This is an original multi-chapter fanfiction story based off the old western TV series "The Rifleman," about a widowed father, Lucas McCain (Chuck Connors), trying to raise his young son Mark (Johnny Crawford), in the 1880's New Mexico Territory. I do not own the rights to the series, and my novel is purely fanfiction for entertainment purposes only. Hope you enjoy it. (More chapters to be added once I get them a little more ironed out - feedback appreciated, but please be kind to this humble closet writer.)

The Outlaw's Widow: Two men come to North Fork in search of the widow of a former business partner.

Chapter One: St Louis Visitors

Two neatly dressed men stepped off the stage in North Fork, a small but growing town in New Mexico Territory, not far from the Arizona border. It had been a long and bumpy ride through vast open frontier mostly dominated by large open range cattle spreads with the occasional town or settlement to be found at the end of a series of relay stations.

As Carl Smyth looked curiously around at the mostly one or two story buildings lining the wide dirt track street, his partner James Sinclair was less than enthusiastic as he brushed the dust from his pin stripped suit.

Smyth couldn't help but grin at Sinclair's distaste. "So this is North Fork."

Sinclair took a handkerchief from his vest and wiped the back on his neck irritably. "That's what that Pinkerton man said in his telegraph. Although I'm beginning to wonder what we're really paying him for."

"Heads up gents," a voice came from atop the stage. They looked up to see the stagecoach driver handing down their luggage.

As Smyth grabbed the bags, he asked, "Driver, could you direct us to a hotel of some sorts?"

The driver pointed down the wide dirt track street. "There's the Madera House just a few blocks down on the right gents. Owned by Judge Hanoven, a fine establishment as you'll ever find in North Fork."

"Thank you," Smyth replied and tipped his rounded bowler hat.

The two started walking along the worn planks of the wooden sidewalk examining the simply built shops and businesses that lined both sides of the street. North Fork provided the basic of needs but it was a far cry from the sophistication of St. Louis. Still it had a rustic charm Smyth found quaintly intriguing.

As they past the local livery stable Sinclair grumbled at the distinctive stench of horse and warm manure. Prudishly obsessive about cleanliness and always meticulous in both dress and appearance, he had an instant distaste for such crude surroundings. Sinclair as it turned out was about as blue-blooded as they got but due to recent indiscretions and some rather risky business ventures his fortune had dwindled considerably. Nevertheless, he had obstinately refused to relinquish the life style he was accustomed to, even if it meant finagling his financial situation in some rather creative ways.

Smyth, on the other hand, came from heartier working stock yet had always boasted a sharp eye for business. And though he found Sinclair's fetishes annoying at times, his social status provided Smyth with enough connections to make their symbiotic partnership lucrative.

They paused at the end of the sidewalk to allow a freight wagon carrying a load of wooden crates to lumber by. A mangy looking dog ambled up to them and sniffed Sinclair's shoe leaving drool all over the top of the shinny patent leather.

"Uugh!" He declared in disgust and landed the toe of his shoe firmly into the animal's side. The dog yelped and scurried away. "Mangy mutt!" he muttered wiping his shoe clean with his handkerchief.

Smyth just chuckled.

The two crossed the street. Up ahead they could see a two-story whitewashed clap board building with a large gilded sign painted over the entrance that read Madera House.

"There it is," Smyth said.

As they entered the hotel and walked up to the desk, a thin older man dressed in a white shirt and paisley vest greeted them warmly. "Welcome gentleman to the Madera. May I help you?"

"We'd like two rooms."

"Certainly. If you'll just sign in." The desk clerk opened the registrar book and turned it around.

"Are you gentlemen here in North Fork on business or pleasure?"

"Business." Smyth dipped the pen in the ink well and signed his name.

"That's wonderful sir. North Fork is a fast growing community and we are always looking for new businesses to start up. Why, just last year Mr. Hamilton opened up the bank. It's really done a lot for local business."

Smyth nodded. "Seems like a nice pleasant little town." He handed the pen to Sinclair.

"Oh it is sir. Will you be staying with us long gentlemen?"

"Oh, we're not sure, a few days maybe," Smyth replied.

The desk clerk blotted the ink dry then examined their signatures. "Mr. Smyth and Mr. Sinclair, from St. Louis I see."

"Yes."

