The Colorado Kid

The sun was setting low over the mountain. Pike’s Peak loomed in the distance casting a shadow over the dusty streets of Spencer, Colorado. The lights in the houses along the house row been lit and the good people of Spencer had taken to their homes for dinner and rest.

Rev. Joshua Marshfield is struggling with a package he is carrying down the boardwalk. His labored breathing echoes off of the windows of the closed businesses. The tinny sound of the piano inside the saloon soared across the dusty street. A gravely voice called to the Reverend.

“Hey, Padre, you need a hand with that?” The sound of the bat wing doors of the saloon being pushed open was followed by the sound of heavy boots on the boardwalk. They stopped in front of where the reverend was struggling with the package.

Rev. Josh looked up into the steel grey eyes of Markus King, Colorado Ranger. At almost six foot tall the big man had an easy smile and friendly eyes that hid something behind them. Something dangerous. The scar that ran down the big man’s face hinted at the past that Markus rarely spoke of.

“Howdy Mark. Yes sir. I could use a hand. These clothes are for the orphanage over to Denver. Mrs. Marchand culled out all the things from the General Store that ain’t sold and Mrs. Spencer brought some things from Colorado Springs to send when she went to town the last time.”

“Good.” Markus took the box from the Reverend and hefted it up on his left shoulder. The pair started down the boardwalk toward the church. The big colt on Markus’ right hip slapped quietly against his hip, his right hand instinctively hung above it. “We can give them young in’s something good this year.”

“Absolutely. It is our duty as God fearing believers to clothe the less fortunate.”

“Amen,” the big man smiled. “Some of them kids, that’s all they need. Just a good hand. Turn em to the right side.”

“Indeed.” Reverend Josh put the big iron key into the lock of the church and opened the door. “Well, Thank you Brother Markus.”

“You’re welcome, Padre.”

Reverend Joshus watched the big man as he left. The man moved with an ease for such a big man. His felt hat, beat up and worn from years of use, turned left and right as the lawman’s eyes swept the street.

*****

Markus King leaned back in his chair inside the Ranger’s office on Main Street. A stack of handbills on his desk was held down by the silver peacemaker pistol that the founder of the town, James Spencer III, had awarded him at the town carnival the month before.

It was a pretty pistol to be fair. The town Marshall, a man named John Jackson, wore one. Some of the ranch hands that rode for Spencer also all wore them. The metal cartridges were handy. A man could get it out of the holster fast, if they learned. They were accurate and reliable pistols.

Markus drew his old Army Colt and laid it on the desk next to the peacemaker. That was a pistol, he thought. It took a bit to learn to shoot that hogleg, but a man got used to the weight of an old colt. The kick in your hand. The sound of the boom when it fired.

Markus smiled and picked up the peacemaker. Standing in the lamplight, he slid it into his holster. The Army was a lot bigger, and the peacemaker was small in the holster. Markus’ hand flashed down and the pistol came up like magic. Snap, Snap, Snap. The hammer dropped on empty cylinders as Markus fanned the hammer. Still got it. He shook his head and laughed.

He dropped the peacemaker back on the desk and slid the old army colt back in its spot on his hip. He picked the handbills up and slid them into a desk drawer. Those were better looked at on another day.

He stepped out the door onto the boardwalk. The moon was rising over Spencer. A quick lock of the door and then Markus King made his way down the dusty street. The rowdy noise at the Rose Saloon was starting to lessen now. Spencer’s boys had headed back toward the ranch a bit ago and few of the hanger-on’s were finding places to spend the night.

Markus’ boots made a soft noise on the boardwalk as he went past the darkened buildings toward the small house, he had just past the main street noise. Still easy to get to in case he was needed but it was all his own. He let himself in the dark house and crossed the room in the dark to his bedroom.

His boots made a clumpf noise as he kicked them off and tossed them over into a corner of his room. He unbuckled his gun belt off and pulled the pistol and put it under his pillow. After he slid out of his shirt and pants he laid down and was asleep in no time.

*****

“Hello Ranger. Mind if I sit down?” A voice at Markus’ shoulder said gently. James Spencer III, Cattle Baron and owner of the Spencer mining company, was standing next to the table in the restaurant. With him was the town Sheriff, a man names John Jackson. Markus looked up from the cup of coffee he had in his hand and shrugged.

“It’s a free country.” He smiled at the men.

“Thank you.” The older man took a seat, the Sheriff remained standing.

“Get you a cup of coffee?” Markus asked.

“Thank you.”

Markus motioned for Sally, the girl who ran the town restaurant. She smiled at him and came over with a cup of coffee for Spencer and the Sheriff.

“Howdy fellers. Gettin’ some breakfast boss?” That was for Spencer. He owned the restaurant. She set the coffee cups on the table in front of the men.

“No thank you, Sally. I wanted to talk to the Markus, and then I have to head to Colorado Springs.”

Sally nodded and wandered away.

“Markus I wanted to tell you about something in advance. Sheriff Jackson is already aware but I think you need to hear it from me.”

“Ok, sir. I am listening.”

“At the end of the month we are bringing down some gold ore. A whole lot of it. The mine is finally going to pay off. I should be able to pay some of the town’s debts. I have sent a letter to the governor. He has assured me that you will be at my disposal should I need you.”

“You know I will, Mr. Spencer. The Rangers are mandated to assist with gold shipments.”

The older man smiled and nodded his head. He knew, indeed. He had been there the day the governor had signed the proclamation creating the Colorado Rangers.

