"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fe-hel-loooow, that nobody can deny." Lusty voices rang out. Boisterous singers, aided by a few shots of whiskey, shamelessly attempted to harmonize. Friends and Bradshaw City town officials celebrated the retirement of Marshal Ted Marks.

Ted knew he had marshaled too long. At sixty-two, it's time to hang up your gun and turn in your badge. But he'd been lucky. In twenty-eight years, he received just three minor bullet wounds and suffered only two broken bones. That happened one week ago when his right fist crashed into the jaw of Red Carter. Even with a wrap on his gun hand, he still could lick most any man in the room.

Over the years, he killed five men in self-defense and sent twenty-seven to long-term jail sentences. Four were hanged.

Despite being honored at this party, the Marshal's list of supporters contained few able-bodied men he could rely upon. Accolades are nice, but casual friendships tend to fade. Of course, lawmen also create bitter enemies, often desperate men who wish them dead. Retired or working, constant vigilance will need to be his daily companion. For reasons few would understand, he welcomed the challenge.

Ted looked over the room and smiled at well-wishers, but wondered why his good friend, Andy Eagle was absent. He had informed him of the retirement party just two days ago. Lily Eagle mentioned that her husband was getting forgetful, but Ted dismissed that. The two partnered many times and Andy always remembered the details of long ago manhunts. Ted still called on Andy to help him on occasion, especially when tracking was required, or the situation would probably end in a gun fight.

Mayor Ezra Blount stood, banged his glass with a butter knife, thrust out his chest, tucked his thumbs in his red suspenders, and shouted. "Quiet! Quiet friends. Let's have a few words from the marshal."

The lawman tilted his head to one side and looked up at Blount from the corner of pinched eyelids. A fat cigar-chomping red-faced man, the mayor looked like a cartoon depiction of the consummate politician. Blount had tried to force Ted out several times over the past few years. "Too violent," he said. "His style of law enforcement has long since passed."

Most of the Town Council, however, felt that Ted's tactics of fear and intimidation kept the criminal element at bay, and none of them wanted the responsibility of backing a less-resolute man. But the mayor's influence swayed two new council members, and a three to three vote for dismissal at the last council meeting convinced Ted to retire.

Ted rose from his seat at the head table, smoothed his mustache and straightened his Sunday, brocade vest. "Most men still marshalin' at my age are dead," he joked. "But I'm sure that Stanley will do a fine job as my replacement. He's over to my office tonight, watching Red Carter, that killer I jailed last week. You've probably noticed that Stan's methods are friendlier than mine," he shot a glance at the Mayor, "more to Mister Blount's liking." Somberly, he added. "I only wish that my Cora, may she rest in peace, could have been here to celebrate with me. But I thank you for your kindness."

Then he handed his badge to the Mayor. "I no longer need this."

The fiddler struck up a lively reel and some got up to dance. Sally Martin came over to Ted. "Look at my son Junior dancing with Leah. Isn't he nimble and graceful on the dance floor?"

"That he is. Same as his Pa. I remember how Ed would hoof it at parties and weddings."

Ted's face softened into a sympathetic smile. "How you gettin' along Sally?"

"'Bout the same as you since Cora passed on, I reckon. But I have Junior." She leaned on Ted's arm and whispered. "Let me know if there is anything I can do . . . anything."

The party broke up long after midnight and Ted decided to stop by Cora's grave on the way back to the jail. She had passed away five months ago. His work kept the grief deep in his soul, but now, with emotion stirred by pending retirement, it bubbled to the surface.

Ted took his hanky from his coat pocket and wiped his eyes. "It was a nice party, Cora. Even Mayor Blount's wife congratulated me, although that horse's rear end of a husband of hers didn't say a word. Reckon he feels relieved now that a more affable man like Stanley is in charge."

"Andy was not there . . . kinda surprising after all the scrapes we've been through. Sally and son Eddie Junior were there. Sally seemed . . . sorta lonely now that Ed is gone."

Ted felt silly. Did he need to keep his dead wife from knowing that another woman had made a suggestive remark?

"Anyway, now I'll have more time to talk to you. And yes dear, I'll be careful and will continue to attend church."

