The Death of A Legend

by Ross7

Mister Roger Mareck's arrival in Cimarron spells big trouble for US Marshal, Jim Crown.

36. Chapters 36 through 40 unbeta'ed

Cimarron Strip: "The Death of A Legend"

Chapters Thirty-Six through Forty (unbeta-ed)

Chapter Thirty-Six

It was also at sun-up that Fort Dawes finally appeared. A sight which both the Senator and his guide found welcome, indeed! Neither man could've remained mounted another mile!

Charley Adams-who'd been without sleep for days-was now in a daze.

And Dave Fisher's fanny was killing him! The politician's posterior hadn't sat in a saddle for so long for so long that-gawd...had it really been over twenty yea-ears?

"HALT! WHO GOES THERE?" a rather perplexed young private pondered, upon hearing the sound of their approaching horses.

"Relax, Benton! It's just me," Charley mumbled, half-asleep, to the young man who now stood, blocking the gate.

"Mr. Adams!" Private Benton exclaimed in recognition and relief and immediately lowered the rifle which he had pointed in their direction,"What brings you here at this hour?"

"We need ta see Captain Poullard-pronto!" Charley answered and the two of them attempted to proceed.

But Benton continued to block their path, "I'm afraid that's not possible, sir!" the private proclaimed, "Cap-"

"C'mon, Benton!" Mr. Adams wearily declared, before Benton could proceed, "This is a matter of life and death!"

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," the young guard said, sounding sincere, "But Captain Poullard is off on extended leave. Seems his fiancee took sick or something. She lives back East somewheres. So who knows when he'll be back..."

Dave-who didn't know what to make of the young man's announcement-glanced anxiously in his capable guide's direction.

Charley didn't appear to find the private's words the least bit upsetting. If anything, he looked relieved!

So the Senator leaned back and exhaled a quiet sigh of relief himself.

"Where's Lt. Anderson?" Mr. Adams suddenly wanted to know.

"Asleep, sir," Benton obligingly replied.

"I'm sorry ta hear that, Private," Charley said, sounding sincere, "because that means you're gonna hafta go an' wake him up..."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, sir!" the private proclaimed, "I can not desert my post! I can, however, point you's in the right direction," the young man volunteered. Then he turned and did just that, "You'll find him in that second row of buildings there...third door from the right."

"Thanks, Benton," Charley mumbled-somewhat uncertainly.

"Don't mention it, sir!" Benton came back, sounding absolutely sincere.

Senator Fisher, who had found the conversational sparring match most amusing, smiled and then followed Mr. Adams as he guided his horse around the guard and through the open gate.

They plodded off across the Fort's big, empty, dirt yard, and right past the enlisted men's barracks, pulling their doggy horses up only when they reached a particular entrance to a particular officer's sleeping quarters...which had been particularly pointed out for them.

The Senator just sat there, silently, and watched as his guide got stiffly down off'n his horse. Dave dreaded the idea of dismounting! After sitting for over seven straight hours, he was now fearful that his legs would fail him.

Perceiving the politician's predicament, Mr. Adams obligingly assisted the Senator out of his saddle.

"Oh-ohh, thanks, oh-ohhh-ohhhh..." Dave groaned as he was pulled from his horse and then propped up against a hitching post.

"Try stompin' 'em," Charley suggested, "It helps ta get the circulation goin'..." he added-before goin'.

Dave gave his leaden legs a few quick stomps and then hauled himself stiffly up onto the boardwalk-to stand beside his guide...who now stood before 'the third door from the right'.

"Lieutenant? It's Charley Adams!" Mr. Adams announced, giving the wooden portal a couple of quick, quiet raps as he pulled it open.

"Cha-arley?" Lt. Anderson exclaimed, snapping bolt upright in his bed. "What are you doing here?" he groggily inquired of the two intruders in his quarters. "Ga-awd! What time is it, anyways?" he grumbled, glancing around at the gloom in the room, "It must barely be sun-up!" he realized rather annoyedly.

"Our apologies, Lieutenant," Mr. Adams adamantly stated,"but we rode all night ta get here. We've come on a matter of utmost urgency! This is Senator Fisher from Washington..." he added, seeing the officer staring up at his companion in confusion.

"From Texas," the politician quickly corrected and cordially extended his hand, "Jes' call me Dave..."

"Lt. Mark Anderson," the young officer acknowledged, numbly proferring his hand as well. Something suddenly occurred to the rudely awakened gentleman and he used their handshake to pull himself completely up off'n his bed, "You've come from Cimarron? Did the Marshal make it back all right?"

"Oh, he made it back, all right," Mr. Adams admitted, "but the Doc had ta dig a bullet out of his chest. He also lost some ribs...an' his right shoulder is pretty much out a' commission. So I wouldn' say he's 'all right'. He needs your help ta get rid a' Mareck an' his men. An' the Senator, here, has some important document-signed by the President-which authorizes you to do just that! Go on..." Mr. Adams urged his companion, "...show 'im that paper you dragged me all the way out here to 'deliver'!"

"First," Dave Fisher said, "we've got ta get rid a' the Major. Mr. Adam's an' I kin testify ta the fact that Mareck gave the Major ten thousand dollars-in return for his services. So get the court martial proceedings started. 'Cuz the sooner that turn-coat's tossed in the guard house-the better!"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," the Lieutenant reluctantly announced, "A preliminary court martial hearing for such a high ranking officer requires a full Military Tribunal," he explained, dressing as he spoke.

Senator Fisher's face fell, "But it would take days ta get enough senior ranking officers together for that!"

"Weeks!" Charley interjected, looking equaly dejected, "This isn't Washington, Senator. It takes a lot longer ta get things accomplished out here."

"Bu-ut...Blakesly took a bribe!" Dave reminded everyone in the room-in the hopes that reason would prevail, "He back-stabbed the Marshal! He belongs in the guard house!"

"Agreed!" Lieutenant Anderson agreed, "And I would relieve the Major in a moment-if I could!"

"Well, why can't you?" Dave demanded.

"Because," the young officer answered, glancing up from the belt he was busy buckling, "there are a lot of people on this Post who would consider such actions mutinous! And they would do everything within their power to prevent me from assuming command."

"But, if we were to explain the situation to them, surely-"

"This is the Army, Senator," Charley cut in, "Where 'reason' and 'logic' seldom prevail. Yah see, in the Army everything must be done BY THE BOOK!"

The Lieutenant finished dressing and turned back to face his glum-looking guests, "Fortunately for the Marshal, you two aren't in the Army. A-And, if the Major were to mysteriously disappear...Well, as Second-in-Command, I guess that would leave me in charge of the Post..."

"That it would!" Mr. Adams readily agreed, and exchanged grins with their very shrewd host, "Yah know, young man, I've always thought that you were too INTELLIGENT to be an Army Officer..."

"Why, thank you, Charley!" Lieutenant Anderson acknowledged, "...I thi-ink."

"Lieutenant," Senator Fisher shouted, "I could KISS you!"

"I don't think so, Dave!" the Lieutenant quickly corrected and backed up a step or two from his ardant-and now grinning-admirer.

The Senator settled for another handshake.

"C'mon, Senator," Mr. Adams advised, and began guiding the politician towards the door, "before half the Fort wakes up!"

And, in less than ten minutes after leaving the Lieutenant's quarters, the two civilians had Blakesly 'bound and gagged'...and right where he belonged!

---

Speaking of being where he belonged...

Jim Crown's backside was killing him! But then, so-it seemed-was every other part of his half-prone, half-propped-up personage. His head, his stomach, his shoulder, his chest-they were all hurting, too...ba-ad! Which-no doubt-contributed to his waking up in such a ba-ad mood! The Marshal let out a long, pitiful moan and tried-unsuccessfully-to roll off of his aching back and onto his left side. He 'gasped'-in both pain and frustration-and then snapped his head up and his eyes open. "You people keep me 'planted' here much longer," he began, glaring irritatedly down at the chain which was keeping his right ankle-and hence him-safely? anchored to his hospital bed, "an' keep..." he mumbled-er, grumbled between long swallows of the cool liquid his pretty-and ever present-nurse was dispensing, "waterin' me like this..." Marshal Crown crankily continued, following several more forced sips, "an' my backside's gonna take root ta this bed!"

Katelyn 'plunked' the tin cup in her hand down hard on the dresser and then glared right back at her patient, looking pretty irritated herself, "You been fightin' a fever for nearly eighteen hours now, an' I'll bet you cain't even remember the las' time you ate somethin'!"

"Breakfast," the man in the bad mood replied, "day before yesterday."

"There! Yah see! You couldn' leave that bed even if you weren't 'planted' in it! 'Cuz-by now-you're too weak from hunger an' exhaustion ta even sta-and! An' if you weren't so pig-headed, you'd realize that that bed is prob'ly the BEST place for you, right now!"

The lawman let his heavy head fall back onto the bed. He didn't have the energy to hold it up any longer. He sighed in surrender and begrudgingly admitted-to himself-that the pretty lady probably was right. Maybe he did belong in bed...for no-ow. "Speakin' a' all that water you been pourin' inta me..." her still slightly peeved patient hinted.

"Jes' set it on the floor when you've finished," the pretty little spitfire calmly instructed-and passed her horrified looking 'husband' a bonified hospital bedpan.

"Now wai-ait!" the lawman began, sounding more than a little ira-ate.

"I'll be back with yore breakfast in just a bit!" the lady calmly continued-but then quickly took her leave.

---

The beautiful woman came backing into the Marshal's hospital room about three minutes later, carrying a tray full of food. "Actually, it's nearly noon. So I guess you could call this yore lunch," she announced, picking up the conversation right where she'd left off.

The lawman had a lot on his mind at the moment, and lunch was the very least of his concerns. "Is Mareck still in town?" he inquired rather curtly.