“You are a good man, Markus King. This town is lucky to have you here. Jenny is lucky to have a man like you.”

“Well. I try sir. And I don’t know that Miss Jenny’s daddy agrees with you. He don’t seem to take to me too well. But Miss Jenny? She’s a filly with a hard head.”

The Rancher laughed out loud.

“That she is son. That she is. I will have Tom tell you about the details as soon as I have them. I have to go over to the Springs and make arrangements to get the gold down to Colorado City to the smelter there. I will need you on that. The hard part will be getting it down to the smelter. Once they are there and they buy it hey can put it on the train headed to Denver to the Mint. Then we can bring the payroll back here so I can pay the boys.” The rancher motioned with his hands. Markus scratched his head and nodded.

“Gonna need some hands ridin’ shotgun. Probably a few men on horseback.”

“Well, I will leave you to the details. Sally.” He nodded at the woman when she came back with the coffee, and the two men left Markus with his thoughts.

The gold coming down the mountain would be a problem. There were only a few places, once they got started, that could stop. That grade was steep and the road of narrow. On the Shelf Road there were no places to turn around. At all.

The biggest worry for Markus in this situation was the Hole in the Wall Gang or whatever they were calling Cassidy and his band of misfits and killers. There were a dozen places both on the Shelf, and on the train to Denver, where an ambush could happen. If they chose to ignore that then the danger was once the money was paid and the payroll was headed to Spencer. There would be other Rangers, of course, on the train from the smelter to the mint. He would let them handle that.

“Gonna get some breakfast, Mark?” Sally interrupted his thoughts, “Mrs. McClaren’s chicken have been layin’ too much so we bought some eggs. Could do something nice for ya.”

“Thank you, Sally, but just coffee this morning. I had a leftover biscuit and some salt pork this morning.”

“Well, suit yourself.” She smiled and touched his arm. Then she went over to a group of men across the room.

Markus rose to his feet and dropped a dime onto table. It clanked as it hit the wooden top.

“A short bit for the coffee, and for being so purty, Sally. Thank you kindly/”

“Yessir. Don’t let Jenny Marchand hear you callin’ me purty, Markus. She’s a wildcat when she gets jealous.”

“Yes Ma’am” He tipped his hat and stepped onto the boardwalk. The bight morning sun cam unfiltered from the blue sky. No clouds in sight and only a gentle spring breeze blowing.

Markus reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and took out the leather case that held his cigars. He knew a man up in the Springs that hand rolled some fine Cheroot smokes and he always gave Markus a few when he was in town.

Markus flicked the match with his thumb and let the sulfur head burn a bit before holding the snipped end of his cigar over it. The fragrant smoke of the dark tobacco mingled with the smells of breakfast coming out of the restaurant and the dusty smells of the town.

Markus’ footfalls boomed in the quiet morning as he went down the boardwalk toward the livery. If he was going to be protecting that payroll he was going to have to have a ride around the main road coming down from the Springs. Even though he was familiar with the road, he couldn’t chance missing something that wasn’t there before. If there was going to be trouble the roadmen would definitely have scouted the way. He knew that for a fact.

“Howdy Markus!” A man’s voice called. “What you fixin’ to do?”

“Well, hiya Arkansas,” Markus laughed in greeting and shoved his hand out to the man. “I am about to ride out for a bit and check the roads.”

“Good plan.” Arkansas Tom Johnson nodded his agreement. “The boss already told you then?”

“Yessir. Only two parts worry me. The comin’ down and the getting here with that payroll.”

“Yup. The train ride won’t be any of my concern. Your friends in the Rangers will take that gold all the way to Denver.”

“Yup, or the Pinks. Who knows.” The Pinkertons were hired sometimes by some of the banks to escort the gold as well as the Colorado Rangers. “Mr. Spencer has asked the governor for my help to get the payroll all the way here. I guess he’s expectin’ trouble.”

“Nah. Nothin’ specific. Just worried is all. That money means a lot to this town. He poured half his savings into that mine tryin’ to build this town into something. If that money gets stolen it wouldn’t just ruin him, it will ruin a lot of lives here.”

“That’s true, Tom. That’s why we have to make sure it makes it.”

“That we do, Mark. That we do.”

As the men continued down the boardwalk, a noise behind them caused them both to turn. A door slammed open. Both men wheeled. Markus’ hand came up and hovered over the handle of his Army Colt.

“Markus King! I was standing in the window of this store waving to you, and you walked past me without so much as a nod.”

“Well, Miss Jenny, I apologize. I was caught up in my own thoughts.”

“Are your own thought half as important and waving to me?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“I thought not. My father says that you are expected to come ‘round for dinner this Thursday.”

“He did? What for?”

“He did not say. I sensed it was important. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Markus tipped his hat and turned back to Tom. The older man was hiding his smile with his gloved hand.

“What?”

“I knew you were a brave man, Ranger King, but tryin’ to put a saddle on that one? You are a bigger man then me.”

“Oh, Jenny is alright. She’s just a little… headstrong. I like ‘em wild.”

“Headstrong? Son! That is an understatement. She can shoot, and ride, like a man. I seent her once, over to Colorado Springs, get into a heated argument with a feller that was tryin’ to rip off some folks headed west. She said he was sellin’ them some cutbait goods. Almost got herself into a heap of trouble till her daddy came in with that sawed off he carries everywhere.”

Markus smiled. The sight of Jenny trying to keep someone from ripping off some movers was pure Jenny. She had a sense of justice that seemed unmatched except by her outspoken nature.