Main Street was quiet. A slow steady drizzle began to fall. The lantern from the marshal's office cast a warm orange glow through the barred window. Stan would be waiting.

The door was unlocked. "Stan, I told you to keep the door locked. You know Carter has family who might come and . . . .Oh no. Oh my God."

Stan's body lay by the back cell. There were bruises on his neck and a knife wound on his left shoulder.

Red Carter was long gone, of course. A food tray was scattered on the floor just outside the cell. "Darn fool . . . must have opened the cell door to give Carter something to eat. Stan . . . Stan . . . . Too trusting, too damn affable."

Ted hurried across the muddy street and summoned Doc Dempsey. Mayor Blount, just walking home from the party, met them near Doc's door.

Both men heard Ted's stunning announcement. "Carter killed Stan and escaped!"

Dressed in his pajamas and robe Doc hurriedly followed Ted to the jail. Blount plodded along behind them.

The slim, balding doctor slowly bent to his knees and turned the dead man's head. "Looks like someone stabbed Stan behind the left shoulder, and then strangled him—probably with bare hands. See the fingernail marks? Someone came in here to help Carter escape."

Ted pulled his eyeglasses from his vest pocket. "I see the marks. You're right."

Mayor Blount entered. "There are three sets . . . ," he paused and took a labored breath, "of pony tracks out front. Two sets of muddy boot prints in here." Pointing at the floor, he continued. "Look how small those footprints are. Think a kid?"

Ted shook his head. "No. Probably his wife Zelda. She's a tiny, mean ol' witch, as bad as Red. Spent six months in Yuma Prison for stabbing some barkeep over in Wickenburg. Third one might be his brother, Ladge—a huge man said to be drunk most of the time."

Doc slowly got to his feet. "Not a good way to start retirement."

Mayor Blount chimed in. "When are you going after them?"

The marshal turned and glared at the mayor. "We just celebrated my retirement, remember?"

The room suddenly hushed.

Ted tightened his lips. He felt his anger rising. "Last Monday I walked into Jake's saloon and recognized Carter from a wanted poster. I slipped up behind him and yelled his name. When he turned around I knocked him out with a punch to the jaw. Busted my hand."

Ted took his gaze from the dead man and focused on the mayor. "The point is yer kinder, gentler marshalin' didn't work. Bad men need killin'. Five or ten years ago I would've called him out and he would've drawed and I'da shot him. Then Stanley would be alive, my hand would be good and you'd still have yer affable marshal."

Ted walked to the desk, opened the humidor box that lay on the corner, and pulled out a cigar. He lit the stogie and inhaled deeply to try and ease his bitterness. Despite the acrimony, he kept his voice soft, steady. "I'll go this one last time, but you better appoint one of yer bootlickin' cronies before I return."

Then with a peevish grin, he added, "Maybe you should take the job. You've been telling folks how marshalin' should be done for years."

Blount's mouth started to form some words, but then closed. Ted drew on the cigar again, and then smiled. "I want a full month's pay plus expenses. Three hundred. Now. In advance. I'll rest a couple of hours and then see if I can get up a posse. You're welcome to go along Mayor."

The mayor reddened with either embarrassment or anger or both. He reached inside his coat, found his wallet and placed three one-hundred-dollar bills on the desk, then pulled Ted's badge from a jacket pocket and laid it on the money. Without looking at either Ted or Doc, he quickly left the jail.

Doc Dempsey looked at Ted with a slightly amused grin. "Blount is one big blowhard. But raising a posse in Bradshaw City won't be easy. Who you gonna take?"

"Maybe Silas the blacksmith and young Junior Martin. No one else will volunteer and I doubt if there's any married men I could count on in a fight."

"Silas is older than you—no offense—and with his bulk he's gonna move awfully slow. And that kid? He's only seventeen, never been on a manhunt, and sure 'nough never spilt blood."

"Silas spent years fighting Apaches with the Buffalo Soldiers, the colored Tenth Cavalry out of Fort Huachuca. He's fearless and leather tough. And Junior? His Pa taught him how to shoot. He practices all the time, and good he is too."

"After this rain, I'll need a good tracker. Andy Eagle's Pa was Navaho and taught him how to track. He always rides with me."