"I don't know," Katelyn replied equally curtly. She placed the tray on the lawman's stomach and then began force-feeding the moody Marshal its steaming contents.

"What about Dulcey an' Francis?" her patient pondered, following several appetizing spoonfuls of hot chicken broth, "Are they all right?"

Katelyn caught the concern and anxiety in her patient's voice and looked up to see it reflected in his face. "I'm...not sure," came back her equally concerned reply, "I haven't heard from either of them all morning. I've been busy," she added in an attempt to cha-ange the subject, "tryin' ta get you cleaned up. It ain' easy bathin' a body that's wearin' clothes...a-an' a leg iron! I knocked myself out givin' you a bath an' a shave! I even rewrapped yore ribs for you, an' you never even noticed!" she summed up, sounding somewhat hurt.

Crown contemplated the woman's rather shocking announcement over for a few moments, "Thanks! For...cleanin' me up. I-I appreciate yore...bathin' me an' all. I'd prob'ly be even more appreciative...if I'd a' been awake at the time..." he concluded with a wry smile.

A smile appeared on his pretty nurse's pouting lips as well. "I'll be-et..." she muttered under her breath, but didn't blush.

"So-o..." the Marshal said as his nurse resumed shoveling spoonfuls of the strengthening soup down his hatch, "What other excitement have I missed out on aroun' here?"

"Excitement?" his nurse queried incredulously, "You were unconscious most a' the night...an' you slept all mornin'. 'Cept, a' course, for the wedding. You were wide-awake for the wedding..."

"Wedding?" her patient gulped nervously, "What wedding?'

"Our wedding," Katelyn calmly replied, and calmly continued with her feeding.

But the Marshal ceased his swallowing.

So the nurse set down her spoon, "You were delirious."

"I wa-as?"

The nurse nodded. "You must a' been completely out a' your mind with fever! 'Cuz you...married us," she tacked on rather tentatively-and waited expectantly for her 'husband's' response to that particular bit of 'exciting' news.

"I did WHA-AT?" Jim Crown inquired incredulously. But then, seeing as how Katelyn seemed somewhat saddened by his inquiry, he innocently added, "Kin...Marshal's do that sort a' thing...?"

The lady recognized that last question. She, herself had posed it-just prior to their pre-dawn nuptials. "You do remember!" she realized aloud and watched as another wry smile began to appear on her 'husband's' handsome face.

"It ain't every day that a man gets married..." the man rationalized rather calmly and then cringed, seeing as how the lady now looked like she wanted to 'smack' him one.

She did want to 'smack' him one! Bu-ut the soup was getting cold, and he really needed some warm nourishment. So she picked the spoon back up and began feeding him instead of beating him.

The Marshal finished the remainder of his delicious meal in silence. When Katelyn asked if he'd like some more broth or another slice of bread, he gave her a grateful smile, but then shook his head.

The woman gave her supposedly famished patient a somewhat worried once over, "You su-ure?"

"Yes..." the Marshal assured her with another grateful smile, "...that was very good...thank you."

Katelyn handed her 'husband' a steaming cup and then took the tray away. "You feelin' okay?" she inquired of her curiously quiet prisoner-er, patient.

Crown stared thoughtfully down at the cup of dark brown liquid in his hands-which he sincerely hoped was 'coffee'-and pondered over his reply. He would've liked to answer her in the affirmative...but he didn't wanna lie. "I'm feelin' a little better now...thanks ta you-ou," he finished softly and flashed the pretty lady another appreciative smile. "I'm sorry I snapped at you before. I don't like losin' control..." he confessed, his words filled with double meaning. He guessed that maybe Mareck was right. He was used to running things, or, at least, to having things run pretty much his own way. So he did not like to find himself in any situation over which someone else had control.

"I'm sorry I snapped back," his pretty nurse apologetically announced, "I guess I'm just ti-ired..."

Being the gentleman that he was, Jim Crown immediately scootched over some and then patted the now empty space beside him on the room's only bed.

But the ti-ired lady shook her head. "I don't da-are!" she staunchly determined. "If I was ta lay down now, I'd be out for the rest a' the day!" Then, seeing as how her 'husband' was shooting her a 'An' what would be so terrible about that?' look, she simply stated, "I don't trust you..."

Her prisoner-er, patient gazed innocently up at her for a few moments. But then that wry smile of his began to slowly reappear.

There followed a long, comfortable silence. Which the woman finally felt 'obliged' to break, "You're bein' awfully quiet. You havin' second thoughts?" It had occurred to Katelyn that-now that Jim Crown was no longer delirious-the notion of 'matrimony' might not be so 'appealin'' to a confirmed bachelor with a clear head. "About marryin' us, I mean..." Katelyn clarified, noting the puzzled expression on her 'husband's' handsome face.

The Marshal seemed somewhat stunned by the little lady's clarifyin' statement. He swallowed the last of her strong, black coffee and then held out his empty cup. When the woman reached for it, he latched onto her wrist and pulled her up into his powerful arms. "As a matter a' fact, I a-am. Seein' as how the ceremony was so 'memorable', I'm thinkin' a' performin' it on a daily basis!" Jim Crown clarified and then he kissed her-most passionately.

And the 'passion' of that kiss pushed whatever thoughts about 'second thoughts' Katelyn may have had-completely out of her mind.

Speakin a' whi-ich...

"An'," Jim Crown continued-once he'd caught his breath, "if I had the good sense ta say 'I do' ta you-ou, that jes' goes ta prove one thing: Even when I'm completely out a' my mind, I'm not COMPLETELY out a' my mind..."

Katelyn's smile broadened into a grin.

Her wryly grinning 'husband' winked and then kissed her again.

An' speakin' a' passion!

'If you cain't stand the heat, stay out a' the kitchen!' the little lady-who was about an instant away from losing all control-told herself. Besides, what if the doctor was suddenly to walk in on them?

The Marshal felt the sudden tension in his beautiful wife's body and immediately cut his kiss short.

"Uh-uhh...Would you like a smoke?" the woman wondered as her passionate partner backed off and his dreamy eyes reopened.

Jim Crown's rather riviting green eyes widened in amazement over the little lady's overwhelming offer. "Thanks..." he told her tenderly, "But I've decided ta give that 'dirty an' disgustin' habit' up-for good! If my hands need somethin' ta hold onto from now on...well-they'll jes' have ta develop a bran' new habit-holdin' on ta you-ou!"

Katelyn stared disbelievingly down at her 'husband' for a few moments and contemplated his equally overwhelming announcement over. The Marshal might not say much, but what he did say sure seemed mighty romantic. How could she not kiss him after that? The lady sighed in sweet surrender and slowly melted back into her very romantic man's arms. She then proceeded to plant a rather passionate kiss of her own upon her pleasantly-surprised looking 'husband's' very inviting smile.

'For everything there is a time...' the gentleman glumly reminded himself, '...even a time for every affair under the heavens...' his reeling head finished quoting. Then-as willing as the woman obviously was-his heart regretably issued his equally willing body the order to 'Back off!' "I believe I will have another bowl a' that bellywash, afterall..." Jim Crown told his lovely nurse as the two of them exited-once again-from extremely close quarters.

"Fi-ine!" Katelyn 'gasped', with a forced smile. Then she picked up his cup, and her tray, and left.

But not for long. Before he knew it, his very beautiful 'wife' was back-with another steaming serving of her delicious chicken soup. Neither of them said a word this time. They just kept staring-silently-at one another with great big smiles on their faces.

"I think you should take a ride out an' check on Jamie," the Marshal suggested upon finishing his second helping of soup and second cup of coffee.

"I'm not leavin' you alone in here!" the little lady doggedly declared, "Knowin' you, you prob'ly have a hacksaw blade hidden in yore hat-band or somethin'!"

'Or somethin'...' her crafty 'husband' silently agreed. Then he added aloud, "Unless I'm mistaken, I ain't the only one around here who needs 'nursin''..."

"Don' you worry none about Jamie. Helen says she has access to a cow. An' I left her several nursin' bottles."

"It ain't Jamie I'm worried about," her 'husband' informed her, "I haven't always been a 'legendary lawman', yah know. Before pinnin' on that ba-adge, I was just a poor, dumb cowboy. An' even the dumbest cowboy knows why a cow bellers when she's separated from her calf. Yes-sir! An' the longer she's separated-the louder she bellers!"

"Are you comparin' me to a CO-OW?" the woman wondered with narrowed eyes.

"I was merely pointin' out the fact that there may be more than one person in this room who needs 'nursin''..." came back the old cowpuncher's very...diplomatic reply.

Katelyn's cross look vanished and she was forced to smile. The former cowboy wasn't so du-umb, after all. "All right," she reluctantly conceded, "If I kin find someone ta set with you for a while...I'll go."

"Fine! Mrs. Finley lives right next door. I'm sure she'd jes' love ta 'set' with me for awhile."

"Uh-hu-uh..." Katelyn stated skeptically. But then she kissed her 'husband' goodbye and left to fetch Mrs. Finley.

---

No wonder the Marshal had been so eager to volunteer the lady! 'Mrs. Finley' turned out to be an easy-going eighty-eight year old grandmother, who could easily have been talked into doing ANYTHING!

So Katelyn decided-instead-upon the loveable old lady's grandson-a big, burly boy capable not only of sitting with, but on the Marshal-if need be. Following five full minutes of coaching, the lady handed the lad a list of strict instructions-along with a shiny, new silver dollar. Then she left to find the livery-and her borrowed buck-board.

---

Jim Crown wasn't the least bit surprised when Frank Finley appeared in his hospital room hide-a-way. He knew all along that Mrs. Finley would flunk his 'wife's' inspection. The Marshal had, in fact, banked on it! Katelyn had correctly judged the kindly old character. 'Mrs. Finley' could-indeed-be talked into doing ANYTHING! What his 'wife' didn't know, was that the big, burly boy standing before him could be bribed into doing ANYTHING!

