.” He added.

“None taken.  Thank you Mr. Winslow.”  Favor made his way to the door with Pete falling in behind him.
 

The Mendoza ranchero was built along the lines of the old Mexican haciendas and looked like it had been there forever.  The two men had been picked up a mile out from the house and had an escort coming into the premises.  Word had already been brought to the house and Carlos Mendoza was standing on the porch to greet his guests as they pulled up to the wide veranda.   He was not a tall man but still carried a respectable amount of muscle for his years and stood ramrod straight on the porch.  Favor put his age somewhere in his sixties.

“Senores.” Mendoza smile was wide, a king greeting the populace from the parapets. “Welcome! Welcome!  You are from the herd, yes?” His eyes gleamed measuring the two drovers with shrewd scrutiny.  “You are here for cattle?”

He laughed.   “The Snake has fangs but not usually this time of year.  You must be poor cattlemen that you must come see me.” He chided them with a mocking smile and a waving finger.

Favor's jaws tightened as he stepped down from the saddle.  This pompous Don had already started getting under the boss’ skin and Pete had a premonition things were only going to deteriorate.  He heaved a small sigh.  It was going to be a short stay, he figured and not a profitable one.  Winslow might as well have been a prophet.
 

“Get off my land!”  Don Mendoza was practically sputtering in his wrath.

“I’m going!  You tell your boy if I see him, I’ll give him the same ‘lesson’ he dished out and see how he likes it, you hear?” Favor’s raised baritone vibrated the windows.

“You insult me in my own house!?!” Mendoza voice added to the volume. “Gringo! You have no honor!”

“And you’re blind if you can’t see what’s going on right under your own nose!” Favor snarled back.  “Maybe you ought to get out more if you’re not too feeble and find out what that kid’s been up to!”

“Go! I want you out! NOW!”  Mendoza roared.

“We’re going!”  Favor came down the steps with long strides and stepped up into the saddle. Pete was only a little behind him.  Mendoza had followed them out onto the porch and stood breathing hard, hands clenched at his side. Favor looked the irate man over with cool fury.  “Mendoza,” His words fell like rocks, one by one, into a deep well. “You are a fool.” Then he turned his horse’s head, leaving the Spaniard speechless on the veranda.
 

Gil Favor's mood hadn't lightened miles from the ranchero and he'd been no conversationalist at all.

“Well, boss, I’m sorry about all this.  I’ll get my gear and head on out when we get back.  I want you to know I’m good for that money, I owe you.  I’ll sent it to you soon as I get a job.”  Pete was looking mournfully at his boss as they gave their horses a breather.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Favor looked at him, distractedly, his eyebrows going up.

“Well, for sure you had to fire me.  I can’t hold it against you.  I understand.”

“Understand what?”  Favor asked cautiously.  “What are you talking about?  Why would I be firing you?”

Pete shifted comfortably in the saddle and looked apologetically at the big trail boss.

“Well, we all go into town tonight and we all want to give that kid a lesson.  We all can’t do it or we’d be as bad as he is.  So if I mean to do it, and still be in shape so I can, I’m going to have to do something about you.  I think the fellows 'll let me have at him since I beat you first. To do that I’ll have to fight dirty, so as you can still be in shape to move the herd tomorrow and you won’t stand for that.  No, Mr. Favor, you’re right to let me go. I can’t hold it against you.”

Favor slowly shook his head his brows drawing down in a scowl. Put that way, the Gil Favor Outfit's assault on the community to get to one boy did sound ridiculous.  “Going into town was a bad idea."  He said slowly. "I’m already out a ramrod.  Now I’m out a scout.  Might be hard to find one on short notice out here.” He spoke thoughtfully, fighting to keep his expression serious.

“Oh I don’t know.”  Pete grinned.  “I’m a pretty fair hand at it. I sure could use the work since I just got fired. I can even give you references.”  He added helpfully.

“Alright.”  Favor gave up the fight.   “I’m moving a big herd tomorrow ‘cross the Snake. We're heading up the Chisolm. I’ve got a good crew and my camp cook is a G.W. Wishbone.  You might have heard of ‘em.  You interested?”

“He’s a fair dough wrangler.  If you spring for the same pay you gave your old hand, you got yourself a scout.”  Pete smiled.

"Alright, you're hired."  Favor grinned back. "I hope you don't give me as much trouble as my last scout.  He had a habit of shooting off his mouth...a lot."

"No sir, I won't be no trouble at all."  Pete collected up the reins and lifted his horse into a canter as both men headed back to the camp.
 

Every man was butting his saddle in the morning and the herd was strung out in a mile long stream of horn tossing cattle.  Their route was a wide circle to permit the beeves to come at the crossing loose and widely spaced, giving the animals room and Favor hoped ease of movement in the river.  The beeves were behaving better than the crew.  Bypassing the town had not been a popular decision.  Favor had had to put up with a sullen bunch of cowhands over the breakfast feed.  Every man was on his river horse from his personal string as the lead steers hit the water and the point men began guiding them toward the far bank.  Hey Soos, their horse wrangler, had already moved the remuda over to the far side with no casualties and thoughtfully had a fire started for the crew.

The wagons still at the campsite would be the last over and Wishbone was fretting around them making sure the logs they had lashed on were secure.

"Don't touch that!" Wishbone hustled over to Mushy, his cook's louse, and snatched a line from the young man's hand.  "You can't make a decent knot if your life depended on it!"

"I could do it, Mr. Wishbone." Mushy shuffled aside as the older man retied a knot.  "Mr. Quince, he showed me!"

"That knucklehead?  He's good for losing money and drinking whiskey.  You don't get paid enough for one and you better not drink at your age for the other.  You want to turn out just like him?"

"Ah, leave him alone, Wishbone."  Rowdy was perched on the jockey seat of the chuckwagon for the ride over.  His features were a colorful mix of purple, black and green with some intermittent patches of pale.  He was squinting from a pair of respectable shiners. "Quince draws his pay and earns it.  He wouldn't steer Mushy wrong.  That knot was good."

"Ooooh, you must be feeling worse," Wishbone glowered up at the drover. "You want to tell me again what to do with my own cook's louse?  You must be running a fever cause you are out of your head.  So maybe I'll forgive you, this time."

"I don't need you to do anything for me," Rowdy shifted with irritation. "Do you bad mouth everybody like this when they're not around or what?"

"Maybe you don't want me to cook for you no more neither?"  Wishbone's tone was getting dangerous.

"You cook for everybody," Rowdy was getting testy himself.  "You can't not cook, you get paid to cook!"

"Oh, you just try to touch a single pan of my food and see what happens Mr. Ramrod!" Wishbone whiskers were bristling.

"Why you cantankerous old coot!"  Rowdy began.

"Mr. Wishbone," Mushy tentatively interrupted the brewing storm.  "There's some riders coming in!"

Both men looked up to where the youth was pointing.  About a half dozen riders could be seen approaching the campsite from the town's direction.  Wishbone frowned.  The riders were moving fast and with an air of purpose that did not bode well.