"Andy?" Doc shrugged and seemed unsettled. "Don't know if you can count on him anymore . . . dementia, you know. His wife Lily brought him to me last week."

"What the heck is de . . . demsha?"

"Deh-men-sha," corrected Doc. "Forgetfulness, senility, aging, many old timers get it. Usually means you have a strong memory of things in the distant past, but not recent times. In my professional opinion, Andy's is advancing rapidly."

"Well, in any case I need him. The Carters will head for the Mogollon Rim. Rough country . . . hard to track. A manhunt just may be what Andy needs."

"A manhunt with Andy just might get you both killed."

By sun-up, the weather had cleared. Ted walked to the Settler's Inn, the hotel Ed Martin built, now owned and managed by his widow Sally. The front desk was vacant. He rang the bell and Junior came out of the office. "Hi marshal," then he turned toward the office door. "Ma, Marshal Ted is here."

Sally came out wearing her robe and brushing her long black hair. "Ted, how nice." She smiled, cocked her head to one side and batted her eyelids. "What brings you here so soon in your retirement?"

"I'm marshal again. I guess you didn't hear. Stan was murdered last night when Carter broke jail."

Sally's eyes widened. "Oh no! Who did it? Do you have to go?"

"Sally, I think his brother and wife broke him out and I'm getting up a posse to go after them. No one else in this town will do it. That's certain"

He looked at Junior and then back to Sally. "I know Junior is young, kinda between hay and grass, but I would like him to join the posse. Andy Eagle and Silas Amery will be going too. It could be dangerous. These are killers we're going after."

Sally's forehead wrinkled. "He's too young! He's all I've got. Think about me!" The lonely woman was filled with self-pity.

Junior took an eager step forward. "I'm goin' Ma, I'm goin'!"

Ted peered into the peach-fuzzed face of Junior. "If your Ma says so, you can go, but," he paused for emphasis, "I give all the orders, and you do exactly as I tell ya."

Junior looked at his mother. "Pa trained me to shoot and I'm good. Besides, with old timers like Andy Eagle and Silas, and marshal's bad hand, he's gonna need someone younger like me. There's three of them outlaws. I'll even the odds."

Sally looked at her son and shrugged with resignation. Her eyes moistened. "I couldn't keep him here, Ted. Once you said you wanted him, he'd run off and join up with you. But, promise me, promise me both of you will return safely. Please!"

Ted nodded. "I'll bring him home. That's a promise." He looked into the smiling face of Junior. "All right then. We leave in an hour from Andy's place. Bring enough grub for a week."

Junior beamed. "Wait 'til Leah hears about this."

Lily's face showed concern. "I don't think you should go, Andy." She knew saying it would be useless.

"Ted needs me," said Andy as he saddled his trusty grey mule.

"But Doc said—"

Andy cut off her words and held her shoulders. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "I need to do this. I'll come back." He kissed his wife, then stepped into the stirrups and urged the mule into a trot to catch up with his old friend.

Lily watched them go, Andy, Silas, Ted and that kid. Numerous times he had partnered with the marshal and they always left with an air of confidence. Something seemed different this time. A sense of foreboding gripped her as she stared down the road and watched until the posse was swallowed up by the shade of tall pines.

She remembered Doc Dempsey's diagnosis. Andy rode off just now, but in a strange way, she felt he had already left her.

Ted's posse slowed to let Andy catch up. His tracking friend wore his usual buckskins with a floppy hat. "I lost their tracks over there near that tall pine."

As they rode Ted turned and looked at his posse. A young untried brash kid. A black man, bold, capable but slow moving and well into his sixties. And Andy, my age, but a man I always could tie to; but now Doc says he's getting forgetful. Then too, my gun hand is broken, and my shooting with my left is plumb pitiful. I'm chasing desperate outlaws with three old men and a greenhorn kid!

Andy stopped often and put his Navaho heritage and his Pa's training to work. He would step down; examine rocks, dirt, brush and twigs. Seldom did he take time to explain his findings. He usually just mounted and rode on, sometimes heading in a direction the rest of them did not understand. Ted never questioned his judgment. Silas shrugged but never complained. Junior would look at Ted, apparently expecting a comment.