"Doctor Ellis hired me to keep your horse fed and watered, Marshal," Frank Finley informed him, "She's tied up behind the shed out back, all saddled and bridled...and ready to...ri-ide." The boy's words trailed off as he became aware of the fact that the lawman was locked to the foot of his bed.

"Frankie," the Marshal said, speaking very deliberately, "there's a five dollar gold piece in my vest pocket over there. Hand me my boots-an' whatever list the lady gave you-an' it's yores!"

And Frankie readily obliged. He could always give the pretty lady back her dollar.

Crown used the key in his boot to open the lock and free his leg. Then he used the list to find his bullets and gun belt. Suddenly being vertical again, left him feeling terribly light-headed. Twice, he had to sit down to keep from falling down. It took awhile for the incredibly stiff, slow-moving man to pull on his boots, slide on his vest and strap on his gun belt.

"You gonna be all right, Marshal?" the slightly guilty feeling boy inquired-as the lawman replaced his reloaded Peace-maker and started reaching for his hat.

Crown gave his 'sitter' an appreciative nod and then suddenly looked curious, "You wouldn't happen ta know if Roger Mareck is still in Cimarron...would you?"

The boy nodded, "He spent most of last night drinking, so he's been over at his hotel all morning-sleeping it off. Most of his men are gone, though. I think there's only about four or five of 'em still around. If any of 'em see you out there, they're gonna think you're a ghost or something! 'Cuz Francis has got them all convinced that you're dea-ead!"

"Speakin' a' Francis," the Marshal anxiously inquired, "where is he?"

The big, burly boy answered with a shrug of his broad shoulders, "Nobody's seen him...or Miss Dulcey...or the Doctor, since before dawn, this morning."

A strange look suddenly came over the Marshal. The words Dulcey and dawn and Doctor together, triggered something in his memory...something very urgent. But wha-at? The memory definately was there, yet it seemed very vague-so vague that he wasn't quite sure if it indeed was a real memory...or simply something he had dreamed.

"Maybe Mareck'll leave this afternoon?" Frankie volunteered in an attempt to cheer up the now deeply-troubled looking Marshal.

That was it! The missing piece to his puzzling memory problem! Mareck! There was a very powerful, pungent, obnoxious odor...and somebody was shouting at him. The Doctor! It was the Doctor's shouted voice he'd heard! 'MARECK'S GOT DULCEY! YOU'VE GOT 'TIL DAWN TO TURN YOURSELF IN! IF YOU DON'T SHOW...' A feeling of sickening dread came over Jim Crown. The deadline had long since passed! Whatever had become of Dulcey? "If you leave here, don't talk ta ANYONE!" the lawman abruptly ordered. Then he tossed the lad his gold...and left to go find out.

---

The Marshal stepped stealthily out of the doctor's house and onto the back porch-where he stopped. Even under the protective brim of his black hat, his eyes 'winced'. But it wasn't the painful-and sudden-onslaught of positively brilliant sunlight that had halted him. No-o, the lawman's recently bed-ridden-and still a bit feverish-body had been, literally, taken aback by the overwhelming wall of intense heat and humidity into which he had just walked. This wasn't just another typical August afternoon that he was facing though. It was, beyond a doubt, the hottest and humidest day of the entire summer! So far... Fever aside, the temperature had to be hovering at-or maybe even over-one hundred degrees!

After patrolling it's streets-night and day-for the past five years, Jim Crown knew every crack and every crevice in every building in Cimarron. Every space large enough to conceal a man and every single shadow had-out of necessity-been imprinted in his brain. But, being mid-day as it was, there were-en't any 'concealing shadows'...to speak of. So-o, Crown determined instead to keep to the trees on the very edge of town to complete the major portion of his bound to be hot and humid and hazardous journey over to the Inn. The lawman exhaled a long, weary sigh of resignation. Then he wiped the perspiration from his hot, dizzy forehead and finally stepped down from the porch. Wishing to keep as low a profile as possible, the Marshal left his 'saddled and bridled and ready to ride' mount behind.

---

Chapter Thirty-Seven

It took close to twenty minutes for Jim Crown to make the trip to the Inn-unnoticed. And he arrived so wet with sweat that he looked, and felt, more like he'd swam the whole way! He rapped rather loudly on the building's back door...and then nearly collapsed in relief when he heard a familiar voice inquire as to who it was that was there. "Open up, Dulcey..." Crown called out quietly, "...it's Ji-im!"

"JI-IM!" came back a muffled shout. Then the door to the kitchen flew open and Dulcey went sailing-full force-into his soggy, sore self.

The Marshal somehow maintained his composure enough not to groan-least ways, not aloud-still, he couldn't help but 'gasp'! His cracked ribs were reminding him that they were in no condition for such close encounters. However, the lawman was so happy and relieved to find the girl alive, that he ignored his ribs and returned her bear hug. "Did Mareck hurt you?" he anxiously inquired and pulled back a bit to examine the girl for any visible signs of damage.

Dulcey saw the deeply concerned look on her adopted father's face and couldn't help but smile as she slowly shook her head.

"You alone here?" he wondered, dragging Dulcey into her kitchen and kicking the back door shut.

"Jarrod just left for the Settlement," the bewildered-but happy-girl informed him. "Rebecca Shroader is having her baby. Ned wanted a doctor to be there. It's their first child." Dulcey had been appraising the pale, profusely sweating person swaying before her as she spoke. "You look positively dreadful!" she concluded aloud. Then, seeing as how Jim Crown seemed in no condition to be standing, she began pulling out a chair, "Here, sit down. I'll get you some wa-"

"What about Francis?" Crown inquired as he caught-and then held on to-the girl's wrist, "Is he all right?"

The pretty girl's face filled with a foreboding frown, and she drew in a breath before attempting to answer, "As...'all right' as someone with a...fractured skull, severe concussion and eighteen stitches in the back of their head can be...I guess. He's still...unconscious."

The already 'shook' Marshal looked completely taken aback, again...a-and a whole lot paler. "Did the Doc' say anything about his chances?" Crown asked in a voice that sounded as drained as his face looked.

Once again the girl slowly shook her head, "It's really too soon to tell..."

And speaking of telling...

Dulcey took the opportunity to give the still stunned-into-silence Marshal a blow-by-blow account of the events which had transpired in his Office earlier that day.

"Where is he no-ow?" the Marshal inquired when the girl finally finished her gruesome report.

"We put him upstairs...in your room. I came down to pack Jarrod some sandwiches, and was just on my way back up to sit with him when you kno-"

"I-I'll sit with him. You go get some sleep. Now see here, young lady," Crown sternly continued, seeing the girl's mouth opening in protest, "you may not look 'positively dreadful', but you do look 'dead on yore feet'. So you are goin' ta bed, an' you are goin' ta stay ther-"

"But, Jim I-"

"Until you feel more like yore perky old self again. Mac's room is right next door," the lawman tacked on as the girl's jaw once again dropped open to protest. "You kin use the bed in there. That way, IF I need you for anything...well, I'll jes' 'bang' on the wall.." he finished and flashed her his most persuasive smile.

"You'll need some water," Dulcey resignedly remarked, "It's even 'hotter' upstairs than it is down here." And, with that, she picked several pitchers up from the counter behind them and started heading for her kitchen sink.

The lawman beat her to it and left-handedly operated the pump while she carefully filled all three containers with fresh, cold, inviting water.

The last thing she filled was a very tall glass-the tallest glass in her kitchen. "I'm not going anywhere with you until you finish this," she stubbornly stated.

The Marshal managed a resigned sigh. The hot and thirsty man also managed to down the glass' cool contents in one incredibly lo-o-ong swallow.

"Have you eaten?" Jim Crown's adopted mommy suddenly queried of him.

The man nodded and then asked right back, "Have you?"

The girl nodded.

"Goo-ood! Then let's get you to bed!" Crown repeated, wishing to remain in charge. He set the empty glass down, picked two of the full pitchers up and started heading for the door.

Dulcey grabbed the remaining pitcher with one hand and the lawman's elbow with her other.

And so they escorted each other from the room...up the stairs...and down the long hallway to the left, to Mac and the Marshal's rooms.

"Jim, are you sur-?"

"Yes, Dulcey..."

"You won't forget to bang on the-?"

"No, Dulcey...Sweet drea-eams, Dulcey!" the Marshal suddenly wished, seeing the young lady's lips begining to part yet again! And then he planted a kiss on the pretty young miss' perspiring-and still a bit furrowed-forehead.

Dulcey succumbed-at long last-to his wishes.

And he disappeared himself, into his room.

---

After opening all the windows in MacGregor's hot and stuffy room, the girl collapsed-in complete physical and emotional exhaustion-onto Mac's bed. Perhaps she would sleep...now that Jim was there. Jim's presence always made her feel so safe and secure.

And so, it seemed, did Jarrod's. Had she really lost her heart to the handsome young doctor? She figured she must have, for he'd barely been gone fifteen minutes and already she was sorely missing him.

The two of them had spent the entire morning together, sitting silently at Francis' bedside. Jarrod had passed most of the time asleep-bolt upright in a chair-the poor dear! She'd spent the time applying cold compresses to the unbandaged portions of Francis' head...and dreaming up the next verse to...their song.

'So she gave him that chance,' she 'silently' sang, 'and, in time, they were wed. He is no more a 'Stranger'. And they've never forgotten the things they both said...The Stranger and the Lady...The Lady and the Stranger...Don't put your hea-eart in da-an-ger...' she finished with a slight smile...and was instantly asleep.