“That sounds about right. Good thing her daddy does carry that scattergun.”

“Yeah, but when you go to dinner better make sure that big 20 gauge is in its spot. You been spending an awful lot of time with his only daughter.”

*****

Markus and Tom rode out a ways from Spencer on the main road to Colorado Springs. The spring rains had been pretty decent so far, but the ground was still a little hard from the winter. The thaw would be soon, and the ground here would be dusty and slightly sandy.

There was nothing too unusual about the path. The same rises and bends, no unusual debris or rock piles. Sometime in preparation for a robbery the thieves would set up hiding spots. You would ride right past and never know that it was a spot that would be used against a stagecoach or shipment.

As the two men swung around and started to head back to town, Tom looked over at the Ranger. Being a lawman on the frontier was hard and the men that gravitated to that role were hard sometimes as well. Toeing the line between good and bad in the name of justice was a difficult role.

“Mark? Have you ever thought about what you’re gonna do after you’re done bein’ a Ranger?” Tom asked.

“No’sir. Been on my own since I was a kid. Been a decade since I put this badge on. Never really thought I would live this long to tell you the truth.”

The gentle clop of the horses’ hooves counted out the time as they rode back toward Spencer. The gentle flop flop flop of the men’s holsters against their legs was like a prairie melody against the background of the gentle breeze.

“Yer a good man, Markus King. Maybe you ought’s think about laying that badge down on a desk somewhere’s and make a home.”

‘Doin’ what Tom? Farmin’? Never growed nothin’. I been in a saddle since the day I was weaned. Ain’t no free cattle country left. I been everywhere Tom. No. I wear this badge because it means something. There are men out there who would take away the things that make this country great. I ain’t saying that I am stopping it all together, but I stop it when I can. It makes a difference.”

“Fair enough, my friend. Fair enough.”

The two circled around the outskirts of Spencer and Tom waved goodbye to the Ranger and headed back toward the ranch. Arkansas Tom Johnson was a true western man. He had come west after the war between the states. He’d had enough killing and wanted to make a new life. He immediately found that violence was a tough part of living and surviving in the west. He wasn’t afraid of nary a beast or a man. He’d fought both and would fight again. But if he was late to supper with Mrs. Johnson one more time… Well that was a fight he wouldn’t risk.

Markus chuckled as he watched his friend disappear. He rubbed his horse’s neck and nudged him down the path toward town. It was late afternoon and the town was bustling with activity.

Spencer was like a lot of frontier towns. The Main Street ran alongside the train tracks for a short bit and then veered off. On that main dusty street was everything. The hotel, the saloon, the general store and several other businesses. A cross street went East and along that track was the homes of the people who had chosen, for one reason or another, to stay in town. The business district and the residential were separated by the church. The good folks of Spencer went to church every Sunday. Reverend Joshua was a quiet dignified preacher that spoke softly and passionately about duty and honor.

Spencer had been founded a decade ago by James Spencer III. He had already built a small but thriving empire of cattle on the plains, and though it was only a short ride to the bigger Colorado Springs, Spencer had envisioned a town that would be his capital and his greatest achievement.

Spencer owned almost everything in town. The Hotel, The Prairie Queen, was a posh brick edifice. The rooms were nice and well kept. Mr. Eddington, a man with experience from back east, ran the hotel and Sally managed and cooked at the restaurant that was part of the hotel. The Saloon, also owned by Spencer, called the First Chance offered the first opportunity for the men of the west to get a drink before they hit the streets of Colorado Springs. They would be disappointed if they sought a drink in that town. It was a dry city. They had to go all the way to Manitou Springs to get a drink. So, Spencer was a natural choice for the rowdy Western men to get a drink.

When James Spencer III invested in the mining in Cripple Creek he had poured a large portion of his business into that venture. This first haul was a validation of the rancher’s vision. And an invitation. An invitation to the bad elements to come and take it.

Markus swung down in front of his office and hitched his horse to the rail. He pulled the Winchester 1873 Repeating rifle from the scabbard and stepped up onto the boardwalk. He unlocked and opened the door to his office. He was setting the Winchester in place in the gun rack behind his chair when a soft voice startled him. He turned to see Jenny Marchand leaning against the door. Her arms were crossed across her chest, and she was staring at him with her intense blue eyes.

“Uncle James is nervous about the payroll.” It was a statement and a question. She was the only one in town who had permission to call the rancher by anything other than Sir, Boss, or Mr. Spencer. His wife and her mother were sisters.

“Yes, Ma’am. It’s a lot of money. Lots of bad people will want that money.”

“And it’s your job to stop them.” Again, a question and a statement.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Mark… there is sometimes that I look at you and I see my future, And I want that so bad. But then, sometimes, I look into your eyes and there is something there. Something hidden from me. Something dangerous. I… I am afraid that you are going to get hurt this time. Or worse.”

“Jenny. There is always that possibility. I knew that when I pinned on the star. A lot of good people are depending on me. Not just the people of Spencer, but the entire state of Colorado. Times are changing. The West is changing. We just have to hold on.”

He took a step closer to her.

“This.” He pointed to the star on his chest. “This is who I am. The day I can’t protect the people of this town, of this state, is the day they put me in a pine box and lower me into Boot Hill.”

“I know,” She hesitated. Her hand came up to his chest, but she hesitated to touch him. She drew her hand away and turned toward the door. The shiny silver Peacemaker on his desk caught her eye.

“Nice Paperweight.”

“Thanks.”