"Mushy, take one of the horses and go get the Boss. Quick you hear?"   He gave the boy a push and moved to interpose himself between the approaching horsemen and the wagons, as Mushy hurried to unhitch one of the team from its traces.  The cook's louse mounted and kicking his steed awkwardly headed off to the herd only moments before the townsmen's arrival.

The riders pulled up and grimly surveyed the stove up drover on the wagon's seat and the diminutive cook.

"Anything I can do for you?"  Wishbone looked up at the big mustached man with the badge prominently displayed.  There was a saddled mount being led but no rider in evidence, he noted.

"I'm Sheriff Tom McMasters. I'm looking for a Rowdy Yates."  The lawman's eyes bore in on the grizzled cook.  "Is he here?"

"I'm Yates."  Rowdy straightened up painfully on the wagon seat. "What do you want?"

McMasters unholstered his gun and pushed his horse forward, forcing Wishbone to move out of the way or be stepped on.

"Yates, I'm placing you under arrest.  Climb down and don't give me no trouble."

"Here now!"  Wishbone grabbed the lawman's horses bridle.  "Why?  What for?"

"Cookie, you let go of my horse or I'll pull you in too," McMasters, still covering the drover, growled at the irate cook. "You want that?"

"Mister, you may be the law but you can't just ride in here and haul some body off with no explanation." Wishbone didn't let go of the bridle.

McMasters spared a quick look down at the older man. "Juan Mendoza was killed last night.  I'm taking your man in for questioning on suspicion of murder."

"Murder! But why him?' Wishbone threw a look between the stunned drover and the grim lawman.

"Talk in town is, he and Juan had a run in.  There was bad blood between them.  He had cause."  McMasters gestured with the pistol. "Get on down, Yates.  We've got some riding to do."

"Mister, I didn't kill him!"  Rowdy had gotten past his initial shock and was shaking his head in disbelief. "I haven't been back to that town!"  He protested, stubbornly remaining on the seat.

"Yates, Carlos Mendoza is laying his boy out at the mission church right now.  When he's finished, he's planning to head out here and he won't be coming alone!  Now you just be glad it's me here and not him!  Now get down off that wagon!" McMasters demanded.

Rowdy looked at the determined posse and then at Wishbone. The cook's hand had moved toward the personal gun he kept discretely tucked in his waistband.  "Alright, I'll come with you.  Wish', you tell Mr. Favor what's happened."  He shook his head, forestalling the cook's objection.  "You've got to stay here or he won't know what's going on.  He can follow us into town."  Rowdy looked at the sheriff.  "That alright with you?"

"Long as he understands, I'll arrest the first man who makes trouble.  You tell him that!"  McMasters warned.  "I don't care who starts it, I'll be finishing it."

 The lanky ramrod carefully climbed down from the wagon and shuffled toward the riderless horse, with Wishbone hovering and fretting beside him.

"If anything happens to him..." Wishbone glared up at the lawman.

"Cookie, I'm doing my job.  I let the courts decide who's guilty.  I'm just bringing him in.  He'll be in my jail when your boss rides in."  McMasters affirmed.

"He better be."  Wishbone paused.  "Mendoza's coming out here?"

"Not when I send word I've got Yates in jail." McMasters turned to one of his men.  "Davis, you head on out and catch up with him. Tell him he's too late. Take your time about doing it. I want to be back in town before he gets there, understand?"

"Sure thing."  The deputy turned his horse and rode off as the posse and prisoner begin the trek back to town, leaving Wishbone by the wagons.
 

McMasters was made of sterner stuff than average. He had to be to do his job.  For the moment he was feeling a lot like iron between the hammer and anvil as he loomed over his desk and glowered at the two furious men standing in his office.

"That's enough!"  He roared at both of them slamming his hands down on the desk for emphasis.

They'd rode in En Mass at about the same time and the big trail boss and Mendoza had hit his door simultaneously with about equal fury and volume.   It was a wonder they hadn't just shot it out in the street but civilization had come to the west; if he could continue to enforce it, McMasters acknowledged.   "You'll both have your day in court!  I've sent for the judge and he'll be here in three days.  Till then, that boy stays in my jail!  And I don't want any trouble from either of you, your people included!  You got that?"

Gil Favor grabbed his temper with both hands and attempted a reasonable approach.

"You got no grounds to arrest Yates.  I've got over twenty men who can swear he never left camp."  He glared at Mendoza.  "He was in no shape to do anything after your men worked him over!" He snarled.

"Your men would swear to anything you told them to, Gringo!"  Mendoza spat back.  "That bastard should be hanged, the coward!"  Mendoza's features were lined with grief and he appeared to have aged a dozen years. "Your man killed my son. Shot him down like a dog from ambush!  He couldn't face him man to man but like a thief in the dark!"

"Somebody killed your son, but it wasn't Rowdy Yates! You're on the wrong trail, Mendoza.  You should be looking for the real killer!" Favor rapped out.

"I know what happened!  My men told me.  The town's people know!  Your man will hang!  I will have justice!"  Mendoza drew himself up.  "If not today then in three days!  Maybe sooner! My son's killer will pay!"  He threw a look between the sheriff and the big trail boss.   "I promise you, both of you!  I swear it!"  He turned on his heel and stomped out the door, his spurs ringing.

McMasters sat down in his chair and cocked an eyebrow at the trail boss, a mute invite to depart as well which Favor ignored.

"Sheriff, you've got the wrong man!"  Favor stated vehemently.  My ramrod was in camp all last night!  You ought to be out looking for the real killer.  Yates didn't do it!"

McMasters leaned back in his chair.  "I've got witnesses, Mister."  He stated calmly.  "People willing to swear your man and Mendoza had words and your man made threats.  Now he's dead."

"They're lying!" Favor snapped, glaring down at the lawman.

"Why would they do that?"  McMasters inquired mildly.

"Good question, Sheriff.  Why don't you ask them?" Favor turned to the door then paused.  "You want the truth?  Rowdy Yates didn't kill Juan Mendoza and I'll prove it!"

McMasters straightened up.  "Don't you be causing any grief, Mister.  This is a peaceable town and I aim for it to stay that way!  First hint I have of you making trouble, you can keep your ramrod company, understood?"

Favor almost sneered at him from the doorway.  "Don't worry, Sheriff.  I won't be starting any trouble, just finishing it!  You just make sure nothing happens to Rowdy Yates or you will see trouble!"
 

"Well?" Pete Nolan with the rest of the crew anxiously crowed around as Favor stepped down from the walkway in front of the jail.  When Mendoza had come out, collected his crew and headed up the street, they'd expected Favor to not be far behind.

"Rowdy's being railroaded."  Gil Favor's eyes narrowed as he considered the sheriff's words. "The problem is who's doing it?  The trial's in three days and that don't leave us a whole lot of time."

"Did you see him?"  Pete asked looking back toward the jail.

