A light breeze with a hint smell of the sea made the hot and humid night in St. Marks somewhat more bearable. The streets were almost empty in the small coastal town except for a few people working late or looking for a good time. At the docks, a ranch foreman began talking with the sheriff.

The foreman held a lantern up to one of the cattle's brands. "Do you see this, sheriff? This brand has been changed. I know because I worked for this ranch down around Pine Level."

"When were these cattle delivered?" asked the sheriff. He was an older gentleman who dressed more like a politician. He sported a three-piece suit with a black tie. Many would not think much of the aged sheriff by judging his peaceful-looking face, but others knew he had a reputation for a quick draw that could put down out-of-hand sailors who were looking to get into trouble.

"They came off that steamer this afternoon," replied the foreman. He pointed toward a small steamboat anchored in the harbor. The foreman was a rough-looking man. His clothes, wool hat, and knee-high boots looked new given he had moved to the area recently, but his face showed scares reminiscent of the rough south Florida frontier from which he came. "There were four of them. The man in charge was named Alaster Conley. He is the one that completed the sale."

"Did any of the sailors say anything about these men?" asked the sheriff.

"No, you know how they are when they arrive. When they get paid, they head right for town."

"Did you see where they went?"

"After my boss had paid Alaster for the cattle, Alaster turned around and paid his men. His men talked about visiting the bordello with the sailors. Alaster mentioned something about playing cards at the saloon."

"Let me go talk with Mr. Conley and see if we can get this figured out."

"Be careful, sheriff. I know the type. These are some rough cowboys. Sometimes they don't take kindly to the law."

The moon was full and at its peak in the sky. The rumbles from a distant storm over the Gulf could be heard in the distance. The clock struck midnight as the sheriff entered the saloon. The double-action door swung shut behind the sheriff as the sounds of his boots stepping on the wooden floor echoed throughout the room. The bartender was busy drying dishes, and there were two cardplayers sitting at a table in the far corner. The well-dressed cardplayer sitting with his back to the wall was well-known in town and a regular at the saloon. Looking much like a wealthy plantation owner, he was a professional cardplayer and gambled on riverboats throughout the region. He had managed to make his own fortune but never worried about money, considering the wealth his family had accumulated.

The other man with his back toward the entrance was Alaster Conley. His wide-brimmed wool hat was full of dirt and grease and hanging on the chair next to him. His hickory shirt and cotton pants were torn in some spots, and his boots extended above his knees. His spurs were a showy Spanish style and possibly stolen. They were too fancy for this cowboy.

The sheriff looked directly at the back of the cowboy. He paused for a moment and placed his hand on his revolver but kept it in his holster.

"Mr. Conley," called the sheriff.

Alaster froze for a moment. He appeared to be staring directly at the cardplayer. The smoke from his lit cigarette rose at a slight angle above his head and danced above him due to the thick, humid air.

"Mr. Conley," said the sheriff. "I need to ask you a couple of questions about the cattle you sold earlier today."

Alaster still refused to move. He just sat in the same position like a stone. The cardplayer opposite Alaster sat still as well. He looked right into Alaster's face. He knew the type and had gambled with them before. He figured Alaster was wanted somewhere. He never discriminated against anyone concerning their background as long as they were willing to play a good hand of cards, a rule he was beginning to regret on this night. He could tell Alaster was ready to draw blood.

The cardplayer glanced quickly at the sheriff. The sheriff read his eyes. Alaster was going to draw. Alaster lifted a revolver out of his lap, turned, aimed, and fired from under his left shoulder. The old sheriff had his Colt out of its holster and was ready to fire at Alaster when the bullet struck him in the heart. He hit the ground dead. Blood began to flow across the floor from the exit wound.

Alaster turned back toward the cardplayer and was greeted with the barrel of a pocket pistol. The cardplayer fired, and the ball just grazed Alaster's cheek. Alaster, angered at the cheap shot, aimed his revolver at the cardplayer and fired twice. The bullets thrust the cardplayer back to the wall with his arms extended out like a sign of forgiveness. Blood splattered on the wall behind him, and his body bent forward in the chair and came to a rest on the tabletop.

Alaster looked at the bartender behind the counter. He was in shock at the sight and stepped backward until his back was against the wall. The scene that seemed to play out in slow motion only lasted several seconds.

Alaster looked back at the table, stood up, put his cigarette out, and downed his shot of whiskey. Then he placed his revolver back in his belt, picked up all the money at the table, packed it together neatly, folded it, and put it in his pocket. Then he proceeded to rob the cardplayer of his valuables and weapons.

Alaster walked over to the sheriff and began to remove his Colt and belt when another man from outside yelled. Alaster froze in the middle of removing the belt. "This is the deputy. Both exits have gunmen on them. There is no place for you to go. If you throw up your hands and come out, we won't shoot you."

Alaster put the sheriff's belt over his left shoulder and held the other end with his left hand. He pointed the Colt at the bartender with his right hand. The bartender's eyes got big.

"Is there any way to get to the roof?" asked Alaster.

"There's a skylight in the hall upstairs."