---

'Why-y?' was the question Jim Crown kept angrily asking himself as he stood there beside his bed, staring sadly down at his dead-looking deputy's heavily bandaged head. (The reporter would have appeared right at home in India, seeing as how the cloth wrappings looked more like a huge turban than a bandage.) 'WHY-Y?' Why had he let Francis talk him into letting him stay in Cimarron? Because he didn't 'feel up' to arguing? He 'gasped'-in anger and frustration-and glanced around the room. He felt like kicking something, but then thought better of it. The resulting 'ba-ang' would probably just bring Dulcey running. 'WHY-Y? WHY-Y? WHY-Y?' Because he was so positive his plan to get Mareck and his henchmen out of town would work? That was it! That had to be it! His young friend was lying there unconscious-and quite possibly dying-because he had placed too much confidence in his precious PLA-AN! Crown now felt like kicking himself!

Come to think of it, he and Charley had recently stood on a riverbank discussing-in great length-various ways in which such a handy contraption might possibly be constructed. They'd reckoned once they got the dang thing put together, that people would be linin' up to use it! Charley'd suggested chargin' two bits a head-er, tail...and had talked about haulin' it off to someplace like Washington D.C.. After one week in Washington, Charley'd figured they'd a' made enough ta retire...

The lawman managed another exasperated 'gasp' and then rammed his right fist-very forceably-into his open left palm. And, while he didn't accomplish anything by this action, the resulting pai-ain did manage to take his mind off of Francis for a few moments.

And it was while the Marshal was thus distracted that it finally dawned on him that his plan's failure was not entirely his fault. After all, he hadn't taken bein' drugged and kidnapped, by his friends, into consideration when he was formulatin' it!

Crown did not have a real clear recollection of his 'run-in' with either Rutger's o-or Mareck. But there were enough 'bits an' pieces' for him to conclude that he'd stirred those two hornets' nests up rea-eal good, this time! 'An how many more innocent folks,' he wondered wearily, 'are gonna get 'stung' because of it?'

The lawman realized he couldn't really fault his friends, either, for-while their plan may indeed have back-fired-BIG TIME-their intentions had been goo-ood...honorable even! After all, the whole disasterous thing had been schemed up in an apparent attempt to save his life. 'What a bitter irony it would be if it were ta now end up costin' Francis hi-is...'

The Marshal shoved that morbid thought out of his mind and then quickly took a seat. Another thing had suddenly become quite clear to him-he shouldn't a' been pacin' in such heat! He didn't even realize he had been pacing, until he'd become too dizzy to stand. 'Too dizzy ta even sit,' the whoozy lawman realized-on his way to the floor. Fortunately for his head, Crown reached out as he slumped forwards and caught himself on the edge of his bed. Then he folded his arms and used them as both a pillow and a stabilizer for his still wildly whirling brain.

At long last, his light-headedness passed. The first thing that his mind made note of-when it finally finished reeling-was that he had apparently set his left hand down on top of his young friend's. He picked the reporter's limp appendage up and then gave it a very hard, very reassuring squeeze. "You're not gonna die on us, Francis!" Crown firmly informed him, "An' you kin consider that an ORDER!" he tacked on-even more sternly. An order he prayed the independent journalist would not choose to disobey.

'Independent journalist' is what Francis liked to call himself-and appropriately so! 'Cuz the young man surely did have a mind of his own! And Francis was a man now...and a courageous one, at that! Crown recalled the first time he'd held the young reporter's hand in his. That was way back when they'd first met. Jim was just another new face in town and Francis was this cocky, grinning, barefooted kid with a camera-who kept blinding him with his flash powder! Still, it was that barefooted boy-along with that crazy Scotsman-who had so courageously backed Crown at the river...and who had continued backing him all this ti-...Ga-awd! Had it really been FIVE YEARS since he and Francis had first shook hands? Five years since he'd been 'called' ta Washington? 'Ca-alled', Jim Crown discovered first-hand, was a term that high-ranking Government Officials used in place of kidnapped.

Crown's last day in Kansas had been a real scorcher, too. In fact, it had felt an awful lot like this one. He'd gone out to make his evenin' rounds-as usual. But-on account a' how it was unusually ho-ot-an' he was feelin' unusually ti-ired from breakin' up fights all day-(Folks' tempers were flarin' as hot as the air temperature!) he'd stopped by Evey's Diner for a badly needed break. He had jes' sat down an' Evelyn had jes' finished pourin' him his coffee. Out of habit, he had taken a seat where his back would be to the room's far wall an' he would thus be facin' the diner's front entrance. Said door had opened...an' so had this latest chapter in his life-as a 'legendary lawman'? U.S. Marshal James Crown cringed slightly and then allowed his mind to wander back to that hot, August evening in Abilene, Kansas...

---

Two incredibly tall, impeccably groomed thugs-in three-piece suits-stepped off the boardwalk and into the diner.

The Marshal immediately recognized the well-groomed goons as being two of the four Secret Service men he'd encountered five years earlier-in a hotel room in El Paso. Maybe they'd jes' come in for some coffee...like hi-im.

Their darting eyes roved around the room and then stopped finally-as they riveted on hi-im.

Then again...maybe no-ot. "Don' tell me," he told the two men as they stepped wordlessly up to his table, "let me guess...Yore boss wants ta 'talk' ta me..."

"Special Agent Hanover..." the darker-haired of the two apparently humorless-an' profusely sweating-gentlemen stiffly stated, "Special Agent Braames..." he added and pointed to his companion.

"See, Vic'," Special Agent Braames said, nudging his fellow agent with his elbow, "I told you that he'd remember us."

"I never forget the faces a' folks who try ta rearrange my face for me..." the Marshal icily informed them. 'Speakin' a' whi-ich...' "Where are Special Agents Foster an' Kingsley?" He inquired, somewhat cautiously. The miserable heat had everybody, including him, feelin' extra irritable and actin' awful edgy. Still, Crown reckoned he had every right ta feel 'on edge' about these two. They weren't exactly actin' friendly an' neither of them had-as yet-proferred a hand for him ta shake.

"It seems that they still harbor some...lingering animosity towards you, Mr. Crown," Special Agent Braames answered with an amused gleam in his eyes.

"And, since the President wants to see you in one piece," Agent Hanover continued, "we decided it would be best if they were to remain behind...in Washington."

The sweating, somewhat bedraggled-looking lawman breathed a silent sigh of relief, and then settled back a bit in his chair.

The two Special Agents suddenly stiffened and were about to take a step or two back when they realized that both of the Marshal's elbows remained resting on the table and he was still cradling his coffee in both of his hands. Agents Braames and Hanover heaved some silent sighs of relief themselves, and then gradually untensed.

Agent Braames stared down at Mr. Crown's steaming cup for a few more moments before turning his gaze back to its holder. "I trust you're not going to 'carry on' about your coffee the way you did about your bath water..." he reproachfully remarked.

"Depends on who's payin' for it," Crown quickly came back, catching the confrontational tone in the man's voice and rising-both figuratively and literally-to meet the challenge.

The two agents tensed-again, and prepared-again-to take evasive action.

But the now standing lawman just stood there.

"For pete's sake, Phillip! Quit taunting him!" Special Agent Hanover sternly ordered, giving his partner a rough prod with his elbow, "We're supposed to try to do this peacefully! Remember?"

Agent Braames reluctantly removed a shiny new nickel from the front pocket of his vest and then-even more reluctantly-tossed the coin down onto the lawman's table.

"These two fellah's friends a' yores, Marshal?" somebody standing unbelievably close behind them suddenly inquired.

The two startled 'fellah's' started to reach for their hidden shoulder holsters-but then realized that they were surrounded-and begrudgingly surrendered to that tremendously embarassing fact.

Sensing that the two uninvited-and obviously unwelcome (since they hadn't been asked to have a seat)-visitors to the lone lawman's table might mean trouble for him, Evey had sent her kitchen boy off to fetch one-or more-of the Marshal's three deputies.

It was Crown's second-in-command that had slipped into the diner and-upon seeing one of the two supposed trouble-makers buying his boss' coffee for him-posed the completely perplexed sounding question.

"Jes' a couple a' old acquaintences, Arch'..." Crown cautiously replied, giving the diner's pretty proprietor a knowing wink and a grateful nod.

Miss Evelyn Hansen flashed him back a 'Yer welcome!' smile that could a' melted butter, and returned his wink as well...with interest.

"Gentlemen," he continued, reluctantly redirecting his attention, "I'd like you ta meet one a' my 'special deputies'. Archer Fenton. Victor Hanover...an' Phillip Braames," he finished introducing-for his 'special deputy's' sake.

Arch' retreated a step or two as the couple carefully made half-turns so's they could see one another's faces. The two monstrously hu-uge-unsmiling-goons didn' appear ta be anybody that Archie would ever wanna become 'acquainted' with...and he shot his boss a worried look which said as much.

"I'll explain it all later..." the Marshal promised, suppressing a slight smile, "Finish my rounds for me, will you, Arch'...an' I'll meet up with you back at the Office."

The dismissed deputy gave his boss another anxious glance, but then obediently departed.

"Lead the way..." the remaining lawman unenthusiastically invited of his visitors.

Agent Hanover eventually overcame his absolute amazement and immediately acted upon the unexpected invite by gleefully heading for the diner's exit.

"You mean to say," a disappointed-looking Phillip Braames stepped right up into the Marshal's face and then stood there, blocking the peace officer's path to the door, "that you're not going to give us any trouble this time?"

"I will accompany you, this time," Crown quickly clarified. "As ta whether I will give you any trouble or not...I ain't at liberty ta sa-ay..." he calmly said and then calmly side-stepped the enormous obstacle that was in his way. "Oh, an' Phillip," Crown called back over his shoulder, "thanks for the coffee..."

The irate agent clenched and unclenched his fists and jaw a few times before following the infuriating little fellow over to the diner's front door.