"We have adjoining rooms available sirs if you're interested."

"That would be fine."

The desk clerk took two keys down from the peg board. "Here you go, gentlemen, rooms five and six upstairs over looking the street. I hope you enjoy your stay with us. If you gentlemen are hungry we start serving dinner in the restaurant at 5 pm."

As Smyth took the keys he inquired pleasantly. "Tell me, do you get many visitors here?"

"Oh indeed, sir, with the regular stage line coming through almost everyday now. Some days we're quite full. Although most people are just stopping over on their way further west, we do have our fair share of regulars," the clerk boasted proudly.

Smyth nodded. His eyes shifted briefly to his partner before leaning nonchalantly against the counter. "You seem to be quite knowledgeable about the going-ons in this fair town," he continued conversationally.

"Yes sir. I guess you could say that."

"Then I wonder if you might be able to help me then?" Smyth asked pleasantly.

"I'll certainly be happy to try."

Sinclair watched his partner closely. Where Sinclair's nature was rather aloof and arrogant, Smyth tended to be friendly and congeal. "My colleague and I were wondering if you remember a woman that might have stopped here a month or so ago, by the name of Julia Novak. She's a brunette, slim, in her late twenties, very proper."

The clerk's face bunched up in thought for several seconds. "I'm sorry, but the name doesn't sound familiar. Of course we have had quite a number of people passing through. Is it important?"

"Only to her," Smyth paused, "a probate matter having to do with the death of a family member. It's one of the reasons we are here. My colleague and I were asked by a dear friend of ours back East to see if we could locate her while we were traveling through. We have some rather important papers for her."

"I'm sorry I can't be of any help gentlemen."

Smyth leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering an octave. "Oh, but perhaps you could after all."

"I don't understand."

"I know I sound a little forward, but perhaps we could just glance through your registrar to see if she might have checked in here."

The desk clerk straightened up his face appearing stern. He closed the book. "I'm afraid that is highly irregular. Judge Hanoven owns this hotel and I'm not sure he would approve of such a request."

"I understand," Smyth reassured. "We certainly don't want to get you into any trouble. And normally I wouldn't press the issue but this is rather important to the lady. She doesn't know it, but Miss Novak stands to inherit a sizeable amount from her uncle's estate. I'm sure she would be very appreciative if we were able to contact her." Smyth voice was imploringly pleasant.

The desk clerk bit his bottom lip and thought long and hard. The two men appeared to be well dressed and proper gentlemen. After several seconds he finally said, "Well... perhaps I could go through the names myself and tell you if she was a guest here."

Smyth waved his hand at the registrar in agreement. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sinclair smile briefly. "That would be very helpful."

It took the clerk a few minutes to scan the pages going a few months back. A frown appeared on his mouth. He looked up. "I'm sorry gentlemen; I don't see her name listed."

"Are you sure?" Sinclair pressed firmly stepping closer.

The desk clerk seemed a little startled by Sinclair's tone. Smyth turned and gave his partner a hard glance. "Quite so."

"Is this the only hotel in town?" Smyth inquired pleasantly.

"With the exception of a few boarding houses, we're the only one sir."

"Thank you."

Smyth started to leave then paused and put his finger to his lip. "Just one more thing."

The clerk eyed him suspiciously.

Smyth dug into his vest pocket and laid several silver dollars on the counter. The clerk's eyes widened but remained silent. In a low tone he continued, "If you should happen to remember anything more, we would be most appreciative if you could contact us discreetly."

Suspiciously he looked at the two men. "May I ask why?"

"Certainly, we really have no secrets. It's just that Miss Novak left her family on rather unfriendly terms. It was her uncle's deathbed desire to try and reconcile the past, hence the inheritance. We don't wish to scare her away until we are able to speak with her first and deliver the papers. After that it will be up to her whether she chooses to contact her family."

Smyth pushed the silver coins closer to the clerk. After several long seconds the man took the money. "Well, I don't suppose that would be too unreasonable a request."

"Thank you. We'll be in town on some other business for a few days if you should think of anything."

As they collected their room keys, Sinclair asked, "Is there any place to wash some of the trail dust from our throats? That stage coach ride was pretty dusty."

"There's Sweeny's just down the street."

"Thanks."