Favor shook his head apologetically. "I was so riled up I didn't get a chance to. Sorry."  He looked his crew over catching Wishbone's eye. "Why don't some of you go in and make him feel better.  That is if McMasters 'll let you.  Not you, Quince. Pete. We've got some work to do."

"Well, I'd just like to see that law dog stop me!"  Wishbone pushed forward.  "You go on and take care of what you got to do.  We'll take care of Rowdy.  Hold his hand, wipe his brow, that sort a' thing.  Right boys?"  There was a chorus of assents as men exchanged grins.  McMasters was going to have a steady stream of visitors in and out of his jail for the next few hours if Wishbone had his way.  "You all go on.  We'll be as meek as lambs, no trouble at all."

Favor and company could almost feel sorry for McMasters, but not quite.  The trio moved over to their horses and began leading them up the street.

"Mendoza was bushwacked some time after dark." Favor shook his head. "We need more information and quick."  They had been moving toward Winslow's place and couldn't help but notice the furtive looks they were getting from the townsmen. "I don't trust these people.  Mendoza's a big man in these parts."  Favor's lip curled in distaste.  "We're going to need a lawyer."

"It's an honorable profession." Quince observed, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Yeah. Right." Favor snorted.  "Jim, I want you to see what kind of a dog you can find for us to throw in this fight. We need to know what kind of a case they've got. How'd this get pinned on Rowdy?  And who did the pinning." Favor looked the street over, noting the visible present of Mendoza's men.  "That don was making noises like he didn't want to wait for no trial, neither. He's got his mind made up. I want our people paired up and that jail watched round the clock.  Nobody goes it alone. We'll do it in shifts and keep a skeleton crew at the herd."  Favor almost snarled. "Damn. We're going to be tripping over Mendoza's men no matter where we go round here.  Somebody killed that boy.  Whoever it is won't want us snooping around anymore than Mendoza."

"Wish' said they took the body to the Catholic Church." Pete was thinking out load. "That's out of town.  Maybe if Mendoza's here with his men, there won't be a whole lot of his people out there.  They'd have more of the story on what happened."

"Good idea." Favor nodded.  "Let's head out for that church.  Quince, you find that lawyer and we'll met back at Winslow's."

The adobe walled church was tranquil, it's white walls golden in the afternoon sun.  The brothers in residence greeted the two men, politely pointing out where all firearms were to be stored and allowed them admittance into the dark cool interior of the chapel.  This was a house of God and no one was turned away.

The coffin was on a bier at the front of the church resting just below the altar rail under the scrutiny of a serene Christ crucified.  The artist almost had a smile playing about the lips of the tortured carved figure, as though God was hiding a secret all would know some day.  The coffin was closed, Favor noted with a frown.

"'Excuse me, Padre," Favor respectfully stopped one of the brothers.  " We've come a long way to pay our respects.  Is it possible for us to see him?"

The cleric looked distressfully between the two men and shook his head.  "I'm so sorry, Senor. It is not possible.  Don Mendoza forbade it."  He leaned closer to Favor with a furtive look. "The face was disfigured, the poor man."  He made the sign of the cross. "He was a good boy, a good son of the church, we will miss him.  God rest his soul."

Favor and Pete exchanged looks across the bowed head of the monk.

"Did you see him?" Favor asked.

"Oh yes!  It was so sad when Don Mendoza brought him here in the wagon." The cleric sighed.

"Where'd it happen?  At the ranch?" Pete inquired.

"Oh no. It was between the hacienda and the town.  They found him early this morning.  He'd been shot in the back."  The monk shook his head.  "The evils of men."  He sighed again.

"He was alone?"  Favor frowned.

"Si.  No one to hear his last confession, to give last rites, to die like that!" The brother shivered. "We will be saying prayers for his soul in purgatory." He lifted his eyes heavenward and again crossed himself. This monk was proving to be a wellspring of information.

Pete risked a degree of familiarity. "Juan didn't usually go out, not alone.  Weren't his crew with him?"  He snapped his fingers as though trying to jog his memory.  "Oh what were their names?"

"Pedro Valdez, Manuel Rodriguez, Antonio Garcia and Miguel Alvarez."  The monk volunteered helpfully.

"Yeah, those jaspers!"  Pete beamed.  "Where were they?"

The brother looked around.  "Juan would ride many times without them.  At night.   I would not say anything if he still lived but he would come here before Matins and demand to see a priest.  Very inconsiderate!"

"He'd do that often?" Favor was finding this monk fascinating.

"Oh mostly in the past three, four months.  The Reverend Father would hear his confession.  Most inappropriate."  The monk sniffed, caught himself, casting a stricken look toward the coffin and the crucifix.  "Excuse me, Senores, I have spoken too much.  I must ask your pardon."  He started to move away.

"Wait!" Favor grabbed his sleeve.   "Could we speak with the Reverend Father?  It's very important. Please?"

The monk, shrunken under the weight of Favor's look and his own sins, hesitated for a moment then slowly nodded.

"I will ask him. Wait here."
 

The church like the army generally did a good job on handing out promotions. The Reverend Father was a whole different kettle of fish than the helpful brother.  He was a small, wizened man, comfortably ensconced behind his desk as the two drovers entered his office, his eyes bright and calculating in a seamed aged face. Both men dwarfed the priest but he was not one whit intimidated.

"You are from the cattle herd.  I have been told one of your men has been arrested."

Favor nodded, speculating that not a whole lot took place around here this man didn't know about.

"I'm Gil Favor.  I'm the trail boss.  This is my herd scout, Pete Nolan." He gestured.

"I am Father Ignatius.  Please be seated.  Why did you ask to see me?"

"Padre," Favor leaned forward in his chair. "That boy in your Church was murdered but my man didn't do it.  I'm trying to find out who did."

"So you seek truth?  How are you so certain he is innocent, this man of yours?  That he didn't do what they say?"  The monk held Favors gaze with sharp intensity.

"Four men jumped Rowdy Yates yesterday morning.   They worked him over pretty good.  He wasn't in no condition to do any riding after that.  He couldn't have done it."  Favor ticked off his points on his fingers. "Second, whether anybody wants to believe us or not, Rowdy never left camp.  None of my men did, just the night guard on herd and there were two men on each shift.  None of them went missing either, so my crew's in the clear. Third, if none of my people did it, the person that did is still loose and nobody's looking for him.  Mendoza's got a burr under his saddle that my man's guilty and threatening to do murder on his own if things don't fall out his way, never mind the facts.  I'm trying to find the truth and I think you can help me."

The monk was frowning. "I, Senor?  How can I help you?  I am a priest; whatever I know is bound by the seal of the confessional.  I am sorry." He shook his head slowly.  "I know many things, but I do not think I can help you."

"Father, I'm not asking you to do anything wrong by your lights.  I'm not Catholic but I think you know things that might help me clear my man, maybe even help Mendoza.  He's so blind right now, he doesn't know what he's doing; but we both want the truth."