Agent Hanover opened the portal and the three men passed through it.

"I, uh, notice the two a' you have started usin' the little knobby thing..." Crown wryly remarked in reference to an unlocked door the 'special agents' had once demolished in El Paso. And then he 'winced' as Agent Braames 'banged' the diner's door shut with so much force that it nearly shook the panes of glass from its window's frame.

"Now," Special Agent Hanover snidely declared and held out his hand to his cranky companion, "about that little 'wager' we had..."

"Wha-at?" Special Agent Braames bitterly snapped back, "Can't you at least wait 'til we're on boa-oard?"

'On boa-oard...?' the lawman mentally repeated, 'On board wha-?' Before he could even complete his question, Crown had his answer. After all, the list a' possibilities was not a long one. Since there were no steamboats in Kansas, that left only stages an'...the Marshal stiffened suddenly-and turned in the direction of the depot. He stared off down the darkened street and saw, through straining-and widened-eyes, the silhouette of a steam locomotive...which should not a' been there! No trains were due inta town at that time a' night. An' there had been no 'whistle' announcin' this one's arrival. He also saw that the unscheduled train-which had made an unscheduled stop-was now takin' on both wood an' water. But it was what the Marshal didn't see that determined what his next move would be. He turned back in time to see Phillip placing an undetermined (on account a' the dim lamp light) amount of cash into his pleased-as-punch looking partner's open palm. "Keep yore hands right there!" Crown advised as he withdrew his pistol and then aimed it-point blank-at the President's pair a' 'special agent's'. "Where I kin see 'em!" he finished.

The two already frozen with astonishment gentlemen remained frozen-with the exception of Agent Hanover's jaw, "You wouldn't-" 'Victor' smugly began.

"You kin bet yore lives I wou-ould!" the lawman quickly interjected, "Especially since I still harbor some lingerin' animosity towards you!" Then, using his free hand, Crown yanked the coats back from off of their shoulders and pulled them down around their arms.

"But," the already bothered-and now bewildered-Agent Braames began as the lawman relieved both of the thusly restrained gentlemen of their revolvers, "you said that you would accompany us, this time!"

"Across the street maybe," Jim Crown calmly conceded, "but not clear across the Country!"

"What makes you so sure," Agent Hanover wondered as the lawman tossed their weapons into the street and then began taking his leave of them, "that our boss isn't right here...in Abilene?"

"The President of the United States would never travel this far West without a 'military' escort," the Marshal obligingly replied and kept backing off down the boardwalk.

"And how could you possibly tell that he's not traveling with one, right now?" Agent Hanover asked in amazement.

"If yah look down there," the peace officer patiently explained, giving his head a slight twist in the direction of the depot, "you'll notice that there's no 'military' personnel on-or even anywhere's around-the boardin' platform."

"What if," Special Agent Braames stubbornly suggested, "their orders were to remain on board?"

"That train is takin' on wood a-an' water...which means it hasn' stopped in at least two days," the retreating lawman simply stated, as a matter of fact.

"So-o?" the 'special agents' simultaneously said.

"So-o, if you're tellin' me that you're gonna keep a bunch a' soldiers cooped up in a railroad car for over forty-eight hours-in this heat-an' then order them ta remain on board...then I'm tellin' you that morale on that train mus' be rea-eal lo-ow!" Crown logically concluded. (Soldiers in an escort detail might not be issued any three-day passes, but they would at least be allowed out-a few at a time-ta stretch their legs an' grab some air. Jim Crown had worked for the Army once, so he was up on all its policies an' procedures.)

"MISTER CRO-OWN," Special Agent Hanover shouted down the boardwalk so as to be heard, (Mister Cro-own had placed a considerable distance between himself and them.) "MISTER CLEVELAND HAS CALLED YOU TO WASHINGTON!"

"He kin 'ca-all' all he likes!" Mister Crown 'ca-alled' back and kept right on retreating. The peace officer's plan was to back down the boardwalk 'til he came to the alley. He then planned to disappear down said alley and make himself real scarce. The 'wanted' lawman intended to remain invisible until long after the phantom train made its unscheduled departure.

"BUT," Agent Braames blurted in utter disbelief, "NOBODY SAYS 'NO-O' TO THE PRESIDENT!"

"If your boss has somethin' ta say ta me," nobody blurted back, "he'll have ta say it in a letter! 'Cuz there's no way that I'm goin' all the way ta Washin'ton with the two a' you!" Crown hated the thought of spendin' any time in the East and he certainly did not care for their company! The Marshal had stepped down from the boardwalk, and was in the process of replacing his drawn weapon, when six humungous forms suddenly leapt out at him from the alley. 'Then again,' the hopelessly outnumbered, and instantly over-powered, lawman glumly pointed out to himself...as one of the faceless forms snatched the gun from his holster and two others slapped handcuffs on his restrained wrists, 'perhaps there is one way...'

"Ea-easy, gentlemen!" one of yet two more faceless-but smaller-forms urged, seeing the rough way in which their colleagues were handling the prisoner, "The Marshal, here, is on our side, remember?"

Fortunately for Crown, they did. The lawman 'gasped' in relief as one of the two thugs standing immediately in back of him released the stranglehold he'd been keeping on his neck.

"Loosen these u-up," the other of the two new arrivals ordered upon checking the prisoner's restraints, "I've seen tourniquets that weren't that tight!"

And the two mountainous men to which Crown was handcuffed quickly produced some keys and complied.

Right about then, Agents Braames and Hanover arrived. "I told you NOBODY says 'NO-O' to the President!" the former reminded the little lawman.

"Mister Crown," the latter continued, "I'd like you to meet Special Agents West and Gordon...and Nichols and Fahrling...and Barnett and Rivord...and Croxley and Morrison."

Special Agent West had passed along the little reminder and Special Agent Gordon had ordered the restoration of his circulation. Agent Nichols had attached himself to the Marshal's left wrist and Agent Fahrling had cuffed himself to his right. Agents Barnet, Rivord and Morrison all had a piece of his personage. But it was Agent Croxley who'd been keeping the throat lock on him.

"I want my money back," Philip Braames suddenly said.

"No wa-ay!" Victor Hanover replied, "The bet was about if we could get him to accompany us this time! Not about how far he would accompan-"

"Adderly says the train's all set!" a breathless brakeman announced as he came jogging up, "As soon as the V.I.P. is on board, we can pull out!"

Agents West and Gordon-who were apparently the gargantuan group's leaders-acknowledged the man's message with nods.

"As soon as the what's on board?" the Marshal inquired of them, at long last breaking his silence.

"Actually," Agent Gordon amusedly answered, "it's not a 'what'-it's a 'who'. In this case-YOU!"

"V. I. P.," Agent West added, "stands for very important person...of which you must certainly be one!"

"He doesn't look so 'important' to me-e!" Agent Croxley decided, his voice filled with disdain at having been ordered to be there for the little lawman's collection.

"Yeah? Well, somebody back in Washington obviously thinks he is," Agent Gordon simply stated, "or, believe me, the ten of us wouldn't be here!"

"Arty's right," Agent West agreed. "Heck, the President doesn't even travel with this many bodyguards!"

"Let's get him on boa-oard," Agent Barnett all but pleaded, "where it's gotta be at least twenty degrees cooler!"

"Yeah," Agent Morrison readily agreed, "and we'll all be a lot more comfortable!"

"I cain't jes' lea-eave!" the lawman with a lot of loose ends that needed takin' care of told them, "Jes' like that!"

"We took the liberty of packing a few of your personal things for you," Arty announced. "You'll find them waiting for you in your quarters."

"At least let me talk ta my deputies..." the peace officer pleaded as he was pulled off in the direction of the depot.

Agent West raised a hand and the entire party-protesting prisoner included-halted. "If we let you talk to one of your people, will you promise to 'cooperate' with us?"

Crown took a quick look around him. The last time he'd seen that much muscle all in one place was back when he was herdin' cattle. "I didn't think I ha-ad a 'choi-oice'..." he sarcastically commented.

"Perhaps not as to whether you'll go to Washington," Arty admitted, "but certainly as to how you'll go. Right, James?"

"Right," Agent West again agreed. "Which means you can either spend the entire time locked-under heavy guard-in your quarters...or enjoy free run of the entire train. Which, by the way, features complete-and luxurious-hotel accommodations."

"We also have extremely well-rounded literary and music libraries on board," Arty proudly added.

"There's even a recreational car," James quickly interjected, "containing everything from billiards to poker chips. So-o...what do you say? Will you give us your complete cooperation?"

The Marshal considered all his 'options' over for a few moments-and concluded that he didn't care much for 'either' of them. "You have my complete cooperation," he begrudgingly announced, choosing the lesser of the two evils. "You also have my word on that..." he added rather annoyedly-in response to several of the surrounding goons' skeptical grunts.

"Go find him a deputy," James West told the six unattached agents, "We'll wait for you down by the depot."

"Get those 'bracelets' off of him," Arty abruptly ordered and then gave the liberated lawman back his gun.

Grover Cleveland's gorillas shot their leaders several 'Have you two lost your minds?' looks, but then obediently carried out their orders.

Crown watched in absolute amazement as the dispatched deputy hunters disappeared...along with the metal restraints on his wrists. His pistol reappeared-and was slipped back into its holster. "You people put an awful lot a' stock in the word of a complete stranger," the Marshal muttered, sounding almost as amazed as he looked. Then he did an about face and started heading back towards the entrance to the alley.

Agents Nichols and Fahrling took a step or two after him, but then halted as Agent West raised another hand.

"We heard you were a man of great resourcefulness," James West explained, "and even greater honor..." he added, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

The lawman reached the spot where he'd been ambushed and stooped stiffly down to retrieve his Stetson-which had been lost in the tussle. Crown wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and whacked some of the dust from his hat before placing it back on his head. "Yeah? Well...you can't believe everything that you hea-ear..." he wearily reminded the two very trusting agents as he came stepping calmly back up to them.