The two men walked upstairs to check out their accommodations. The rooms provided the very basics in needs, but at least were clean. Smyth looked out the window. He had an unobstructed view of North Fork's main street. Satisfied he let the lace curtain drop. Sinclair joined him a few minutes later and the two headed for Sweeny's Saloon.

"Mark! Mark! You got a bite!" the enthusiastic voice piped out.

Twelve year old Mark sprang up from his leisurely position in the tall grass along the bank of the pond as he felt the tug on his fishing line. As he excitedly pulled back on the fishing pole he could see the sleek glistening body of the fish break the water. "Jumpin' Johosaphat! It's a big one Billy."

"Don't loose it Mark!" Billy exclaimed anxiously as he tugged on the line.

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," Mark replied and a moment later landed the fish on the grassy bank.

Billy pounced on it before it could flop back in the water. He held up the wiggling trout with a wide grin across his rounded freckled face. "What a 'beaut!"

Mark knelt down beside his friend, his brown eyes just as excited. "I think this is the biggest one I've caught yet."

"Didn't I tell ya this was a great spot?"

"Wait 'till I show this to Pa," Mark exclaimed as he transferred the fish from his pole to the string holding four other glistening catches.

"You wanna come back Saturday?"

"You bet!" Then Mark suddenly frowned. "'Course I did promise Pa I'd paint the porch beams Saturday and finish chopping that core of wood."

"Aw Mark can't ya do it later?"

Mark vehemently shook his head. "Ya know I can't. When my pa tells me to do something he expects it to be done."

Billy flopped back in the grass and dug a small paper sack of juju bees out of his pocket. He popped one in his mouth and offered one to his friend. "Gee Mark, your pa sure is strict."

Mark smiled. He couldn't deny that.

Mark sucked on the piece of candy. "It not so bad, really. It takes a lot to run a ranch, and with just Pa and me, well, he counts on me to do my fair share. Besides, a least I don't have to share a house with five sisters."

Billy snorted in agreement. One of eight children all crammed into a very small house, Billy was always having to share everything as well as being bossed around by five older sisters.

"Look," Mark continued. "It shouldn't take me more than a couple of hours. I could meet ya back here before noon on Saturday."

"Okay. But, how about we stop by my house anyway? I'm starving and I saw my ma coring apples for a pie this morning."

Mark's eyes widened, his mouth watered. He loved apple pie. "Sounds good to me." But as he was putting his trout on the string line he groaned.

"What is it?"

"I forgot to stop by Nels!"

"So do it later," Billy shrugged.

"I can't." It was getting late and as much as Mark wanted a piece of Billy's mom's apple pie, he knew he better not dare. "I better get going!"

Billy sighed. "Well I guess I'll see you at school then." The younger boy picked up his string of fish and the two friends waved goodbye.

A long bar stood on the far side of the room with a dozen or so card tables scattered throughout. About a dozen men were present, most grouped together at the card tables. The two men walked up to the end of the bar away from the crowd.

"Two beers," Smyth requested.

Sweeny, a lean man with thinning hair and a hard, but friendly face produced their drinks, then went back to the other side of the bar to help another customer.

Smyth sipped his beer slowly but Sinclair looked agitated. "I telling you I'm getting pretty sick and tired of traveling from one stinkin' little town to the next without any luck! Are you sure that Pinkerton man's right this time," he complained.

Smyth pulled the telegraph from his vest pocket and re-read it. "Says right here a woman fitting Julia's description boarded the stage in Sante Fe. Her ticket went all the way through to North Fork."

"But it doesn't make any sense, why would Julia pick such a God Forsaken place as this?"

"For that very reason my friend. She knew she couldn't stay in St. Louis and that we'd have too many connections in the East for comfort, so it would make since she'd travel west. We'll make some inquires in town to the local businesses. Maybe they'll remember her."

The two men finished their drinks and were heading out of the saloon. As they neared the swinging doors Sinclair paused. "Are you sure she's got them with her? Novak was pretty slick."

"She has them all right, otherwise why would she have run? And when we find her she's going to pay dearly."

"I don't like it." Sinclair said as he put his hand on the swinging door.

"You don't have to. Just keep your cool and before you know it that little Eastern bred hussy is going to make us rich," Smyth replied.