*****

Markus was leaned back in a chair on the boardwalk in front of his office, his hat pulled down to shade his eyes from the setting sun. He had his boots crossed over one another as he watched the town of Spencer. His cigar was sending a beautiful plume of smoke in the fading daylight. Sheriff Jackson was standing in the doorway to the First Chance Saloon up the street. The tinny sound of the piano was wafting out of the Saloon, and the boys of the Triple S were singing and having a good time.

In the golden light of the disappearing sun three silhouettes were framed. Riders. From the East.

Something inside of Markus shivered. These were not just riders. He would put two bits on it. The front legs of his chair hit the boardwalk with a thump. Sheriff Jackson had stepped into the street to greet the riders. Markus instinctively reached down and slipped the thong off his Colt. He began to make his way up the street toward the saloon.

“Hey there, friends. Welcome to Spencer. I’m the Sheriff. Gonna need you to take them pistols off boys. No firearms inside the town limits.”

“You got a pistol on yore hip.” One of the men protested.

“I am the Sheriff. It’s part of the job. So. You can just hand your belts to the bartender. Then pick them up when you go.”

The biggest rider swung down. There was a menace in his eyes when he stared into the face of Sheriff Jackson. His hands flexed and moved over his pistol.

“What if I just kill you and then go get a drink any way.”

“You’ll be dead before your gun clears leather.” Markus’ voice was full of steel. His hand hung loosely over his gun.

“Why Mr. Colorado Ranger. I was just funnin’. I wouldn’t hurt a hair on the head of this…” The big man’s left hand came up with his gun in it. A boom echoed through the streets of Spencer. A blossom of red started to spread on the chest of the big outlaw. The man looked down at his chest in shock. He looked back at Markus and crumpled into the dust.

The other two men looked at Markus in shock then their eyes went down to their compatriot where he lay dead in the dirt.

“In Spencer, we take our guns off, boys. You understand?” Markus asked, smoking gun still clutched in his fist.

“Yes. Yessir.”

“Then swing down and drop ‘em.”

“Yessir.”

The pair had lost all inclination to fight. The big Army Colt in Markus’ hand had appeared like magic.

“Fastest I ever did see.” The voices coming out of the saloon said in wonder.

“Did you see that?”

“That Ranger is wicked fast.”

“Like lightning.”

“Lightning? Like the hand of God.”

Sheriff Jackson turned to Markus. Rage was twisting his dark features.

“You didn’t have to do that, Mark. I could have…”

“That was Joe McMahon. Down in the Nations they used to call him Left-Handed Joe. Wanted in three states. I got his handbill on my desk.”

“Left-Handed Joe McMahon?” The man was a killer. Sheriff Jackson paled.

“Yup. You are welcome.” Markus turned to go. The blacksmith, who also was the town undertaker, had come around with his wagon to take the body. Markus tossed him a Dollar piece.

“Let the state pay for it. I will just put it in my expense report.”

*****

Markus sat nervously in his chair at the dinner table in the dining room of the Marchand house. Johnathan Marchand sat at the head of the table. Jenny, in a pretty dress, was across from Markus and her younger brother Jimmy was sitting next to Markus. Mrs. Marchand was at the foot of the table. Mr. Marchand was saying the blessing. Markus, who had faced down men in battle, was shaking visibly,

“Heavenly Father. We have to stop and give you thanks for the things you give us. Somethings we have earned… and somethings it remains to be seen. Amen.”

“Amen.” The rest echoed.

The wonderful smell of roasted meat and potatoes wafted through the house. Markus’ mouth was watering as Mr. Marchand served himself some of the roast. Fresh baked bread was passed around. Markus served himself a modest portion of the roast, though he was tempted to just set the whole pot on his plate and dig right in. This was cooking. He passed the dish to Mrs. Marchand who smiled at him warmly.

“So,” Mr. Marchand started, “What was that noise we heard last night?"

“Some men rode into town. One of them was a known outlaw. He made like he was gonna shoot Sheriff Jackson. I stopped him.”

“Johnny Patrick said that you were the fastest gun he ever did see…” Jimmy’s voice rang in, his mouth full of food.

“James Marchand!” His mother scolded, “Don’t talk with your mouth full. And a man’s death is nothing to celebrate.”

“Yore mama’s right, Jimmy. Ain’t… I mean there isn’t any glory in taking a man’s life. Even if he ain’t… Isn’t any good.”

“But,” Mr. Marchand cut in, “We certainly do not waste any tears on a man like Left-Handed Joe McMahon.”

“Left-Handed Joe?” The mother sounded far away. “”He robbed us in Wichita when we had our shop there, didn’t he?”

“He certainly did. Shot the mirror out over the back wall. For fun. Well. Good Riddance.” Mr. Marchand shook his head at the memory. “Good Job, Son.”

Jenny smiled across the table at Markus. Markus visibly relaxed and stuffed a bite of roast into his mouth. His senses swam. This. This was cooking. Sally at the restaurant could cook, but this was art. Before he could stop himself, he sighed. Mrs. Marchand beamed at Markus.

After dinner Mr. Marchand invited Markus into his study for a drink. As soon as Markus entered, he looked around the room with a wary eye. Then he saw it. The big 20 gauge shotgun was safely in the rack above Mr. Marchand’s desk. Markus sighed a sigh of relief and wiped his forehead.

Mr. Marchand offered Markus a glass of whiskey. Markus took it and lifted it to his nose.

“Scotch?” He asked.