"We don't," Arty assured him, "And that is why there are no bullets in your gun..." he finished with a rather wry grin, and promptly proferred his hand.

The Marshal returned the two men's grins and readily took them up on their offers to shake his hand.

"You hungry?" Agent Gordon suddenly asked as they started off down the street in the direction of the depot, "We have this French chef on board. I tell you, Jean Louis makes the most incredible 'beuf Sainte de le Renevoire' you've ever tasted!"

"You'll have to excuse Arty," Agent West requested, "He's really gotten into gourmet dining. Personally, I'm more of a 'meat and potatoes' man."

"That is 'meat and potatoes'!" Arty pointed out, sounding a bit perturbed.

"Forget food...for now," James West suggested, "I'll bet the Marshal, here, is more thirsty than he is hungry, anyways. So-o, what can we offer you in the form of liquid refreshment?" the agent asked their V.I.P..

"What d'yah got?" the lawman casually inquired.

"Everything from vintage champagne to snake oil medicine!" Agent West answered.

"We carry a complete stock of the very best 'liqueurs'," Arty assured him.

"Morale on that train is not as lo-ow as you imagined, Marshal," James added with another wry grin.

Which Crown again caught himself returning.

They reached the depot at exactly the same time as the now breathless and 'hot and bothered', but successful, deputy hunters did.

"Sorry, Jim," their completely surrounded-not to mention overwhelmed-quarry apologized, "I was finishin' up yore rounds-jes' like you said-when they jumped me!"

"I know, Arch'," the Marshal consolingly said and flashed his dejected looking deputy a slight smile, "Believe me, I know...Looks like I'm gonna be leavin' for awhile..." he continued, giving the phantom train in front of him a glum glance, "I want you ta wire Marshal Hagan in Dodge an' tell him ta ride my circuit for me. Tell Luke an' Pete ta take over my rounds."

"What about me?" Arch' asked.

"I'm leavin' you in charge a' the Office."

"A-all ri-ight!"

"You kin let those cowboys go when they've sobered up. But I don' wan' 'em gettin their guns-or their money-back 'til this heat breaks."

"What about Ballinger?" Arch' inquired as the Marshal was ushered up the steps of the boardin' platform by eight big-apparently anxious to board-bruisers.

"He stays put 'til I get back! Finish collectin' those statements from those witnesses. Judge Slayter'll be comin' in tomorrow. Ask 'im for a two week delay in that Patterson boy's trial."

"What about the Chefert trial? There's no case without yore testimony!"

"I signed my report. See if the Judge'll let it pass for my sworn deposition."

"Yah know, Jim," the deputy declared as his boss was pushed across the platform and up to the entrance to one of the cars, "if I didn' know better, I'd swea-ear you were bein' kidnapped!"

"I a-am!" Crown crankily commented as he was shoved aboard.

"But don't worry," he heard Special Agent Hanover tell his stunned looking 'special deputy', "it's all being done nice and legal-like!"

---

Chapter Thirty-Eight

One interesting week of continuous train travel later, the shanghied Marshal found himself standing in the middle of a mansion on Pennsylvania Avenue-in the very heart of Washington, D.C..

Agents West and Gordon had accompanied him into the large, elegantly furnished waiting room. The three of them had become close friends. (When you're forced to spend a lot of time with someone in cramped quarters, either you become close friends-or you kill one another! Amazingly, the Marshal had even managed to befriend Special Agent Croxley!)

"Do you suppose that punchin' out the President is a 'Capital' offense?" the cooped-up peace officer-who'd been passing the time by pacing-paused to ponder.

His companions did not deign to answer, but merely smiled at his pun.

At long last, the door flew open, and Misters Foster and Kingsley preceded the President of the United States into the room.

Agents West and Gordon rose to their feet-out of respect.

"When I tol' you Abilene would be my last assignment-I MEANT IT!" the Marshal screamed in the opened door's direction.

All four of the Secret Service men in the room were aghast at this sudden outburst. In lieu of the lawman's recent inquiry, James and Arty looked especially concerned... until they realized that the Marshal's angry tirade was aimed at the person standing-er, hiding directly behind their boss-Congressman David Samuel Fisher...from Texas.

"Just hear us out, James," the cowering Congressman pleaded, "This is too important for you to just pass on!"

The Marshal wanted desperately to deck David Samuel Fisher. And he would have, too! If he didn't have to go through Foster and Kingsley to do it.

"The...situation in the Cimarron Strip is becoming explosive! There's a war brewing between the ranchers and the farmers over who gets the Cherokee Outlet when it finally opens!"

Crown, who had turned his back on both of the politicians, just stood there-silently fuming-clenching and unclenching his jaw and fists.

"Mister Crown," President Cleveland suddenly spoke up, "I 'called' you to Washington because the Congressman, here, is convinced that you would be able to defuse the...situation that is rapidly developing down there. He also tells me that you are an ex-cowboy. That being the case, I have my doubts as to whether you could truly be impartial in this assignment. Who would you like to see get the land? The farmers...or the ranchers?"

"NEITHER!" the livid lawman shouted, "The land already belongs ta the Seven Tribes! Hence the name-INDIAN TERRITORY!" he sarcastically summed up. Then he spun around to face his questioner-er, kidnapper, "I haven't been in the Outlet in quite a while! But the las' time I did pass through there, the rivers were still flowin' an' the grass was still growin'! An' it mus' still be so, or both the farmers an' the ranchers would be lettin' it remain in the hands of its rightful owners! You wanna stop a war? Then don' open that Outlet ta ANYBODY!"

"And what do you suggest we do about all those farmers and ranchers?" Mister Cleveland curiously inquired.

"Tell 'em ta go someplace else! There's plenty a' other stolen property in the Strip for them ta plant themselves down on! The Seven Tribes cain't jes' up an' leave! There's no place left for THEM ta go! We've broken every treaty! Their backs are to the wall! The Outlet is ALL they got left!"

There followed a long, solemn silence.

Which the country's Commander-in-Chief chose to break first. "It's too late..." he said in a sad, hollow voice, whose volume was barely above that of a whisper, "...I can't stop it. Congress-and it's greedy constituents-have already secured passage of the Land Bill. And David has just informed me that they now have enough votes-in both Houses-to override my veto. It is-as they say-a 'done' dea-eal..."

'A 'raw' dea-eal!' Crown thought bitterly and shot the Congressman an accusing glare.

"Don' look at me-e!" David defensively declared, "I voted against it!"

The Marshal turned his back on the two politicians again and resumed his silent raging.

"You were right, David," Mister Cleveland conceded, "The Marshal, here, is the perfect man for this assignment! Here are the latest intelligence reports on the activities in the Strip. After you've had a chance to read them, perhaps we could-"

"I'm NOT gonna be readin' any reports!" the still livid lawman answered-by way of interruption, "An' I'm NOT gonna be takin' any more assignments! That's ri-ight," he shouted, anticipatin' the Congressman's question, "I RESIGNED!"

"You don't really mean that, Ja-ames," David Samuel Fisher said, albeit a bit uncertainly, "You're jes' tired..."

"Tired? Ti-ired? You bet I'm TI-IRED!" the ti-ired, reti-ired Marshal angrily agreed and turned in Dave's direction, "I'm tired a' my nerves always bein' on edge-and a' always havin' ta watch my back! I'm tired a' gettin busted up bustin' up bra-awls! I'm tired a' pickin' up after a bunch a pukin' drunks! I'm tired a' liquored-up cowboys usin' me an' my badge for target practice! I'm tired a' orderin' people around all day! But, mos'ly, I'm sick an' tired a' bein SHOT AT! Do you realize how much lead I've had dug out a' me in the las' five years? I'm tired all right-an' I'm gettin' out! Before I die a' lead poisonin'! I jes' wanna leave here an' settle down somewheres where I won't have ta keep lookin' back over my shoulder all the time!" Crown felt he was entitled to a little of that peace he'd been keepin' for half a decade. And there was no way in the world that Dave-or anybody-was gonna get him to put his badge back on! And he shot his old friend-and his ex-boss-looks which said as much.

"All right..." the Congressman calmly said, "But before you go, jes' let me show you ONE thing in these reports..."

Dave Fisher's surprisingly calm acceptance of his resignation caught Jim Crown off guard and he found himself staring down at the politician's proffered report-a report he'd swore he would NOT read! He scanned over the page to the place Congressman Fisher's finger was pointing at. And-under the sub-heading: 'Leaders of the Insurrection'-his dark green eyes found-and then focused upon-a very familiar name-Sylvester L. Bearsten. He stared disbelievingly down at said name for a few moments and then redirected his vision towards Dave, "There's no 'mistake'?" he cautiously inquired.

"There's no 'mistake'..." Dave assured him.

And-jes' like that-someone the lawman had thought was dead-for seven years- was, suddenly, RESURRECTED! "Bear is...ali-ive?" the Marshal muttered to himself, his voice a mixture of amazement and uncertainty.

"An' well," Dave added, "an' hazin' trains full a' settlers in the Indian Territory! Bearsten-an' his boys-have been ruffling folk's feathers for the past few weeks now..." Dave droned on and on about the extreme degree of damage which had been inflicted upon the poor dirt farmers.