"A truth that will kill a man?  Juan Mendoza is dead."  The monk held the trail boss' gaze. "The law demands a life for a life.  The truth will take a man's life in payment.  Where is the gain in that?"

Favor swallowed, his jaws tightening. "Maybe you got a problem with the law, but if one man's got to die to pay for another man's death, don't you have a responsibility to make sure it's the right man?"

The cleric slowly nodded.  "One must take responsibility for one's sins before God and before men." He gave a small sigh and straightened in his chair, leaning toward the two men. "How can I help you?"

"I want to look at Mendoza's body.  I need to know where he was when he was killed.  About when it happened.  How often did he shake those men of his to ride alone.  Why?  Where'd he go?  What for?  Anything you can tell me without violating your vows would help."  Favor stood up. "That man in jail is a friend of mine.  He means a lot to me.  If I can't save him within the law, I mean to do it outside the law and that could mean a lot of people hurt, maybe killed."

"Come." The monk got up from his chair. "I will have my brothers move the coffin.  You may look for what you seek.  As to the rest, Juan would go into town and go home before dawn many times. Occasionally he would come to see me to make a confession." The priest held up his hand. "About that I will tell you no more; but when he died had to have been between three and four in the morning.  They did not bring him here till an hour past dawn.  They took a wagon from the hacienda and came from where he was killed.  Does that help you, Senor?"

Favor nodded. "Maybe more than you know, Padre.  We're grateful."  The two drovers followed the monk to another building and they waited for the coffin to be carried in.   "Did he die outright, Padre?"  Favor asked awkwardly.

The Reverend Father shook his head in sorrow.  "He was shot more than once if that's what you ask, but you will see for yourselves."

Juan Mendoza had been a good-looking boy in life but now was not recognizable.   Effort had been made to dress him respectably for his laying out, but his head had been wrapped in a black shawl, his features covered.

"I'd swear his face has been kicked in." Pete observed, as they looked the body over. "This must have been the first shot that took him off his horse.  See?  The bullet didn't go through and came in at an angle, but these! These were all point blank range, like somebody 'd stood over him and just kept shooting.  These all went through." Pete shook his head. "Damn, somebody sure hated this kid."  Pete glanced up at the serene priest. "Sorry." He mumbled embarrassed.

Favor eye's were boring holes in the monk. "That kind of hate you don't work up to on a moments notice, do you, Padre?"  His tone was bitter.

The priest stood tranquil, as he shook his head. "No."

Favor waited for further comment but received none, which pushed his temper past it's civilized limit.

"Pete," He growled. "Let's get out of here.  I think we've learned as much as we can.  Haven't we, Padre?"  His voice dripped venom.  "Thank you."  He added almost as an after thought as he headed out the door.

Pete started to follow then paused in the doorway, turning back toward the monk.

"Padre, the things your Boss asks you to do." Pete's eye's filled with compassion. "I sure wouldn't want your job."

A small smile played about the priest's lips. "He's your Boss too, my son." He gently pointed out.

Pete looked startled then recovered himself somewhat. "Yeah, but I'm not that high up in the chain of command.   Sergeant Major was as high as I went in the army and I didn't want to go no higher."  Pete grimaced. "I couldn't screw up as many lives that way."

"We all touch lives.  More than you know." The Reverend Father's gaze moved past Pete to where the big trail boss had gone then came back to the scout. "Go with God, my son.  I will pray for all of you." A smile spread over his features like sunlight breaking through the clouds after a gully washer, while he sketched the sign of the cross with authority.

Pete's eyes widened and he beat a hasty retreat out the door.  Officers tended to make him nervous and he suddenly remembered why.
 

"Boss, I want you to meet the best lawyer in three counties, Mr. Everett C. Adams the third." Quince was beaming with pride.

Gil Favor for once was speechless, appalled at the vision confronting him.  Adams would never pass as a cowhand.  He was a pallid, heavy-set, meticulously dressed man in his thirties.   He met the trail boss's shocked stare with a smile, not one bit fazed by Quince's praise or Favor's dismay.

"Mr. Favor," He held out his hand. "I'm not one to go blowing my own horn, but your man called it right."

Favor slid a look Quince's way, while shaking the lawyer's hand.  He might look soft, but his grip was firm.

Maybe Quince had come through after all.  There was a keen look of intelligence about the man and no doubt he had his full measure of self-confidence and then some.

"I've already started looking into Mr. Yates situation.  Please, sit down."  He gestured to a chair and Favor eased into it as Adams sat down. "The whole case is based on circumstantial evidence. That means no first hand witnesses.  The primary testimony will be from a ..." Here he lifted a pad from his desk and consulted his notes. "Winslow, Rodriguez, Valdez, Garcia and Alvarez. Mr. Valdez was overheard implying your man did it to Carlos Mendoza at the Catholic Church, describing the altercation between the deceased and the accused. He made mention of the dispute yesterday morning as well.  At that point Father Ignatius felt it important enough to send one of the mission workers into town to warn the sheriff.  McMasters immediately went to Winslow's to confirm Valdez's statement. After learning there had been a confrontation between the two parties, he deputized some additional men, and proceeded to your camp to make the arrest."  Adams looked up.
"That may have been the best thing that could have happened, Mr. Favor.  Mendoza has been a law unto himself a round here for a long time.  But things are changing."  He grinned. "Whether he likes it or not."

"But Rowdy didn't do it!" Favor stated.  "My whole crew can swear to it."

Adams frowned. "I'm afraid, trail drovers don't have a great deal of credibility in this town.  It's an undeserved bias in most cases but stereotypes can be hard to refute.  I'm sending the doctor over to examine Mr. Yates in the morning.  The premise is that he was beaten on Juan Mendoza's orders. That is the foundation of their case and the basis for Mendoza's murder by Mr. Yates. That will also be useful for us.  We demonstrate his physical incapacity to do the crime."  Adams leaned back comfortably in his chair laying the pad back on the desk. "But that could create a problem for us in throwing the suspicion onto any one of your crew.  I'm afraid you were rather vocal to Mendoza when you went out to visit him yesterday.  You could end up a suspect yourself."

Favor looked startled. "Who told you 'bout that?"

Adams smiled. "Mr. Favor, I told you I know my job.  It doesn't hurt to be underestimated, either."  Here Adams' smile turned cold. "I hate bullies, Mr. Favor.  I always have. I've just made it a point to find a battlefield I can fight on and win."

"Well, you're our hired gun so let me give you some more ammunition."  Favor leaned forward in his chair. "Pete and I went to the Church and then swung by where that boy died."  He filled Adams in on the state of the corpse and the cooperation, or lack there of, of the priest.  "We wound up having to go off the road. Mendoza had worn a regular trail between his place and town; traveled it pretty often.  It was like he didn't want anybody knowing his business, either here or there."