Sinclair irritably pushed opened the swinging doors and stepped out. Immediately he barreled into something. Sinclair looked down to see he'd knocked over a kid. A boy of about twelve looked up startled, about a half dozen trout lying next to him on the sidewalk. "Watch where you're going kid," Sinclair growled.

It was then he smelled a rather pungent aroma. He looked down to find his vest covered in slimy fish juice and dirt. His face contorted in disgust as he pulled the material away from his body. "Why you little brat, look what's you've done!" he said and grabbed the boy by the arm, squeezing tightly.

Wincing, he uttered a hasty apology. "I'm sorry, mister. I didn't see ya comin' out."

"Well maybe next time you'll learn to look," Sinclair sneered and raised his hand in the air to strike him. A frightened look appeared on the boy's face as he tried to wiggle away.

But just then, from across the street, Smyth noticed a man with a silver star affixed to his chest start walking purposefully over. Reaching out, he quickly restrained his partner.

As the Marshal approached, his eyes were narrowed in displeasure."Is there a problem here gentlemen?" he inquired gruffly.

At Smyth's hard glare, Sinclair reluctantly released the kid. The boy stumbled backwards then hurriedly bent down to collect the fish he'd dropped. As he rose, he brushed the hair out of his eyes with nervous fingers.

"No problem at all Marshal, just helping the boy up is all," Sinclair said between clenched teeth.

"Didn't appear that way to me," the Marshal said skeptically, his mouth turned down into a frown.

"Yes well, I would like to apologize for my partner," Smyth interjected his voice calm and pleasant. "We've been on the stage for the better part of four days now and I guess we're both a little irritable."

The Marshal gauged the two men carefully. He could see Sinclair was still annoyed. "Your friend better learn to curb his temper, or I might have to cool it with a few days in jail," the Marshal quipped.

"I assure you Marshal, it was just a momentary lapse," Smyth replied.

"Hmmm," was all the Marshal said as he eyed Sinclair doubtfully.

The Marshal then realized the boy was still hovering around next to him. He looked sternly down at him. "Mark what are you doing here anyway?"

Mark hooked a thumb in his pocket. "I…I was just on my way to Nels to pick up the ax blade Pa wanted. I plumb near forgot about it, that's why I was hurryin'."

"I can see that," the Marshal said examining the string of fish. "You better get going boy before you get into any more trouble, especially with your Pa."

"Yes sir," Mark said. Then Mark turned to Sinclair. "I'm real sorry mister. I sure didn't mean to bump into ya."

Sinclair threw him a scathing look, making Mark swallow hard. He took one last look at the two strangers and hurried off.

The Marshal remained.

"Is there something else, Marshal?" Smyth inquired.

He looked from one man to the other before settling on Sinclair. "Yes," he said slowly. "I'd like to give you two a friendly piece of advice. Most folks around here don't cotton to their kids being manhandled, but especially that boy's Pa."

"What's so special about him?" Sinclair quipped.

The Marshal gave the man a serious look. "If you knew anything about Lucas McCain you wouldn't ask. I suggest you take my advise."

"We are sorry Marshal. It was simply a misunderstanding." Smyth repeated.

"Hmmm. Just see to it that it doesn't happen again," the Marshal said firmly.

"You needn't worry," Smyth assured and he and Sinclair headed back for the hotel.

Marshal Micah Torrance watched the men closely for several seconds before continuing his rounds. Micah was known to possess a good instinct when it came to judging a man. Though the two were well dressed and proper, Micah had a gut feeling about these two that told him to keep an eye out for them. He'd seen plenty of men dressed in sheep's clothing before. And the two had been lucky it had been Micah and not Lucas who come across them. He knew Lucas would have not tolerated such things when it came to matters of the boy.

Once across the street and out of the marshal's sight, Sinclair grabbed Smyth by the arm, halting him. But Smyth brushed the man's hand away. "Not here," he muttered under his breath, then smiled pleasantly and tipped his hat as two women walked by. "We're here to do a job remember that," he said in a low calm voice.

"I don't like anyone telling me what to do!" Sinclair said irritably.

"Look, we don't need any extra trouble or anything else drawing further attention to us. As far as anyone has to know we're just a couple a businessmen. I want to keep it like that."

"So how are we going to find her? I'm getting tired of this wild goose chase. And in case you've forgotten we've got some not so friendly associates waiting for us back East."