After Andy's third stop, Junior rode up to Ted. "Ma said Andy is gettin' old and forgetful. You trust him? I don't see no sign. He may have lost the trail. Probably will lead us into a trap."

Ted raised his eyes to his hat brim and pulled a cigar from his vest pocket. He felt his patience wearing thin. "Dammit kid, keep it to yourself. Your job is to ride and shoot, not to scout or track."

The trail zigzagged north along the west bank of Oak Creek. The tracks neared the stream for three or four miles then abruptly stopped. Andy splashed his horse into the water and waded to the other side. No tracks were found there. "They went into the water here and rode in the stream figuring to lose any tracker," he said.

"Can you tell if they continued upstream or turned back south?" asked Ted.

Andy crossed back to the west side of the creek and pointed to the ground. "See how sharply the tracks turn? That indicates they took a sharp right and rode in the water back to where they came from. If they were gonna continue north, the tracks would've entered the water at more of a slant."

The posse split into twos, and rode on both sides of the water looking for a spot where the outlaws might have ridden out of the creek. When darkness closed in and it became difficult to look for sign, they made camp. The fire was lit and the tired men settled back on blankets.

Silas groaned as he slowly, stiffly, eased to the ground. He flipped off his yellow army-issue suspenders, took off his Union cap, scratched his shaved head, and took a long drink from his canteen. When Ted tossed him a biscuit, he took a bite, exhaled after a deep breath, and laid back against his saddle. "Damn," he said. "If we'da knowed they was comin' back this way we could'a saved a day and a half ride."

Junior studied Silas. "Hey old man, you look spent. You should be home in bed."

"Ah can keep up with a puppy like you. Ya'll better fret about yerself when the shootin' starts."

"Don't you worry 'bout me, fat man. I can shoot with the best of 'em. "

Ted walked over to Junior and kicked him in the shin. "You watch your mouth. Silas has been in and out of scrapes with everything from Apache to army deserters. When your Pa taught you how to shoot there weren't nobody shootin' back. That's a lesson that is only learnt when it happens. Think on it and hope that you carry your weight!"

Bravado was all over Junior. He viewed this manhunt as a grand adventure, something to brag to Leah about.

Ted wondered how Junior would react in a gun battle. He's good, but it's not just being fast, or accurate that counts. In a showdown, it's being willing.

The kid rolled a cigarette, removed a twig from the fire and lit it. He sat back on his blanket and silently fumed. Andy watched, grunted and smiled as Junior pouted. When the cigarette was finished, Junior pitched it in the fire, pulled up his blanket, slid his hat over his eyes, and soon fell asleep.

Andy moved his bed roll close to Ted, sat cross-legged, and stared into the fire.

"Ted, this is hell."

"Yer right. These biscuits I brought are like rocks, and the jerky ain't much better."

"No, I mean this ditensha, or whatever the hell Doc says I got." Andy leaned back. "Some days I get confused. Forgot about your party. Last week I went down the Prescott trail instead of the one to home. Doc says it's gonna get worse . . . fast. Helluva thing to look forward to. Can't see me sitting on the porch staring at the mountains."

"Doc could be wrong. You still track just fine. And I don't see it in your words."

"Don't fancy talk me Ted. My Pa, Charlie Lone Eagle, had this too. One day he just rode off and disappeared over in Canyon De Chelly. Never saw him again."

Andy leaned back on his blanket. He looked into the eyes of his old partner and spoke in a hushed forthright fashion. "Ted, promise me you'll help Lily if I don't make it home."

Ted raised his bandaged right hand to halt the conversation. "Your talkin' crazy. C'mon let's get some sleep. You'll be right as rain in the morning."

Ted rolled over and pulled his blanket up. Sleep didn't come. First I lost Cora, then Ed Martin passed. Now, will my best friend sort of fade away? Damn dementia. Andy never worried much or asked for help before. Will he no longer ride with me, or . . . even remember me?

At first light the next morning, the posse had coffee and saddled up. Andy picked up Silas's saddle, walked a few steps, stopped, then put it down and picked up his own. Junior stood behind him, gestured to Ted by pointing at Andy. Ted raised his hand to mute Junior and saddled his own mount.