Adams had laid his pen down from making notes and was looking thoughtful. "Your man is being used as a scapegoat.  That could work for us in figuring out by whom."  Adams looked between Favor and Quince who was quietly sitting in a corner chair. "While Mr. Yates is in the jail, we have some freedom to investigate.   If Mr. Yates is to be seen as the murderer, another act of violence would call that presumption into question."

"This Valdez, the one who put Mendoza on to Rowdy's trail.  What do you know about him?" Favor asked.

"He's one of Juan's 'shepherds'; been with the family for years.  He's very loyal.  They all are.  No, Mr. Favor, that's going to be a dead end.  But those nocturnal rides Juan would make, now that interests me."  Adams look was speculative.

"I've been to Winslow's," Favor snorted. "I can guess.  Better yet, I can find out."

"No, Mr. Favor," Adams straightened. "You'd do well to be discreet.  You could be accused of interfering with a material witness.  Bob Sullivan would certainly have something to say about that."

Favor quirked an eyebrow.

"Mr. Sullivan will be prosecuting the case.  No, you let me handle that in court.  We'll get our answers there under oath."  Adams grinned looking in Quince's direction. "By the way, Quince says Mr. Yates thinks you're looking for a new ramrod the way you've been avoiding him.  Perhaps you should stop in and see him."

"Yeah, Boss," Quince observed from the corner. "Rowdy could hear you all the way in the back when you came in with Mendoza.  He was wondering why you hadn't come in to see him."

"I've been busy." Favor stated defensively, somewhat chagrined.

"It'd make him feel better." Quince commented, unnecessarily.

"You're right." Favor got up and held out his hand to the attorney. "Mr. Adams, we appreciate what you're doing and don't worry." He smiled. "I'll be discreet."
 

'To be discreet' was out of the question, Favor noted as he stepped into Winslow's establishment and looked around.  The place was crawling with Mendoza's boys, watchful deputies, and belligerent drovers no matter where he turned.  Rowdy had called it right; Winslow's was the social center of town.  Young Miss Winslow was not in evidence this evening he observed.

The visit to the jail had been an awkward affair, not having a whole lot of comforting words to give his ramrod and feeling McMasters' eyes boring a hole in the back of his skull the whole time.  Favor was never one for platitudes and too honest a man to make light of the situation.  You couldn't just come out and tell somebody they'd break him out and wreck this town to win him free if they had to, in earshot of the local law.

Favor moved over to a table where Pete and Scarlet were seated.  "You seen the girl?"

Pete looked up. "She's in the kitchen doing the cooking. Old Winslow's been busier than a one-armed paper-hanger waiting tables.  He won't let her come out."  He nodded his head toward a quartet of men seated near the kitchen door, his expression grim. "Figure those to be the 'hired help.'"

Favor glanced over, his expression matching the scouts.

"I want to know what she has to say about Juan's night rides.  Who all knew about 'em.  Quince's hired gun says wait till court but I don't know."  He looked unhappily around the room. "Somebody here killed that kid.  I don't think we can wait before finding out who.  Mendoza may not let us."

"What are you going to do?" Pete followed his boss's gaze with some alarm.

"I'm going to talk to that girl."  Favor's jaws set and he began walking toward the door.  Pete got up quickly, moving to back his boss.

Caleb Winslow was, as Pete had observed busier that the proverbial paper- hanger but he didn't miss the determined trail boss' movement or its direction.

"Hey!  You can't go in there!"  He began to move on an intercept course but was blocked by Collins and Teddy.  He hesitated for a moment, uncertain what to do when it became a moot point.

"Senor, you cannot go in."  One of the vaqueros had stood up and moved to block Favor's progress.

"Listen, Rodriguez or Alvarez or what ever your name is, get out of my way."  Favor look was menacing.

"The Senorita is not talking to anyone.  It would be better if you left her alone.  She has enough troubles." He did not back down and the other members of Juan's keepers had risen to their feet to flank their spokesman.

"Or you'll do what?" Favor sneered. "Give me a "message?'" Favor stance was loose and easy as he balanced lightly on the balls of his feet.  "It won't be so easy this time, will it?" His cool grin encompassed the group as he slid a look toward the now watchful deputies. A fleeting emotion played across the vaquero's face that might have been pain.

Favor abruptly frowned, troubled by a sudden insight.

"Juan didn't send you.  You did it on your own." Favor stated, watching the man closely.

"You cannot go in, Senor." The man stubbornly shook his head ignoring Favor's statement. "Leave the girl alone." The three other men all shifted to form a solid barrier in front of the entrance.

"You haven't answered me."  Favor demanded. "Jumping my ramrod was your idea, wasn't it?"

"Favor!" McMasters snapped from the hotel entrance. "I warned you!  Make trouble and you'll be spending your time in my jail.  Favor!"

McMasters stood easy, his arm loose by his side and his hand hovering near his pistol.

"Sheriff," Favor's voice was deceptively calm but his eyes were hard as he turned to face the lawman.

McMasters scowled, taking in the still tableau of figures grouped by the kitchen door.

"Valdez, don't you have some where to be?  And you!"  He glared at the trail boss. "I told you you'll have your day in court. You can wait till then walking the streets free or in lockup.  Pick one. Right now!" His tone brooked no argument.

"Alright, McMasters." Favor bit down hard on his frustration. "We were just calling it a night.  Right men?"

"Yeah, Sure." A chorus of affirmatives were grumbled or grunted as the drovers began drifting toward the stairs or the door, easing past McMasters and his watchful deputies. The rest of the room patrons joined them.

"Valdez," McMasters gripped the older man's arm at the entrance. "You tell Mendoza I've got extra deputies at my jail and I'll shoot any man that comes in unwelcome.  You got that?"

"Si." Valdez replied resentfully.  He started to leave.

McMasters grip tightened. "No man is above the law.  I mean what I say.  That drover's going to get a fair trial!  You tell Mendoza!"

"I will tell him," Valdez spat shaking his arm free.  "No matter.  Now or in three days, he will hang."  Valdez's gaze moved to the big trail boss. "What ever happens, Juan's murderer will pay!"  And he laughed harshly as he went out the door.

Favor had waited, watching the interplay between the lawman and the vaquero as the room emptied.

"You've sure got a high regard for the law."  Favor almost snarled, his eyes burning a hole after the departing Mexican, his words for the lawman.  "You tell me what Yates' chances are in this town."  Favor's look now impaled the sheriff. "What are you doing to find the real killer?"

"I'm checking around."  McMasters mildly replied, looking over the now mostly vacated room.  "These things take time."

"Time Rowdy Yates might be getting short on."  Favor snapped.  "Can you guarantee you can keep Mendoza off of him?"

"Favor." McMasters straightened and held the irate man's gaze, with some iron coming into his own voice. "I promise you Mendoza won't take him unless it's over my dead body.  Is that good enough for you?"

Put like that, Favor could only nod.  Anything else would have been an insult.
 

"Mr. Favor, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Thomas." Adams collared the big man in the street as he was coming back from the jail.  Rowdy's night hadn't been a restful one but it had passed quietly.  None of the crew on watch had been bothered albeit, Mendoza's hands also had been in evidence.  A Mexican stand off of sorts seemed to be in order; one party to forestall a lynching and the other a jail break.