Alaster grabbed his hat and headed up the stairs, with each step screeching from the loose boards. Once in the hall, he spotted the skylight. It looked like it came off an old ship, probably one that was decommissioned in the harbor.

He looked down both sides of the hall. The doors were all closed, and he figured if anyone was in the rooms; they were too afraid to come out. Alaster took a chair in the hall and placed it directly under the skylight. Then he used the butt of the sheriff's gun to bust the glass and frame. He tilted his hat above his eyes and blocked his face with his hand to protect himself from falling glass. Ship skylights often had brass bars extended over the glass to protect the windows from being busted at sea; fortunately for Alaster, the bars had long since been removed.

After the glass and window frames were busted out, Alaster grabbed the edge of the window sill, pulled himself up through the opening, and rolled his body onto the roof. His newly acquired gear made the roll appear somewhat awkward.

Alaster stood up and examined his surroundings. It was hard to make out in the lantern-lit street, but there appeared to be one man in front holding a revolver, the deputy, and another man at the back door. The man in the back had a long gun of some sort. The blacksmith's shop was right next door to the saloon. Despite the weight of his gear, Alaster felt he could make the jump and land on the roof of the blacksmith's shop.

Alaster quickly walked to the other end of the saloon to get a running start. He took a deep breath, prepped his mind for the jump, and started running. When he got to the edge of the building, he put both his feet on the ledge and leaped. He looked two stories down briefly before the next roof appeared beneath his feet. Alaster braced for the impact, hit the roof, and began to slide down the angled side. He pressed his boots against the shingles of the shop as if he were attempting to dig his boots into mud or sand. His descent on the roof slowed before he came to a stop.

He looked around and saw a dormer window above him. Alaster worked his way back up the roof toward the window, careful not to let his feet or hands slip out from under him or make any noise. When he got to the window, he was relieved to find that it was cracked open to let the heat out of the building. Alaster opened the window and entered.

The room was engulfed in darkness, and it was impossible to make anything out. He could hear the deputy and some other men talking outside. A crowd was beginning to fill the street in front of the saloon. Alaster fumbled in the darkness and reached into his pocket to pull out a match. When Alaster lit it, he was greeted with an unpleasant sight.

The blacksmith was standing in the room holding a loaded double-barrel shotgun in Alaster's face-both barrels cocked and ready to fire. The blacksmith was a large and rough-looking man with dark hair and a thick dark beard. His clothes were stained and burned from his occupation, and he was wearing a leather apron and working late into the night.

The blacksmith yelled out to the deputy. "Deputy! I've got your man! He's upstairs in my shop!"

The blacksmith never took his eyes off Alaster. Alaster stood there with his arms halfway up in the air as a somewhat sign of surrender. He was frozen like earlier, with a match still burning in his hand, contemplating how he could get out of this situation.

The sounds of men running up the stairs resonated throughout the room before the door swung open. The deputy, a middle-aged man wearing shooter boots, cotton pants, and a button-down shirt with suspenders, entered. He looked as if he hurried over to assist the sheriff due to his lack of a hat and jacket. Another man followed with a long gun. He wasn't a deputy but was probably there to help out. He looked like a longshoreman judging from his attire.

Still excited about the entire incident, they both ran past the blacksmith while acknowledging him-his eyes still darting out toward Alaster. The longshoreman placed the barrel of his gun in Alaster's face, and the deputy fumbled to put his revolver away in his holster. Then he pulled out some handcuffs. He was still shaking from the events that had transpired. The deputy grabbed Alaster's arms, pulled them down, placed the handcuffs over his wrists, and locked the cuffs. Then he proceeded to remove Alaster's weapons. The deputy and the longshoreman led Alaster out of the room. They thanked the blacksmith for his help as they exited the building.

St. Marks was a quiet coastal town that rarely had incidents such as the one that unfolded tonight. Whether it was out of boredom, excitement, or just being plain nosey, everyone lined the streets so they could witness the episode firsthand and see the man responsible.

As Alaster was led down the street toward the jail, the deputy began to talk. "Do you have any idea who you shot?"

"A sheriff that made an unwise decision?" responded Alaster.

"I'm not talking about him," replied the deputy. "I'm talking about the man you were playing cards with."

"What about him?" responded Alaster.

"He's the son of a politician in Tallahassee. That man is going to want your head in a noose."

Just before they entered the jail, Alaster saw a familiar face. It was one of his men. He winked his eye once toward Alaster as a sign of assurance. Alaster knew it wouldn't be long before he was out.

Alaster was led into the building and toward his jail cell. At the entrance, the longshoreman held his gun at Alaster's face as the deputy removed the cuffs. He was then led into the cell, and the door was shut. One turn of the key by the deputy and a click signaled that Alaster was secure.

"As soon as morning arrives," started the deputy, "I'll get the judge so he can get started."

The deputy spoke to the longshoreman. "Stay here and keep an eye on him. If anyone enters and tries to cause trouble, fire a shot, and I'll be right back. I'm going to take care of the sheriff."

The deputy exited the building, and the longshoreman pulled a chair out from behind the desk and placed it in front of Alaster's cell. He sat down and put his gun in his lap. He refused to take his eyes off the criminal. He wanted to make sure nothing got past him and that justice would be served.