“Why,” Mr. Marchand seemed surprised, “Yes. Yes, it is.” He opened the humidor on his desk and took out an expensive cigar. He held it out to Markus.

“Thank you, sir.” Markus took it with relish. He took the clipper out of his waistcoat pocket and snipped the end. Mr. Marchand held up a desk lighter and Markus lit his cigar and took a mouthful of the heavy smoke. Heaven.

“Well. I guess you are curious why I asked you to come to dinner?”

“Well… Yes sir.”

“To tell you the truth I was ordered to.”

“Oh?” Markus was confused but then it hit him.

“Jenny.” They both said in unison and then laughed.

“You’re a good man, Son. I know that it seems sometimes like I don’t like you, but I can’t just make like I do. She is a handful and if she thinks she has full permission, well, it’s full sails then.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Indeed. I don’t envy you that.”

“Aww she’s just spirited.”

“You have no Idea, boy, no idea at all.”

*****

Markus rode out early that next morning toward Colorado Springs. He hadn’t even gotten to his office when the telegram clerk handed Markus a dispatch.

Come to the Springs. Stop

News about shipment. Stop

Be careful. Stop

Will explain when you arrive. Stop

At the Antler’s Hotel. Full Stop.

It is a half a day’s ride to Colorado Springs to West from Spencer. The mountain gets bigger and bigger, the closer you get to the Springs till it looms over head like the mythical Olympus.

William Palmer chose this mythical spot to build his utopia. The city streets were laid out in precise squares and were wide enough to turn a carriage around in with large, planted medians with gorgeous flowers and trees. There was no saloon in the town. No drinking.

Palmer had built the luxury hotel, The Antler’s, not long ago to be a welcoming spot for his perfect town. Markus swung down from his horse and tossed the reins to a bewildered attendant outside the hotel. Another attendant pulled the door open for Markus as he headed into the hotel.

Markus spurs clinked and echoed through the foyer of the opulent hotel. Heads turned and stared as Markus clinked and clanked his way to the desk. Every eye in the room was on Markus. Whispers sang through the air.

“He’s wearing a gun.”

“What does he want?”

“Who is he?”

The desk clerk paled as the big man stepped up to speak to him.

“C-C-Can I help you… Sir?”

Markus pulled his duster back and revealed the silver star on his chest. The clerk looked from the badge to Markus face and back to the badge.”

“I’m here to see James Spencer. He is a guest in this hotel.”

“Yes. Yes sir. He is in the Billiard’s room.” The clerk snapped his fingers and a bellboy came over to take the ranger to the billiard’s room. The boy guided Markus through the hotel, the big man’s boots and spurs jingling and clanking the entire way.

The bellboy slid the double pocket doors open to the Billiard Room and Markus stepped inside. Through the dense cloud of cigar and pipe smoke Markus could see James Spencer III sitting in a leather high back chair. He was sitting talking to another man. A bottle of Old Crow aged Whiskey was on the table between them. Spencer looked up and saw Markus and waved him over. The second man excused himself and left his chair open for Markus.

“Sit down, son. I have news.”

“Yes, Sir?” Markus sat int the chair

“The gold will be coming down next week. We will head up the mountain on Monday. We will be coming around the Shelf Road. You know that road.”

“Yes, Sir. There is no stopping. There is no place to turn or turn around. It’s a sheer drop on the right side.”

“Exactly. I need you on that one, son. I need you on that first stage.”

“I will be there. You said there was news that might be dangerous?”

“Yes. There is a rumor that says that Cassidy’s group may try to hit us on the way down. He has left Brown’s Hole. No one knows where he is. Be ready for anything.”

“Yes, sir.” Markus stood and prepared to go.

“Another thing.”

“Yes?”

“I would be ready when we leave the Springs for Spencer with the payroll. That money has to make it to the bank in Spencer. Come Hell or High water.”

“It will, sir. It will.”

Markus made his way back through the lobby. The attendant brought his horse and Markus trotted the three blocks to Hundley’s Livery. The attendant there brushed and cleaned Markus’ horse. Markus paid an extra two bits and slept in the hay of the livery.

*****

The two stage coaches laden with gold left Cripple Creek on schedule. Markus was on the box up top with the driver. He had a double barrel 20-gauge shotgun across his lap. Another one was at his feet. His Army colt was in its holster, and he had even stuck the peacemaker in a cross-draw holster in front of his belt.

Once you leave Cripple Creek it was an arduous trip down the mountain. The sheer drop on the right side of the coaches was bad enough. The road was narrow and depending on the weather could be roughly graded. The wagons were heavily loaded so even if they wanted to the horses would never be able to get to a dead run.

The teams that the drivers used were used to the grade and raised in the mountains, so the thin air didn’t affect them. Markus’ eyes scanned the road in the front and back of them. He had his ears attuned to any noise. Anything that seemed out of place caught his attention.

They had gone a long way when a strange noise caught Markus’ attention. It sounded like a bird singing. There. There it was again. Markus cocked his head like a dog. Then he heard it again. It was a whistle. A man was whistling like a singing bird.

The shelf jutted out over the road about a quarter mile up. That is where the ambush would happen. Then he caught the flash of light on the barrel of a gun.

“When we get to the flat spot, let em run.” Markus hollered at the driver. He turned and motioned to the man on the other coach. He saw the shotgun of the second man, a ranger named Jones, come up at the ready.

When the wagon hit the flat spot the driver whipped the reins hard and yelled “HEYAH”. The team lurched forward and started to move faster and faster.