"We were just heading over to see Mr. Yates."  Adams' companion was a gaunt older gentlemen, stooped somewhat wearing a pair of wire rimmed glasses that seemed to have taken occupancy at the end of his nose.  He had a habit of looking over them more than through them.

"Doctor," Favor hand was shaken with a grip stronger than he would have expected from such a thin man.

"How is Mr. Yates doing this morning?"  Adams asked.

"Well as can be expected.  He did say McMasters wife can cook."  Favor smiled half-heartedly before turning to the physician. "Doctor, did Adams tell you what this is about?"

"He did.  I have no problem with being called as a witness. I will only be telling the truth.  If it helps your case as Adams believes it will, I'll be satisfied."  The Doctor smiled. "My trade is life, Mr. Favor, not death."

The three men began moving back toward the jail, Favor's eyes taking in the visible presence of Mendoza's hands, a good part of his crew and a fair number of grim faced deputies scattered about between the two parties all up and down the street.  The deputies were at a numerical disadvantage but a badge could sure add to their weight in the balance of power.

Favor looked back toward Winslow's with a sigh.  He'd met with no luck in infiltrating the kitchen.  McMasters' had deputies there too. McMasters seems to have put every able bodied man in town under a badge, he had enough of them.  Winslow had looked frazzled and tired when he'd served the morning feed, his kitchen overtaxed at the extra mouths.  This wasn't easy for him either.  Favor started to look back toward the jail when a movement at the hotel entrance caught his eye, bringing him to a sudden halt.

Kathryn Winslow had come out of the building, dressed for travel and she was moving toward the stage depot carrying a worn carpet cloth bag.

"Where is she going?"  Favor grabbed Adams.  "She can't do that!"

Adams grimaced in Favor's grip, turning to spot the girl entering the station while a team of six wheeled the stage to a halt in front.  "Mr. Favor?" Adams look was puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"She can't leave!" Favor almost shook him. "She's a witness!"

Adams looked with some alarm toward the stage depot then back to the trail boss. "What do you mean? Winslow's a witness, yes; Caleb Winslow.  Sullivan isn't calling on his daughter to testify."

Favor stared at Adams in shock. "You've got to stop her! We need her!  She can't leave! You make her one of our witnesses.  You fix it!"

Favor's urgency galvanized the lawyer into motion. "I'll go find the sheriff."  He started to move toward the jail with the doctor close behind.

"He's not at the jail. He'd left before I got there."  Favor yelled after him, his eyes tracking the streets, looking for the lawman. "I'll hold her here!"  He started toward the depot noting with a sinking feeling the phalanx of four who began to move to block him.  Mendoza's hired help.  McMasters' deputies were finding Favor's destination of interest as well and two of them were moving on an intercept course.   Favor cursed as he desperately looked up and down the street for a solution.

"Hey, Mister!" Favor abruptly changed direction, bearing down on a portly man carrying a display case, a stage ticket in hand. "I want your seat on that coach!"
 The twenty-five dollar gold piece Favor waved under the salesman's nose was plucked with one hand and the ticket proffered with the other. "You just bought yourself a ticket, Mister!"  The delighted drummer quickly grabbed up his case and moved up the street before the drover could change his mind.

Favor grinned, pivoting on his heel and moving toward the depot holding the ticket prominently displayed like it was an arcane talisman.

He spared a tight grin at the deputies and threw a challenging look at the discomforted vaqueros before striding into the building still wielding the precious piece of paper like a weapon.

"Antonio, get Don Mendoza," Valdez looked up the street where a deputy was loping after the attorney and physician bound for the jail while cowhands began converging in the depot's direction. "Be quick."
 

Favor came into the building noting the only occupant besides himself and Winslow's daughter was the clerk behind the counter and he was moving toward the door on business of his own.   "Going somewhere, Miss Winslow?" Favor came to a halt in front of the girl's chair. "I don't think so."

The girl had aged in the past twenty-four hours, he noted, her eyes red-rimmed from weeping.

Kathryn Winslow flinched, not meeting his eyes. "I don't want to talk to you.  Leave me alone."

"You might as well turn in your ticket, Miss.  You won't get five miles out before McMasters brings you back."

The girl looked up at the big trail boss, confusion evident in her stare. "I don't know what you mean.  He can't do that."

"I think you do and yes he can.  You're a witness, Miss Winslow. Adams is seeing to that right now." Favor pronounced grimly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Kathryn stubbornly repeated. "I've got nothing to say." Her eyes moved around the room seeking some escape or rescue.

"I think you do.  Sullivan wasn't going to call on you but we will." Favor promised.

Kathryn shifted uncomfortably, her hands tightening on her purse. "I haven't got anything to say.  I won't do it!"

"Oh yes you will.  Rowdy Yates was trying to help you.  You're the reason for all of this."  Favor's tone verged into dangerous.

"Mr. Yates and Juan had words and now Juan is dead!  I can't add anything to that." Kathryn eyes met Favor's gaze then quickly dropped. "Please, leave me alone."

"They had words, alright, but your father didn't know about that, not till I told him.  He can't swear to anything!" Favor's leaned over her, his mind working around that realization himself. "Is that why he's doing it?  To protect you?  Where were you going, Miss Winslow?  Is this your idea or his?"  Favor threw his hands up in frustration, glowering down at the girl. "Rowdy Yates is in jail and Mendoza plans to see him hang! Rowdy didn't kill Mendoza! You could help save him! Do you want to see him die? Or you don't want to watch?  Is that it?"

"You have no right to talk to me like this."  Kathryn's voice trembled whether with outrage of fear, he couldn't tell. Her hands were gripping her handbag like it was an anchor.

"Juan Mendoza was seeing you, pretty often. Wasn't he?  Did your father know about it? Did somebody else find out?"  Favor was thinking out loud, trying to fathom this girl. "What's wrong with you? Don't you want to see Juan's killer caught?" Favor paused struck by a thought. "Where were you night before last, Miss Winslow?" He forestalled her move to rise from the chair, bracketing her in the seat, hands on the armrests compelling her to look at him. "Were you waiting for him in the dark?  With a gun?  Listening for him, watching for him?"

"Stop it! Leave me alone!" She choked, averting her face and shrinking back in the seat.

Favor was relentless. "Did you kill him?  Is that it?"

"No!"  Kathryn abruptly straightened to stare at him, eyes wide, the color draining from her face. "I couldn't! Never!  I...please, just leave me alone." Her eyes welled with tears, her lip trembling.

Favor showed no mercy. "Why'd Juan die?  Who hated him bad enough to smash his face in?"  Kathryn's mouth dropped open, her eyes glazing in shock. "You didn't know about that did you?  He was a good-looking man, wasn't he?  Not anymore.  You wouldn't recognize him, not now."