"I haven't forgotten. Don't worry; tonight I'm planning of having a look at that registrar again. She might have checked in under another name. For now let's just play it cool." Smyth dug his pocket watch for his vest. "Come on, the restaurant will be serving dinner soon. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving." Smyth then wrinkled his nose then looked at his partner. "However, you might think about changing friend. Frankly you stink!"

Sinclair pulled at his vest in disgust. "This was my best suit. If I every see that brat again, I'll show him!"

"You'll leave him be," Smyth said firmly. "No use stirring up additional trouble." Smyth took off towards the hotel.

Sinclair glared at Smyth's retreating back. He hated kids!

Back at the McCain ranch, Lucas watched as Mark raced down the hill on his sorrel pony and across the wooden bridge that ran over the creek and up the incline towards their small wooden ranch house. He brought Blue Boy quickly to a halt near the barn and jumped down.

Lucas stopped what he was doing and looked irritably up.

"Sorry I'm late Pa," Mark quickly apologized.

"Mark, you were supposed to be home hours ago!"

"I know. But Billy and I went fishing and well, I kinda lost tract of time."

"Did you pick up the ax blade from Nels?"

Mark reached into his saddle bag. "I've got it right here. That's why I'm so late. I had to go back into town and pick it up."

He handed it to his father then went back to his horse to retrieve the string of fish. "They were really bittin' today Pa," Mark said smiling proudly.

Lucas saw the look of joy on his sons face. Remembering what it was like to be a boy Lucas found it hard to stay mad him. Nonetheless, he expected his son to do what he was told. He sighed. "Well, take them out back and clean them up. Then get busy with your chores!"

"Yes, sir."

As Mark headed around back Lucas called out. "And make sure you fix that chicken coup! I'm tired of chasing those hens down."

"I will Pa."

Mark took off and Lucas shook his head. He just didn't know what to do with that boy sometimes.

Lucas went back to work trying to repair the corral post. Last week one of the mares had been spooked by a lightening storm that had only brought the promise of rain and had broken one of the hinges. Lucas thought he could repair it himself, but it was looking like he'd need to get a new one. He rigged a temporary fix to the gate using some bailing wire.

After cleaning the fish, Mark spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to catch up on his chores. There was always a lot to do on the ranch and his Pa relied on him to do his fair share. Not that Mark minded. He really did enjoy working with his Pa.

Later they had fresh trout for dinner. Over dinner Lucas told Mark he'd be out most of the day tomorrow checking the fence line along the north forty but he'd be in town in the afternoon to pick up some supplies. After they finished eating Mark quickly got up and started clearing the table.

"What's your hurry son?" Lucas asked as he lingered over his coffee. He'd never seen his son so eager to do the dishes.

Mark stopped what he was doing and looked a little guiltily at his Pa. "I didn't finish all my work in class today. I've got a lot of homework and we're supposed to have a spellin' test tomorrow."

Lucas raised his brow. He set his cup down on the table. "If you had a lot of homework, what were you doing going fishing then?"

"It was just supposed to be for a little while, honest Pa, but they were biting so good." Seeing the disapproving look on his father's face, Mark hurriedly pumped water into the sink. "I'll get to it soon as I'm done with the dishes, I promise Pa."

His father sighed. "I'll do the dishes tonight, Mark. You get started on your homework otherwise you'll be up half the night." Lucas rose and took the dishtowel from his son's hand. "But, you owe me an extra night, you hear?" he said firmly gesturing his finger at Mark's chest.

Mark wet his lips "Yes sir." He retrieved his school books and sat down at the table. But despite his determination, Mark couldn't help but start yawning half way through his homework. It was history and he hated it.

By the time Mark was finished going over his spelling words to Lucas' satisfaction it was quite late in the evening. He was yawning widely as he put his things neatly away.

Lucas came over and put his hands gently on his son's shoulders. "Finished?"

"Yes sir."

"Then you better head for bed son."

"All right," Mark said tiredly. "Goodnight Pa."

As Mark changed into his nightshirt and climbed into bed he remembered the two men he'd run into in front of the saloon. Something about them had left Mark a little uneasy and he had wanted to talk to his pa about them. He yawned tiredly, his eyes growing heavy. He'd talked to Lucas tomorrow.