The morning was clear and crisp as the posse started along the creek. Going only a few yards they picked up the trail. Their quarry was headed into through Verde Valley toward the Mogollon Rim.

After a half mile, Andy stopped in a protected area next to a limestone outcropping. He stepped down and studied the ground. "We're on the right trail. They stopped here for a short rest. See the scrape on the rock, and the woman's boot print in that dry sand under the overhanging boulder? The tracks show they're movin' slow."

"They figured going into the creek would lose any posse." Ted surmised.

A cheeky smirk accented Junior's face. "Andy, I hope you know what you're doin."

Silas leaned out of his saddle, grabbed Junior's arm, and almost threw him from his horse. "Mind your manners, you shave tail pup. Andy Eagle was scouting afore you was born."

The rest of the day they moved at a steady pace following Andy's interpretation of sign.

The third morning out, the outlaw's tracks were clearly visible and Ted's posse rode hard and long. They had closed the gap. At sundown they reached a grassy clearing on a small knoll.

Ted called, "Whoa, we'll camp here."

They could gaze into the east end of the valley as it spread out along the Verde river. The men dismounted and began to unsaddle their mounts.

Andy, scouting a quarter mile ahead, turned back when he saw Ted wave and rode up to the group. "Horse droppings are fresher now. Doubt if they're more than an hour ahead of us. They must not know we're close 'cause they sure ain't skedaddling,"

Gray shadows replaced the pleasing colors of the Verde Valley. Trees, ridges, and rocks remained distinct in the Arizona high country as the sun gave way to a full moon and countless stars radiated in the black sky.

"Look there," said Silas pointing east. About a mile ahead they saw a pillar of white smoke curling into the calm air.

"They've camped," said Ted. He thought for a minute, and then added, "We'll hit 'em tonight."

Junior stiffened. His voice rose. "Tonight? You're crazy. They'll run off in the dark."

"With this big moon, we can see everything they do—besides at night, they'll probably be drunk. We'll work our way around and surround them. With the fire behind them they will make good targets."

Ted studied the faces. Silas grinned. Andy showed no emotion. Junior looked at him, then to Charlie, to Silas and back to Ted. He fidgeted, but remained silent.

Ted called the posse close. "If each of us does our job, we'll have 'em. Remember, Red is the most dangerous and the best shot. Don't forget Zelda, that wife of his. She's killed before. The other brother, big Ladge? Dumb as a rock and probably will be soaked."

Ted twisted his holster around to his left side. The wrap covering his injury unraveled. He tore it off and threw it on the ground. He tried to make a fist. The dark swollen right hand could not hold, much less fire a six-shooter.

"We'll walk there. Andy will lead. Try to stay in his footsteps and be Apache quiet."

Silas stepped in line behind Andy.

Junior Martin's eyes were large. He hesitated, looked to Ted, then took short quick steps and fell in line, ducking low behind Silas. The marshal brought up the rear.

Swinging to the left, they climbed a ridge and could look down on the camp, maybe fifty yards distant. The posse lay on their stomachs, huddled together.

The three outlaws were settled down near a large boulder. Zelda tended the campfire as the other two shared a bottle. Off to the left three horses were tied in a small stand of maple trees. The two Carter men sat and used the boulder as a backrest.

Ted looked at Silas who breathed heavily. He had no choice. It would have to be Junior and Andy. In a whisper he issued orders.

"Junior, see those small trees on the left where the horses are tied? You circle around and hide there . . . looks to be about twenty yards from their fire. There's good cover if you stay behind this hill until you get to the back side of that stand of maples. If you can crawl close enough, loose their horses."

Junior's breathed rapidly. He began to sweat. Ted patted Junior's shoulder and said, "You gotta calm down boy. You'll be alright."

"Andy you go to the right. See that big boulder behind them? Circle south and make a wide loop through the brush to the back of that boulder. I think you will have enough cover to get there. Wait there for my signal. If they try to run they'll probably try to gain cover behind that rock, and head straight towards you. If you can stop them we'll have 'em trapped. If they get behind that boulder they'll have us pinned down."

"Silas, you and I will wait here for about a half hour and then move straight toward them. Those two big cottonwoods will shield us for most of the way. We need to be as quiet as church mice."