Kathryn seemed to wilt, shrinking under the big man's verbal barrage.  "Oh, God..." She moaned, a hand waiving in the air trying to block Favors words, her eyes closing against an inner pain.

Favor rocked back with a sudden revelation. "You're pregnant! You're carrying his child!" It wasn't a guess, but a statement of fact.

"No!"  Horrified Kathryn drew herself upright, her eyes snapping open, but her hands had moved to protectively cover her midriff, using her purse as a shield.

"Yes." Favor straightened up, staring at her with revulsion. "What kind of a woman are you?" He demanded. "Is your good name worth a mans life?"

"I'll deny it."  Kathryn's tone was brittle but she had some mastery of herself now. "You can't make me say anything!"

"You think you can hide it?" Favor was incredulous. "Not for long!" Favor looked at the girl with contempt.  "But that's right.  You won't be here.  Nobody here would know." He pronounced balefully. "Juan is dead, Yates would be dead, case closed. Where were you planning to go?  To a relative back east?  You'd be so noble, taking in some orphaned child...with golden skin and black hair!  Or were you going to give him up?"  Favor's tone was bitter, his look cold. "Your reputation would be intact either way.  You'd have your good name!"  Favor glared down at her, his rising fury barely in check. "Well you're wrong!  You're not leaving and you're going to talk!  As to the rest, Dr. Thomas is here in town and I think he can say something about that, too!"

"NO! NO! Please!" Kathryn was on her feet, the chair kicked aside, backing away from the big trail boss, eyes seeking frantically for a way out.

"Come on, Miss Winslow."  Favor seized her arm and began dragging the protesting girl toward the doorway. "We're going to find the sheriff!"
 

"Senor Favor!"

Favor stopped mid-street, the girl still futilely struggling to break free of his grip.

Mendoza stood, his men flanking him, a barrier between the trail boss and the jail.  Favor's crew moved down from the walkway outside the depot, grouping themselves behind their boss.  The local law hovered, uncertain on the fringes between the two parties, while the stagecoach horses, stomped restlessly, jingling their traces.  The sheriff was no where to be seen.

"Let the girl go!  She has no part in this!" Mendoza waited, his hand hovering near his gun.

"Get out of my way, Mendoza!" Favor grated, stepping resolutely forward, dragging the girl with him.

"Senor, I am warning you..!"  Whatever threat Mendoza had intended was interrupted

Favor spun with the impact, a hard blow along his side that drove him to the ground pulling Kathryn down with him.

Men were drawing their guns looking for the source as another rifle shot rang out throwing up a puff of dirt between the downed pair.

Caleb Winslow advanced up the street chambering another round into his rifle, his features implacable with purpose, his movements mechanical.

Pete had come around from behind the hotel in time to see Winslow's advance up the street and the grouped parties by the stage depot.  He had begun moving up the street following the proprietor, while looking anxiously toward the confrontation and he hadn't spotted the rifle until Winslow's second shot. He raced up behind the shorter man, snatching the gun from his hands, knocking Winslow to the ground.

"Damn you!" He snarled, breathing hard, looking up to where men were converging by the downed trail boss then back to Winslow. "Damn you to Hell!"  Pete leaned over grabbing the man, hauling him upright and marching him toward the group, the rifle swinging loose in his other hand.

Favor was struggling to sit up, clutching his side and his eyes narrowed with pain.  Wishbone knelt by his boss trying to staunch the wound. Both men looked up as Pete pushed through the crowd, shoving Winslow ahead of him.

"He's got some cracked ribs and some torn meat, but he'll live." Wishbone spoke up, anticipating Pete's question.

Favor got slowly to his feet with Wishbone's help and speared Winslow with a cold stare.

Mendoza had moved with his vaqueros to help Kathryn rise and now she stood, softly weeping, her eyes fixed on her father.

"Who were you trying to hit, Winslow?"  Favor gritted out between clenched teeth.  "Me or your daughter?"

Every man froze, turning to look with shock between the trail boss and the New-Englander, stunned at the implied accusation. Winslow's first shot had passed between the trail boss and the girl. Barely.

Pete frowned, tightening his grip on the proprietor.

Favor stood swaying, a hand pressed to his ribs, blood staining his fingers as men moved uneasily into partisan camps leaving Pete with his prisoner isolated as well as the injured trail boss.

"You were going to testify about Juan and Yates having a run in, but you didn't know about it. Not till we told you."  Favor's eyes bored holes into Winslow.  "You couldn't testify to anything except Juan had been coming in regularly to see your daughter.  He'd been doing it at night after hours, too, on the sly. She didn't send him away either. Why couldn't he do it open?"

Winslow swallowed, his features set but he made no answer.

"Why couldn't he court the girl?  They cared for each other.  What was keeping them apart?   Who was keeping them apart?" Favor took a step toward the smaller man, his voice menacing. "Why wasn't Juan Mendoza good enough for her?  For you?"

Winslow glared at his daughter with cold fury, but still he made no response.

"Juan was seeing your girl, whether you liked it or not.  She's carrying his child."  Favor stated watching Winslow closely.

Winslow threw a look of abject hatred at the trail boss but still made no reply, his hands clenching and unclenching with fury.

"She's going to have his baby."  Favor went on relentlessly. "He was from a good family, well off.  He'd a taken care of her..."

The crowd had drawn close in around the trail boss and the proprietor, eyes moving between the girl and her father as they weighted Favor's accusation and the New-Englander's response.

"This was his mothers.  I gave it to her."  A broken whisper dropped into the ring of watchful spectators.  Mendoza, a badly shaken man, was holding the necklace that had spilled in the dirt from Kathryn's purse.  "It was my wedding gift to her."  Mendoza straightened, his eyes burning with fury, turning to bear down on Winslow, the necklace in his clenched fist. "He would not have just given this away!"

"You damned greaser!"  Winslow choked suddenly struggling in Pete's grip. "The idea of my daughter spreading her legs for a dirty Mex.."

He didn't get a chance to finish his comment, as Favor's backhand slap caught him across the face, leaving a smear of Favor's blood on his cheek.  Pete's grip was the only thing that kept the man upright.

"Your daughter or not, you keep a civil tongue in your head!" Favor snarled amid the growls of anger rising in the crowd.

The girl was weeping, convulsive sobs that shook her body.  Mendoza hesitated then moved to place an awkward arm around her shoulders drawing her to him.

Winslow slowly straightened, a hand going to his jaw, eyes fanatically looking between Kathryn and Mendoza.

"I have no daughter!"

"Papa?" Kathryn's sobs abruptly stopped and with a small keening wail she stepped forward, out of Mendoza's protective embrace, a hand outstretched toward her father.

"Papa? Please, No!" She stood trembling, eyes pleading.

"You hear me?  I have no daughter!"  He spat with venom, rebuffing the girl's plea. With a small animal cry Kathryn crumpled to the dirt like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Then you are a fool!"  Mendoza moved forward, his voice hard. "Now we are both childless!" He bent down over the crouching girl, his eyes locked on Winslow. "But I am not, I am rich!" He bitterly laughed, helping Kathryn to her feet. "Where I had a son, I now have a daughter, and a grandchild!"  His smile was almost triumphant as he placed an arm around the shaking girl holding her close.