But Jim was only half-listening. The other half of his mind was bein' flooded with memories-most of them bad. But some of them were good...like the ones he had of him an' his ol' buddy, Bear. He an' Bear had worked together once, scouting for the Army. Major Daniel Lee Fisher-in charge of the 5th Cavalry, stationed out of Fort McKinley-had ordered them to lead a routine supply mission. They had accomplished their mission and were headin' back through Wyoming Territory when the patrol they were scouting for was ambushed by a group of renegade Cheyenne warriors. They heard the shooting and rode back to find that the entire platoon had been wiped out. He an' Bear were the sole survivors of an all out massacre! The renegades spotted them and they split up. Jim was captured-an' nearly killed! Bear got away. But he came back for him! A' course-when Bear saw the half a dozen arrows stickin' out a' his hide an' that he was about ta be 'burned at the stake'-Jim guessed his ol' buddy must a' given 'im up for dead, 'cuz Bear lit off out a' that Cheyenne camp like his britches was on fire! Then he went tearin' up a canyon with ten rifle totin' Injuns right on his tail! There was a great deal of gunfire, and Jim jes' naturally figured his ol' buddy was a goner, 'cuz it was a box canyon Bear had disappeared into…an' there was no other way out. Bear had lost his life comin' back ta save him-at least, that's what Jim had always thought-up 'til no-ow! Bear had risked his life, but not lost it! Either way, his ol' buddy had come back for him. And Jim reckoned he owed him-big time-for THAT! "Save yore breath!" Jim interrupted Dave, right in mid-drone, "There's nothin' that you could ever 'say' that would get me ta go down there an' arrest Bear!"

"We're not askin' you ta arrest 'im," the Congressman clarified, "We're askin' you ta try an' reason with him. If you kin talk him out a' hazin' trains an' harassin' farmers, the Government will dismiss all 'charges' against them!"

The ex-lawman looked to the leader of the Government for varification of that particular statement.

"It's true," Mister Cleveland confessed, "If you can convince them to stop their...insurrection...and if Mr. Miller pays for all the damages...I will see to it that they are all issued full Presidential pardons!"

"Mister Payne has petitioned the Congress," the Congressman continued, "He's demanding that the Government provide its citizens with some protection. If you don't go, the Army will have ta be called in. Even if he doesn't stop an Army bullet, the Army will see to it that Bearsten is stopped. Then he-an' what's left of his boys'-will be settin' in some Federal Prison for a long, lo-ong time..."

"Bear ain' exactly what you'd call a reasonable man..." the ex-Marshal gloomily announced.

"Well, if he would listen ta anybody," Dave determined, "it'd be YOU! At least with YOU he'd stand a chance..."

Bear did come back for him...and the ex-Marshal did owe him. Sti-ill, stoppin' a 'war' was a pretty tall order...even for him.

"There are six sheriffs in the Strip," Dave declared as though he were reading the ex-Marshal's mind, "And they all have deputies..."

"And I will personally see to it," the Commander-in-Chief of the Army said, "that you have every soldier in Fort Cimarron at your disposal..."

"Assumin' I lived," the ex-lawman said, following several more minutes of thoughtful silence, "How long would this little 'assignment' last?"

"Just until the Outlet opens," the President promptly promised.

"Which is...?" Crown cautiously inquired.

"Congress hasn't even decided yet, who gets the land," the Country's Chief Executive complained, "let alone when they'll get it!"

"We'll be votin' on the who, shortly," the Congressman announced.

"How shortly?" the recruited 'war' stopper wanted-NEEDED to know.

"Very shortly!" Dave vowed, "A couple a' weeks," he further replied-er, half-lied, "A month at the most!"

"And the-en we'll find out whe-en!" Mister Cleveland logically, but erroneously, concluded.

"How 'bout it?" Dave said, seeing that Jim Crown was on the verge of capitulating, "We'll write it right across the top a' yore resignation: 'EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY UPON THE OPENIN' OF THE CHEROKEE OUTLET'..."

Jim Crown's response-following several more minutes of thoughtful silence-was ta shoot Dave Fisher an angry glare an' then snatch the rather thick stack of reports from him.

The Congressman and Mr. Cleveland shot each other victorious glances, but did not dare to gloat over the Marshal's change of mind-er, heart.

"Those reports can wait! You'll have plenty of time to read them on the train," his host decided. "Tonight, I'm going to treat you to some Presidential hospitality! Mr. Foster, inform Shefield that the Marshal, here, is to be our Guest-of-Honor at dinner this evening! And the-en, we're going to have a Ba-all!" the big man gleefully boomed. (The Head of State was HU-UGE! Why, Mister Cleveland made his bodyguards look small-by comparison!) The President proffered his palm to the peace officer.

Crown reluctantly accepted it. And there followed the heartiest handshake the Marshal had ever experienced!

"See you at dinner!" his robust-and apparently very busy-host said as he was escorted from the room.

His old friend, Dave Fisher, wisely disappeared along with the President-and his protection.

"Bearsten did come back for you..." James West conceded as he and Arty came stepping up to their extremely glum-unresigned-chum. "We read your report," the agent added upon seeing the lawman's look of utter astonishment.

"You were ou-our last 'assignment', remember?" Arty added as that look turned to one of confusion, "We've read everything that's ever been written by or about you."

"And Congressman Fisher kindly offered to fill in all the blanks," Agent West finished explaining, but needn't have bothered.

James Crown had already figured that out way back in Abilene.

"Wish we could help you out," Arty solemnly said, "But James and I have a little 'insurrection' of our own to deal with. We leave tomorrow for the Yukatan Province of Mexico."

"The United States deals with other countries insurrections?" the amazed Marshal asked.

"All the time," James West wearily responded, "I guess the State Department figures what's bad for our neighbors is bad for us."

"But you didn't hear that from us," Arty quickly admonished with a glint of mischief in his weary eyes.

"You can ride with us," Agent West offered, "Our train passes right through Cimarron. We'll drop you off on our way."

"Thanks...but I believe the best way ta stop a bunch a' cowboys from hazin' a train full a' farmers would be for me ta be on that train," Jim told them.

"Then ride with us as far as Missouri," Arty suggested, "You can always catch a South bound out of St. Louie'..."

The two agents grinned as their invited guest acknowledged the travel arrangements with a grateful nod and smile.

And so James Rolland Crown dined...and drank...and danced...and dreamed that night in the White House. (The condemned are customarily granted a las' meal.)

---

The recruited 'war' stopper arrived, safe and sound, in Cimarron six days later. And, immediately upon his arrival, anything that could go wrong did go wrong! At first, Bear was drunk-and unreasonable. Then, the 'leader of the insurrection' was hungover-and unreasonable. As long as the 'sod busters' stayed on their side of the Cimarron, there would be no 'blood-bath'. However, Bear-and his boys-vowed to kill every farmer foolish enough to set foot in the river.

Speakin' a' which...

Mr. Payne-and his fellow foolish farmers-refused to wait around for Congress' permission to enter the Outlet.

All six of his sheriffs-and their deputies-resigned!

As for the Army, Major Covington completely disregarded the 'Presidential Directive'. He-and every single one of his soldiers remained in Fort Cimarron.

Yes-sir! Things went very wro-ong indeed! And-through it all-that crazy Scotsman with the 'still' and that cocky kid with the 'camera' had backed him!

And Francis had kept right on backing him-from that morning at the river, when he faced forty cowboys armed with rifles-to that morning in his Office, when Francis faced Mareck and his men for him...for Dulcey.

---

The hunched over lawman's ribs were killing him-and his light-headedness had long since passed-so he s-l-o-w-l-y, and painfully, straightened back up in his seat. Jim Crown did not, however, release the tight hold that he had on his young friend's hand. He figured it was his turn no-ow-to back Francis.

---

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"S-S-Sma-ack!" was the annoyingly loud, and only, sound which repeatedly reverberated through the Cherokee Saloon that hot afternoon. "S-S-Sma-ack!" echoed through the almost empty building as the barkeep brought the leather fly swatter he was wielding down again, lambasting his fifteenth fly in as many minutes.

"Knock it off!" one of his only five customers shouted-er, threatened. The 'buzzing' noise was apparently preferable to the disturbing sounds the swatter had been producing, "An' bring us another bottle!"

"Ahh!" another of the previously quiet quintet piped up as the barkeep set the whiskey down before him, "The only thing of any value left in this whole stinkin' place!" he glumly surmized, pouring himself a refill and passing the valuable elixar on to his sweating associates.

"True..." Elliot Polk agreed, "But jes' two miles south a' he-ere is a whole Settlement full a' sod-busters!"

"Ain' nothin' out the-ere but a bunch a' dirt poor farmers!" another of the five angrily pointed out.

"Maybe," Elliot Polk again agreed, "maybe not...What about all those wagons filled with family heirlooms? Gold watches?...Jewelry? I tell yah, I think it's at least worth checkin' out. Like takin' candy from a baby!"

"You jes' wan' us ta help you look for yore little brother!" the bottle requester realized, "Well, I ain' searchin' for nothin' o-or nobody in this heat!"

"Joe B.'s right," the liquor evaluator said, "I jes' wanna set an' sweat!"

"An' sip!" the victim evaluator added, voicing his approval of their non-removal from the saloon-and it's shade.

Elliot Polk eye-balled his closest associate the order to give the Settlement robbing plan some support.

"I dunno," Butch Delliss began, "What, with Mareck bein' broke an' all, we're gonna be needin' some travelin' money. An', after we got the gold, we could all go for a nice, refreshin' dip in the river. The Cimarron runs right by there-an' that water's bound ta be cool...a whole lot cooler than this air we're settin' here breathin'!"

"An' after our swim," Polk continued, in an attempt to turn the spark of interest-which Delliss had just generated-into a blazin' bonfire of desire, "we'll light off outta this lousy Territory, jes' like we planned! An' by the time John Law gets here, we'll all be long gone!" The outlaw smiled inwardly as his reminder of the AUTHORITY'S imminent arrival caused the desired desi-ire for immediate departure on the part of his companions. He had already talked all but one of them into hangin' around 'til after the sun set, when the air would be cooler and more conducive to travel. Now, it appeared he had convinced them to participate in a little gold prospectin' along the way. Only Joe B. was right. He weren't interested in no jewelry or watches. What Elliot Polk was after was his baby brother.