A masked desperado appeared on the shelf of rock and took a shot at lead horse, but he missed by a mile. The masked man caught the full blast of Markus’ shotgun in the chest and flew over backwards. Another desperado shot at Markus with a pistol, the bullet whistled past Markus head. He could feel the heat of the slug as it went. He unloaded on the desperado with the second barrel of the scattergun. The man slumped as the wagons went by.

Boom. Boom. Jones’ shotgun bucked twice at something behind the caravan.

. Three men on horseback appeared in front of the lead wagon, rushing out of a stand of scrub oak. They were masked and shooting. Markus drew his army colt and fired Boom. Boom. One of them men hit the ground. The big colt went back in his holster.

Kicking the second Scattergun up to his hands he stood and fired a shot at a man who was on another shelf alongside the road. The second barrel boomed and one of the men on horseback flew off his horse and slammed against the sheer face of the rock face.

“We are almost down, Ranger. Gonna hit that flat spot.” The driver yelled.

Markus nodded and looked back at Jones and his driver. Jonesy was firing his Winchester at something.

“Jonesy. You good? We are almost there.” Markus hollered at the other ranger.

“Ride like Hell Markus! The driver got hit in the arm. He’s got SAND though. Let’s finish this.” Jones yelled back and then went back to his shooting.

The single desperado in front fired again. Markus shucked his Colt and fired again. The man went off his horse and over the side. The grade started to flatten out and the horses had an easier time.

*****

“Brought them in at a dead run!” The saloon in Colorado City was humming with the sound of men telling the story. “Three of them baduns’ are in Boot Hill!”

Markus and Jones were legends now. There was no evidence that it had been Cassidy or his ilk. One of the bodies that had been recovered and brought down looked to be Texas Pete Johnson, a bad man that used to run with the Shorty Smalls gang out of Brown’s hole.

Men came in and out of the saloon telling different versions of the story. They bought Markus and Jones drinks all night. At some point in the night even Mr. Spencer had come in to tell the men good job.

“Great work, son. Fine, Fine work!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“In the morning, if you don’t mind, could I get you to go back to Spencer and get the boys ready? Tell them it will take a couple of weeks. I will cable down when we are ready to move that payroll. Be ready for anything.”

“Yes sir.”

The rancher turned to go but stopped at the batwing doors. He half turned back and said again.

“Thank you, son. I mean it. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, sir”

*****

The town of Spencer was quiet when Markus swung down from the saddle in front of his office and pulled his Winchester from the scabbard on the saddle. He unlocked his office and stepped inside. The Winchester went into the rack. He laid the peacemaker on the desk and shook his head. Never fired it. Not once.

When he stepped back onto the boardwalk and headed toward restaurant for a cup of coffee something in the air felt wrong. It was midday. The sounds seemed muted. Markus closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he caught the site of Mr. Marchand in the window of the general store. The man motioned to Markus to come into the store.

“Be careful, son. It’s been bad since you left to bring that gold down for Mr. Spencer. Some strangers are in town. Asking about you. Said you killed their friend.”

“Left-Handed Joe?”

“Yessir. One of them is bad. Real bad. A name I haven’t heard for a long time.”

“Who was it, sir?”

“The Colorado Kid.”

Markus’ head snapped up. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Who… Who did you say?”

“The Colorado Kid.”

“That’s not… That is not possible.” Markus stammered. The room swam.

“I didn’t think so either. I heard the Kid died. But this man. He claims to be the Kid. And he’s fast. Killed a man in the First Chance. Refused to give up his guns. The sheriff was powerless to stop them. They have been misbehaving. It’s bad. I’m glad you are home son.”

Markus stepped back out onto the boardwalk. The world tilted on its axis and he felt sick. He grabbed the rail of the boardwalk to hold himself up.

The Colorado Kid. That was impossible. He hadn’t heard that name in a decade.

The Colorado Kid was a badman in the way that William Bonney was a bad man. Or Wes Hardin. He was wicked fast and he didn’t care which way the barrel was pointed.

He’d first appeared in Denver sometime in the 1870s. Probably an orphan or some of the flotsam and jetsam that were left going west after the war. Killed a man in Denver then fled the area.

He had shown up again in the rowdy town of Leadville. By then the gun was fast and it didn’t care. He left Leadville ahead of a posse.

The Colorado Kid had then been an enforcer during the Royal Gorge War. Then a civilian had been killed and the Kid fled down to the Nations. He had been reported killed in a skirmish with the Daltons down there.

This man couldn’t be the Kid. That was impossible. There was no way.

*****

The Colorado Kid leaned on the bar in the First Chance Saloon. He was smiling a wicked smile. He liked to hurt people. He liked it when people were scared of him. These people of this prairie town in the middle of nowhere Colorado were terrified.

When that Ranger that killed Joe showed up, they were going to kill him and then wait for the payroll to roll into the bank and take it. The boss had assured him that Ranger Markus King would be easy. The Kid had killed men before and this one ranger, no matter how fast, would be left laying in the street. He ran his hand through his dirty blonde mane and then put his beat up hat back on his head.

The batwing doors of the First Chance creaked open. Arkansas Tom Johnson stepped through and made his way to the bar. He laid a silver dollar on the bar and said Whiskey. The bartender looked at the Kid and then at Arkansas. With a shaky hand he uncorked the bottle of whiskey and poured a glass. He slid it forward toward the Triple S Segundo. The man picked up the glass and then turned to face the Colorado Kid.

“So. You must be the kid? The Colorado Kid?”

“That’s right, old timer. I am.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me? What did you say?”