"I'll give everybody time and then I'll fire once into the air and we'll all move in quickly. They may give up, but I doubt it. Carter's gonna hang. He's got nothin' to lose by fighting."

Junior and Andy moved off. Ted and Silas bent low and walked down the slope staying behind the two big cottonwoods as much as possible. Silas's moccasins were totally silent. Ted walked carefully to avoid stepping on a dry twig. A startled rabbit got up and dashed away. Both men went to their knees. With bated breath they peeked through the brush. They saw no movement from the outlaws.

Andy moved quickly south. Scrub pine trees and brush afforded him cover. He looked up from time to time and saw the rising smoke of the campfire. When he figured he had circled to his right far enough, he bent low, crawled at times, and headed toward the rising smoke.

Suddenly he stopped. Unsure of his memory he cursed. "Damn this mind of mine! Am I to go to the stand of maples?" Ted's order had disappeared. He cursed again but kept crawling. No, the boulder. No, the two big cottonwoods. Lord, help me! He moved forward and saw the smoke. At least I'm headed toward the campfire.

Junior circled left. He stayed behind the ridge, moving quietly. An owl hooted. He froze. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Pa didn't mention this part of posse riding. He rose and kept going. Now he could see the three. He squatted low. The outlaws were laughing and passing a bottle. Zelda was doing a music-less, Indian style dance around the fire. The thought of dancing with Leah entered his mind. She may never see me again.

At the maples, Junior went to the ground on his stomach. Pulling himself forward with knees and elbows, he came to the horses. The big black stallion whinnied. He rose to a crouch, hid behind the horse and calmed him by gently rubbing the stallion's flank. One of the Carters stood up and looked his way, then dismissed the noise and snatched the bottle from Zelda's hand.

Ted and Silas stood behind the two cottonwoods. Waiting . . . waiting. Ted looked at Silas and raised his shoulders in a questioning shrug. Silas shook his head. They continued to wait.

Several minutes passed. Silas nodded and Ted pulled his pistol from the backward holster on his left hip. They walked around the cottonwoods and into the opening.

He fired once into the air. Two horses bolted from the maples, the big black jerked, but remained tied.

"Carter! Yer surrounded by my posse! Throw down yer weapons!"

Red Carter and Zelda stood quickly and froze. Ladge remained seated. Ted saw Red swung his head from side to side. Junior hid behind the black horse. Andy was nowhere to be seen. Red looked back toward Ted and Silas. "Marshal, you're a damn liar."

Red went for his gun and fired two rapid shots. Then he grabbed Zelda and quickly yanked her around the backside of the boulder.

Ladge belatedly wobbled to his feet as Ted and Silas returned fire. The huge outlaw stumbled toward the boulder. He suddenly arched his back and tried to reach the bloody hole that appeared just above his belt. He staggered forward, fell face down and didn't move.

Ted felt a sting in his thigh. Silas was down, blood seeping from his shoulder and chest. Things were going wrong. Ted looked for help. Junior still stood behind the big black.

Andy came out into the open. Standing to the right of the boulder, he looked bewildered. Abruptly his demeanor changed and he ran toward Ted. Bullets drew puffs of dirt at his heels but took no affect. He leaped between Ted and Silas. Silas groaned, "I'm done fer . . . get Ted out."

Andy slid his hands under Ted's shoulders and dragged him behind one of the big cottonwood trees.

Ted rolled to one elbow and yelled, "Junior, for God's sake open up!"

Four shots from Junior whistled off the top of the boulder where Zelda and Red had forted up.

Seeing Junior finally in action, Andy readied himself to dash to the boulder across the open naked ground.

Ted noticed a bloody stain on Andy's buckskin sleeve and tried to hold him back. "You won't make it!" he screamed.

"So what!" yelled Andy. Then he leaped up, charged toward the outlaws, stumbled, kept going, reached the boulder and skirted the edge.

Ted recognized the sound of three shots from Andy's .44. He saw Red being held upright by Zelda, staggering around the edge of the rock. Andy, bleeding and limping, followed, his gun still smoking.

Red slipped from Zelda's grasp and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Zelda seemed unhurt and undaunted. She picked up Red's gun, turned and fired at Andy, who reeled back against the boulder and slid to the ground. He laid there motionless.