"She will have a home with me!"  Mendoza scanned the crowd defiant. "She is the mother of my grandchild and my heir!"  He looked down at the girl almost with wonder at his own actions.  He patted her shoulder tentatively then glared around the circle of men, his voice hard. "Any man who speaks ill of her will answer to me!" No man spoke as Valdez and his companions moved to flank the old Don, their resolve evident.

There was a movement from the crowd as McMasters pushed his way into the circle to come to a halt by Pete and his prisoner.  McMasters coolly looked around the crowd then back to the scout.

"I'll take him now." McMasters reached toward the small proprietor.

"NO!"  Mendoza's voice rang out.

McMasters stopped and turned, stepping between Winslow and the old Spaniard.

Mendoza's look traveled between the prisoner and the girl protectively sheltered under his arm, his mind holding an internal debate, fighting a mental war.  Arriving at some conclusion, he slowly reached into Kathryn's purse, taking out her stagecoach ticket, sending it fluttering into the dirt near Winslow's feet.

"Get out, Gringo." His voice was husky with suppressed emotion. "Leave! I'll claim no debt against you… this time!"  He cast a defiant look at the lawman, his voice laced with pain. "There is no proof, no witnesses." He glared back at Caleb Winslow, eyes like flint, his voice carrying the weight of iron. "Leave.  If you return, I will kill you.  That is a promise.  You have nothing to keep you here."  Mendoza now turned to look at the big trail boss, his tone softening. "I will have no blood between me and my own," His gaze moved to the girl then back to Favor.  "There is a debt between us, however.  Whatever I may do for you, for as long as I live" His voice was almost tender. "Or my line."  His arm tightened in calm assurance around Kathryn's shoulders. "It is yours to claim."

Favor nodded, suddenly feeling light headed and drained.

Men were putting up guns and parting to make a way between the stagecoach and Winslow.  McMasters looked hard at the old Don for a moment, gave a small nod, then stepped aside as well.  Pete almost as an after thought, released his grip on the smaller man.

Winslow straightened, glaring around the circle, saying nothing.  He hesitated for a moment, then bent down to retrieve the ticket before making the long slow progress toward the waiting stage.

There was quiet as men watched him go, the quiet somber air of an execution.  Winslow took his seat, his back ramrod straight and he didn't look back as the stage carried him out of town.

"Boss," Wishbone ventured "We'd better get that looked at." He gestured toward Favor's side. "You're leaking pretty good."

"Yeah," Pete came up to where Favor was standing as the rest of the crew gathered round. "Good thing there's a doctor in town, ain't it?" He grinned aiming his jab at Wishbone.

Adams and Thomas had come up in the wake of the lawman and Thomas began fussily probing at the ragged furrow while excited conversation broke out in the crowd.

Favor winced, watching Mendoza and his crew as they escorted Kathryn Winslow back to the hotel, while ignoring the developing donnybrook between Wishbone and Pete, and the general hubbub swirling around him.

"You need a rescue?"

Favor turned to where McMasters stood apart from the group.

"Yeah," Favor nodded, tiredly, throwing the lawman a crooked grin. "I need some quiet time. Peaceful. Know where I can find some?"

McMasters grinned back over the heads of lawyer, physician and cowhands. "Don't you all have some where's to go?" McMasters' voice boomed out.  "Doctor! Take that man to my jail! I've got a few questions I want to ask him!"

"Now wait a minute!"  Wishbone looked up. "You can't do that!"

McMasters tapped his badge with a tight smile.  "Oh yes I can.  Beat it, cookie.   I'll send him back to you when he's patched up.  I promise."

The cowhands and townsmen began moving off with some disgruntled looks being thrown the sheriff's way but they went.

"Where were you when all this was going on?" Favor inquired as they moved slowly toward the jail with Favor being surreptitiously supported by law and medicine.
 McMasters looked embarrassed.  "I'd gone out to the Church to see the Reverend Father.  Swung by where that boy was killed too. Found some interesting boot prints, not the kind you find on a drover, neither.  Maybe it was too dark when you came by."  He shook his head. "I had an idea, but I didn't know. Sorry."

Favor studied the lawman, still puzzled.  "What about the law? You just let a murderer ride out of here."

McMasters' look was thoughtful. "Mr. Favor, there's the law and there's 'The Law'. There's a difference."  He rubbed his nose and gave a small shrug. "That girl's got nobody now, just Mendoza.   How would it be for her, if the law strung up her father?  She's got a home here.  This way, maybe she'll have some peace."
 Favor slowly nodded. "Nobody wins, just maybe they don't lose so much."

"Yeah, that's about how I figured it.  Winslow's got to live in his own hell."  McMasters looked at the trail boss, his gaze bleak.  "Sometimes you make your own devils."

"Yeah," Favor grimaced. "Ain't that the truth?"

The little Snake had been conquered with no casualties in the cattle department, even if the Favor Outfit was sporting two pairs of cracked ribs as well as a pair of respectable shiners.

It was a jovial crew riding out of town bound for the herd, even if the pace was sedate in deference to the boss and the ramrod.

"You sure Kathryn will be alright?"  Rowdy was riding next to the trail boss.

Favor shot him a withering look.  "The only she-stuff I want you worrying about for the near future is the four-legged kind!"  Favor shook his head. "Maybe you shouldn't go into any towns at all till we get to Sedalia."

Rowdy straightened in alarm. "I didn't make that trouble!"  He protested.  "Winslow hated him already.  He was just looking for an opportunity."

"Which we gave him."  Favor noted somberly. "We told him about you and Valdez and the rest.  It's partially our fault, too."

Rowdy looked back toward the town and then to his boss, feeling Favors pain.  "Yeah, well, he'd a found a way."  He tentatively offered, trying to help. "If it wasn't us, it'd been somebody else."

"Yeah." Favor grunted, dealing with his own devils.

Rowdy shifted uncertainly in his saddle and figured it best to change the subject. "What kind of life do you think she'll have?  Kathryn, I mean.  Life sure is hard on a woman, ain't it."

Favor mind was elsewhere, his gaze unfocussed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, she's sort of like a bird in a cage now.  Mendoza's not going to let her go anywhere, do anything.  Like she's kind of a widow, sort of.  She won't be able to see anybody, be with anybody…that sort of thing." Rowdy observed.

Favor's attention came back to his lanky still stove up ramrod.  "She'll have Juan's baby… and her memories."

"Will it be enough, you think?" Rowdy asked.

Favor's look was grim as he contemplated the future that might have been had things not fallen out the way they had.

"That's all she's got.  It will have to be."  Favor growled, shy on charity, then shook himself out of his fey mood.

"Come on," He smiled at his relieved ramrod. "Let's ride.  We've got a herd to move!"