“I said. You ain’t the kid.”

“You callin’ me a liar?” The challenge hung in the air. To call a man a liar was fighting words.

“You take it how you want. But I know you ain’t the Kid. I seen the Kid with my own eyes, down to the Nations. Never seen anything like it. Wicked fast. And mean. Dark hair and grey eyes like a Naveeho. And ask anyone who every heard of the kid. Got him a mean scar. Runs down his face. Killed a catamount with a knife. Got all scarred up from it. You ain’t got now scar. And that blonde hair on yer head says you ain’t the kid. I don’t know who you are, but you ain’t the Kid. ”

The man who had been masquerading as the Colorado Kid paled. The double batwing doors creaked again as Ranger Markus King stepped inside. His beat up Stetson holding back his raven hair. The midday light shone on his face highlighting the scar that ran from his eyebrow down to his chin.

“The Colorado Kid…” someone breathed.

*****

Dearest Jenny,

I wanted so bad to be the man that you need me to be. For ten years I have been. I have tried really hard.

If I live after what happens next some things are going to happen fast. I wanted you to hear them from me, but I don’t have time to tell you face to face. I have to stop these men that are tearing up this town.

My name is Markus but my last name is not King. It is Johansson. I was born in Missouri just as the war between the states was winding up. My old man went and joined a Union Regiment to fight in the war. He was killed at Vicksburg. This old Army Colt was all that was brought back to my Ma and me.

Then she remarried and we went west. Her new husband beat her to death in Denver one night and I was an orphan. I was fifteen and I found my dad’s old colt and I went to where the man was in a saloon and I killed him. I ran.

I drifted around a lot. Fell in with some bad men. They taught me to use this old gun. I found I had a natural affinity for it. It was like magic. We robbed some stages and a bank or two. Never killed anyone though. But by then I was the Colorado Kid. An outlaw.

Then Leadville. By then I was fast and I didn’t care. If they wanted it, I gave it to them. I left Leadville a killer.

Then the Royal Gorge war. I tried Jenny. To be on the side of the law. But in a war where everyone is above the law, the law gets blurred and so do the lines. Even being near the great Bat Masterson couldn’t help me. I killed the wrong man and I couldn’t stay.

I fled down through Raton to the Nations. I got this scar from fighting a wildcat with a knife. I killed him but I almost died. Made me a legend in the Nations.

A Deputy Marshall out of Arkansas saw the boy in me and helped me. A great man. He talked to me about loyalty and honor. Changed my life. The “Kid” died one night in a fight with the Daltons and I walked away a new man.

I got recruited for the Colorado Rangers and have ridden for the law since then. And I still do. If I die then it will be while trying to stop these men from hurting this town, my friends. If I don’t then I will own up to who I really am and put the Kid to rest. Even if it is at the end of a rope.

I love you, Jenny. I wanted you to be my wife. I am sorry,

Markus King, Colorado Ranger.

*****

The Colorado Kid stood in the doorway to the First Chance Saloon. His steel grey eyes narrowed as they took in the man who had pretended to be him. Then they cut up to the balcony of the saloon. A man was there. He was watching the Kid, the real Kid. Another man was sitting at a table behind the imposter.

The thong was off The Kid’s big colt. Both of his hands were on the batwing doors of the saloon. No one was breathing too loud. No one was moving.

“I heard you been going around telling everyone that you are the Colorado Kid.” Markus drawled. “We both know that ain’t true, don’t we?”

Arkansas Tom Johnson put his hands up and started to slowly go left away from the bar, his eyes watching the fake Kid and the man behind him. Markus glanced down, the thong was off Tom’s Pistol.

“It don’t matter,” The fake kid swallowed. Sweat was running down his face. “The boss says I got to kill you either way.”

“You think that is going to happen?” Markus growled. “Think you are fast enough?”

“You are about to find out.”

"Listen, Son. I been in your boots. You ain't a bad kid, just some tinhorn that came west lookin' to be somethin' bigger. You got a choice. Take that belt off, get a job, find a girl and live your whole life. OR. Skin that hog and go to work. They'll put you in a box and take pictures of your corpse."

“Tinhorn?” The color flashed in Fake Kid’s cheeks. His hand flashed down and came up spouting flame. The first shot went wide but not too wide. It caught Markus in the shoulder. Markus big colt boomed three times, and the imposter caught all three shots. Markus’ pistol shot upward and the man on the balcony fell over the railing.

Arkansas Tom’s pistol fired twice and the man at the table who was coming up with his pistol took two to the chest. The badman’s pistol fired into the floor.

Markus collapsed.

*****

Jenny dropped Markus’ letter on the Ranger’s desk. She heard the shooting in the Saloon and charged down the boardwalk with her father’s 20 gauge. A man dove out of the doorway and made a charge toward the horses. He swung into the saddle and start to ride in her direction. Jenny tucked the scattergun under her arm and fired. The outlaw’s shoulder was peppered by the shot; the horse ran for a yard or two then the man fell to the ground.

Arkansas Tom and two other men were carrying Markus King down the boardwalk. Tom was yelling at Jenny.

“Get the doc. Get the doc!”

Jenny bolted down the boardwalk and beat on the door of the doc’s office. The door was jerked open as the old man came through. He had a bewildered look on his face.

The men were moving the prone form of the big Ranger alone the dirt of the street.

“The Ranger. Markus. He’s been shot.”

“Bring him in. Bring him in. Miss Jenny I am going to need a nurse.”

“Anything , Doc. Anything.”