Junior stepped around the black stallion. Zelda turned toward him and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber. She squeezed again. Another "click". She knelt, pulled cartridges from Red's gun-belt and began to reload.

Junior stood transfixed, as if awaiting an order.

"For God's sake, shoot her, shoot her!" Ted boomed.

"But, but . . . a woman!" Junior carefully raised his pistol, and then backed up a step or two as Zelda approached.

She finished loading the gun and brought it up to eye level.

The roar of Junior's .45 sent Zelda reeling backwards. She fell near her husband.

An eerie silence replaced the echo of gunfire. The fight was over. Ted managed a sitting position, looked at Silas who gave a struggling smile and nodded. Then Silas closed his eyes.

Junior walked to Andy, and then approached Ted. "Andy is gone. What he did was plain suicide, but it saved you and me. Kinda like he didn't care if he died."

"He didn't," said Ted.

Junior clumsily bandaged Ted's wounds. Though slowed, the bleeding continued. He brought up the horses, wrapped Silas and Andy in blankets and draped their bodies over their saddles. Then he helped Ted mount and they started home. The marshal slumped in the saddle and Junior stopped often to give him a drink. They traveled slowly but figured to reach Bradshaw City in a day and a half.

As Junior rode, his mind went home then, and a modest smile appeared as he saw his mother and Leah. But there was no room for sentiment now; he needed to concentrate on his new sense of responsibility. He recalled the fear, the blood and carnage. No feeling of accomplishment arrived, only a sense of relief. No pride flared, but pesky guilt crept in. The grand adventure turned sour.

The morning of the second day they approached Andy's house.

Ted looked up as Lily ran to meet them. Seeing Andy draped over the saddle, she remained remarkably calm. "I knew he shouldn't have gone. But he felt it was his duty."

He handed her three hundred dollar bills. "This is Andy's share."

"Thank you. Thank you." She looked up and saw blood on Ted's leg. "Ted, you're hurt, let me help"

"Lily, Andy charged the outlaws. That saved me and the kid." He nodded toward Junior. "I need to get him home, Sally will be worried."

"Andy, my Andy," she sobbed as the tears now flowed. "I could've taken care of you . . . but I knew . . . I knew." After a long pause she added, "He was so proud. He wouldn't allow himself to become a helpless invalid."

"I'm sorry Lily. You lost a brave husband. I lost my one true friend."

Lily pointed to the last horse. "Leave Silas here too. He will lie next to Andy."

Sally Martin stepped outside of the hotel to sweep the steps. Squinting into the morning sun she could see two horsemen a couple of blocks away riding toward her.

Down the street, somebody yelled, "The marshal is back!"

People began to come out of shops and houses and walk along with the riders. Mayor Blount came out of the barber shop and pushed his way to the front of the parading crowd.

Sally watched the commotion and rushed out into the street. The marshal is back? Fear gripped her. She raised her eyes slowly; afraid of what she might see. A huge smile replaced her tightly drawn lips. That's Junior! She waved at her son. He looks fine, but the rider on the horse he is leading is asleep, or hurt. It's Ted!

The crowd watched in silence as Junior rode up to the hotel. He stepped down and tied his horse to the rail. He greeted his mother with a slight smile and a nod. After lightly touching her shoulder, he walked with a weary gait to Ted.

"Marshal, we're home."

Ted raised his head slowly. "I see." Then, with a voice loud enough for others to hear he added, "You done a bang-up job, kid. Proud to have rode with ya."

The marshal turned to Sally and removed his hat. "I returned your son, as promised."

Then he turned to face the Mayor, labored to get his breath, and struggled with his words. "We killed three Carters. Andy Eagle is dead. So is Silas Amery."

The Mayor looked at the blood on Ted's pants and mumbled, "Somebody get Doc."

Ted lifted his injured hand and snatched the silver six-point marshal's badge that was pinned on his vest pocket. "Mayor, I'm done. Here's your badge."

Attempting to dismount, he struggled to throw his wounded leg over the saddle horn, lost the left stirrup, fell heavily, and rolled on his back. The badge was still in his hand.

Doc Dempsey rushed to the fallen lawman and grabbed Ted's wrist. "Our marshal is dead."