“Let’s get his shirt off,” Doc handed Jenny some shears as the men laid Markus on the examination table.

The men of town were crowding in the room. They had followed as Tom and the other men had carried Markus to Doc’s

“Men! Men!” Doc yelled over din. “If you want me to save this man’s life you have to get the hell out of here and let us work.”

Arkansas Tom Johnson shooed the men out and then turned to Doc.

“You save that man’s life. Whatever it takes. You save that man’s life.”

“I will try, Tom. I will try.”

*****

The light of the lantern was burning low. Jenny was sleeping in a chair next to the bed when Markus opened his eyes. Pain tore through his left shoulder and arm. He moaned a little.

Jenny came awake. The letter he had written her was on her lap.

“Markus. You are awake.”

“Am I dead?”

“Do you feel dead?”

“No. I hurt to bad to be dead.”

Jenny laughed. She reached out and wiped the dark hair out of his eyes. Her touch was tender.

“Jenny…”

“Hush. I know.” She held up his letter. He lowered his eyes.

“I wanted to tell you. I just couldn’t.”

“I know.”

“So, you know what I have to do after this is over.”

“The Kid is dead, Markus.” Jenny’s voice was tender but firm.

“I know. I made sure.”

“No. You don’t know.” She walked over to the fireplace where a small fire warmed the room. She tossed the letter he had written into the flames. “The Kid is dead. He died in the Nations in a fight with the Daltons. The man in the saloon was an imposter.”

“Every man in the room head what Tom said…”

“Every man in the room saw you stand shoulder to shoulder with us when the old church burned down. You threw water till you almost collapsed. You were right there when those renegades were raiding towns and killin’ folks. Every man in that room knows what you did for Mr. Spencer and the gold. You could have run, Mark. But you didn’t. You stepped into that room knowing that you might get killed. But you had to stop that man from killing your friends. Every man in that room knows that you are Markus King, Colorado Ranger. No one is going to say another word. They all agree. The Colorado Kid is dead.”

*****

“The money is almost ready. What are we going to do? Whoever sent those men is still out there.” Arkansas Tom Johnson was sitting in the restaurant with some of the men of the town.

“All I know is that he is going to come back. He is going to get more men and come back. Markus is getting better but he ain’t gonna be fine in time to go to the Springs and get that money and make it back here.” The banker was speaking. Heads nodded.

“What the hell are you all talking about?” A voice at the end of the table chimed in loudly. Sheriff Jackson seemed irritated. He stood up and hooked his hands on his belt. “I ain’t no Markus King with a pistol but I can shoot a Winchester. And so can you Don,” He motioned to the banker. “Mr. Marchand was in the war, and he has that big 20 Guage. Every man in this town has fought renegades. Most of us was in the war. It was a long time ago but not long enough that we forgot. Markus saved us from those outlaws. He saved me from Lef-Handed Joe. I for one am not going to give up. I say we wait for that wire from Mr. Spencer and then if Markus is ready, we ride with him and bring that payroll back. This is our town. No outlaw is going to steal that from us.”

Arkansas Tom smiled and nodded. The others nodded and agreed.

“That’s it then. We wait for the word then we go get that money,”

“Agreed.”

*****

Twelve men rode out of Spencer, Colorado two weeks later. Markus King, his shoulder bound up, led the grim-faced group toward the west. The mountain and the money lay a half a day’s ride away.

Mr. Spencer was waiting for his posse to get there to bring that money back to the town. The Triple S boys have moved into the town to watch things when the towns men rode out. They had sent a single wire back when the cable came in,

Mr. Spencer. We are coming. Stop.

Bad elements precipitated a show of force. Stop.

Be Ready. Stop.

Good Luck and God Speed. Full Stop.

Spencer was waiting with the two of his ranch hands when the men rode up to him. He smiled and patted the saddle bags.

“Let’s go home.”

“Best drop them bags, James.” A voice said from the shadows. A man stepped out with a pistol in his hand. Markus froze. He shook his head in disbelief. Reverend Joe. He should have known.

“Reverend?” James Spencer III was flabbergasted. “What…”

“Well. If a man can change his name and be a Ranger. Seems to reason one can change and become a Reverend. I tried to play it straight. Then I heard about that haul. I went up to Brown’s and got some… associates of mine. They thought they could get away with it. I knew that Markus was good. I saw him once. In the Nation’s. And Tom too. I thought the fake Kid would stop Markus. But I was wrong about that. Oh Well. It worked out. For me. Just drop them bags and then back off. Or I will put a bullet in your fancy pants behind.”

Spencer started to move but Markus spoke up.

“Hey padre, did the orphanage get them clothes?”

“What?” Rev. Joe turned slightly. He seemed confused,

A shot rang out in the night. The reverend looked surprised at the spreading red on his collared shirt. He looked at Markus and the peacemaker in his hand from the cross-draw holster. The gun was smoking. Rev. Joe collapsed in the dust.

*****

“With power vested in me by the great state of Colorado, and by the almighty, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Markus King and his bride stood in front of the Governor in a special ceremony awarding the ranger the highest honor the state of Colorado can bestow. Then the Governor volunteered to preside over the nuptials of Markus and his blushing bride.

Markus raised Jenny’s veil and kissed her lightly on the lips. A cheer went up from the town of Spencer, Colorado.

“Good luck son.” The governor elbowed the ranger. “ I hear she is quite a filly.”

“Ahh. Your honor. She is just spirited. I like ‘em a little wild.”

“Me too, son. Me too.”

The End.