The barkeep watched as the grumpy group got up out of their wooden seats-to which parts of their sweating bodies were stuck-and then filed, unsmilingly, past him and out through the swinging doors. "Good riddance!" he said aloud, when the doors had finished 'thudding'. Then he picked his lethal leather weapon up-and went back to swatting flies... "S-S-Sma-ack!"

---

After nursing Jamie, Katelyn had laid down with the baby to try to get him to take a nap. True to her word, she had fallen instantly asleep. And the two of them had remained sleeping all afternoon.

And that is what the two of them were still doing when Elliot Polk poked his head into their wagon, "Well, lookee here!" he shouted to his pillaging companions.

Katelyn snapped instantly awake, sat bolt upright on the bed and snatched her infant son up into her arms, "What do you want?" she demanded, sounding more outraged than afraid. She didn't have to ask who the intruder was, because she recognized his ogling eyes from their encounter two days before.

"Well, well, well..." Butch Delliss began as he and the other three outlaws poked their hot heads inside to see what Polk was pointing out to them, "Where's yore husband?" he slimily inquired, noting that the woman was all alone-well, except for the baby, which didn't really count.

"He's gone in ta town," the little lady lied, "But he'll be back at any moment!"

"You're lyin'!" Polk pointed out further, "Yore husband is dead!"

Katelyn gasped in both shock and horror. But then she remembered Mrs. Fitzsimmons saying something about how everybody had heard that Jim Crown was dead-and she inhaled a silent breath of relief. "Please!" she pleaded as the five pillagers began to approach the bed-with rapin' written all over their slimey sweat-drenched faces, "Don't hurt my baby!"

"Don' worry," Delliss said, salivating at the sight of the beauty sitting there on the bed, "We ain't interested in no babies!"

"That's right!" Joe B. adamantly agreed as the heat being generated from within his body surpassed the temperature of the air outside, "We prefer the packages they come in!"

As the heated up horde came at her, Katelyn let out an unbelievably lou-oud, blood-curdling scream.

The five rapin' pillagers were about to pounce upon their pretty prey-when a bullet went whistling down the center of the wagon, just inches over their heads! The disgusting group ended up hitting the deck, instead.

Katelyn took advantage of the distraction and sprang up and off of the bed-and out of the back of the wagon-before any of the rapists even realized what had happened.

Four of the frustrated fellows took off out the back after her, while one of them checked on who had fired the near fatal shot.

Elliot Polk cursed aloud as another bullet went whistling past his head, missing his left ear by less than an inch. He spotted the sod-buster responsible for the near miss-squeezed off a shot in the intruder's direction-and was rewarded for his effort.

The farmer's body jerked and the rifle fell from his hands.

The outlaw didn't wait around to see what happened after that.

If he had waited, he would have seen Helen Fitzsimmons race off to find the doctor.

While her son, Danny, rode off to fetch Mr. MacGregor-ON THE DOUBLE!

---

"You're awake," Dulcey determined, seeing the seated figure's eyes were open-though apparently not focused on any particular thing.

Jim Crown had been sitting there for hours, holding onto Francis' hand and staring thoughtfully off into space. He glanced up, saw that the girl did, indeed, appear to be a bit perkier-and gave her a weak smile and nod.

"I wish he were," the girl glumly muttered, directing her vision towards the motionless young man on the bed, "It's a bad sign that he hasn't regained consciousness. Jarrod said the sooner he wakes up, the better his chances are..."

"Wish I'd a' known that a little sooner," the Marshal half-muttered, then he straightened up in his chair and virtually shouted, "FRANCIS! C'MON! WAKE UP! IT'S LATE! IF YOU AIN'T DRESSED AN' DOWNSTAIRS IN FIVE MINUTES I'M LEAVIN' WITHOUT YOU! NOW, C'MON! GET UP! That's it..." the lawman lowered his voice as his young friend suddenly raised his eyelids-repeatedly, "...rise an' shine," Jim Crown gently urged.

"Sorry, Jim..." Francis sleepily apologized, propping himself stiffly up on his elbows, "...guess I must a'...over-slept."

Dulcey and his boss exchanged grins.

The Deputy just lay there, looking at a total loss, "Where we goin' anyways? I can't seem ta remember..." he added-and began reaching for his aching, heavily bandaged head.

"We-e ain't goin' nowhere!" his boss assured him, and eased him gently back down on his bed. Weren't neither one a' them in any condition right then ta travel!

Francis watched in confusion as Jim Crown whispered something to Dulcey.

The girl's eyebrows arched, then she nodded and left the room, suppressing a smile all the while.

"You must a' misunderstood me," the Marshal informed him, "I said ta be sure an step OUT a' the way a' Mareck's 'train', not IN ta it!"

Francis' confused look vanished as Jim's well-chosen words succeeded in jarring his memory back to him. But not all of it, apparently, for there were still huge gaps as to what had happened to him.

"Don' look at me-e," the Marshal advised, catching that questioning look in his young friend's eyes, "I wasn' around, remember? In fact, Frank Finley informs me that I'm dead!...How did I die?" the deceased asked curiously.

"Rutgers' men ambushed you and took yore badge for the bounty," the imaginative young writer replied. "They, uh, also took Mareck's money..." he added rather proudly, "And Manny finally got a funeral."

His boss smiled approvingly and acknowledged the ingenuity of it all with a slight bow of his head.

Francis readily returned his smile, but did not dare to move his splitting split-open head.

Crown spotted a book on the top of his dresser and strolled casually over to retrieve it-and the single-paged newspaper that was lying beside it. "Is that article you did on the Kenzington twins in here?" he casually inquired as he came stepping back up to stand beside his bed, "'Course, I liked the others, too. But, that one's always been my favorite. It has jes' the right mixture of drama an' humor-"

"You've read my articles?" the too stunned to speak up until then young reporter rather excitedly-and quite suddenly-interrupted. "But," the completely baffled lad continued as Jim Crown nodded, "in all those years, you never once picked up any a' those papers I left on yore desk!"

"I didn't need ta pick 'em up," the shrewd Marshal confessed, "I read yore articles before you sent 'em off ta be published. Didn' figure you'd mind, or you wouldn' a' left that little notebook a' yores lyin' around all the time..." he innocently explained.

And the two friends exchanged sly smiles.

The lawman's little disclosure must a' been just the right medicine for the seriously injured deptuty, 'cuz Francis' formerly gravely ill face now radiated with joy-and health, "And you really liked them?"

"Eh-yeah," the still smiling Marshal confessed, but then candidly added,"But let's keep that jes' between me an' you. I wouldn' want folks thinkin' that I was becomin' vai-ain..."

And both the writer and the reader swapped smiles again.

Then Crown tensed somewhat as his deputy's face suddenly sobered.

"I'll never forget the first time I saw you in action," the young reporter reminisced rather reverently, "It was the day you arrived. I figured you were gonna be worth a fortune! My plan was ta make you famous an' me ri-ich! I was jes' lookin' for a legend...I never figured on findin' a friend..." Francis finished rather solemnly and flashed his friend a sort a' sad smile.

"I remember that firs' day, too-oo," the Marshal admitted, "I was in desp'rate need a both deputies a-an' friends. I needed all the deputies an' friends I could find! I liked you right off, though I must admit, I had my doubts about recruitin' you for a deputy. Bu-ut, I figured if it didn' work out-an' we somehow managed ta live through it all...We-ell, I figured we could at least still be friends. Yah see, I was lookin' for friends right along...only I never figured on findin' such good ones. A man couldn't ask for a better friend, Francis. You've uh, turned into a real decent Deputy U.S. Marshal over the years, too..." he teased, and then added with a wave of the paper in his hand, "...not ta mention, a pretty fair reporter..."

There was a solemn silence, which the reporter broke by posing the following question, "Only fai-air?"

"Well, you've only published one book an' one newspaper..." his critic defensively came back.

And so did Dulcey. "What are you two grinning about?" she wondered with a broad smile of her own. The contents of her right hand were placed upon the empty chair. The contents of her left hand were placed upon her perplexed looking patient's stomach.

"What are those for?" Francis anxiously inquired, staring over the steaming tray on his chest at the objects now occupying the chair beside his bed-er, his boss' bed. The reporter hadn't realized-'til jes' then-whose room he was actually in.

"It seems you have a real penchant for disregarding my orders," Crown obligingly explained. "So, rather than order you to remain in bed-until the Doctor says differently-I simply have ta slip these on..." he further explained. And-after passing the chain around one of the bars in the metal frame at the foot of his bed-he slipped the set of manacles that were now in his hands onto each of the invalid's two ankles. "There should be no misunderstanding about thi-is!" he triumphantly tacked on and tapped the restraints a time or two.

Dulcey's smile broadened even further-into a grin.

Francis' already fallen jaw, fell even further, and he was about to spout forth with a very verbal protest-when a cry suddenly came wafting up from somewheres downstairs.

Jim Crown stiffened. The Marshal recognized the voice that was shouting. It was his youngest deputy's voice! And that could mean only one thing-there was trouble out at the Settlement! "STAY PUT!" he ordered to both of his young friends. Then he picked Francis' boots up and hurried out of the room.

Danny Fitzsimmons was still calling for Mr. MacGregor when Crown reached his Office.

"What is it, Danny? What's happened?" he anxiously inquired, dropping his other deputy's boots so he could have both hands free to grip the nearly hysterical boy's shoulders.

"Five men," the breathless boy blurted, "they robbed the Settlement and shot my pa! An' no-ow, they're after Mrs. Edwards!" he concluded-by no-ow, nearly crying.

'Mrs. Crown!' the Marshal mentally corrected and gripped the kid's shoulders reassuringly, "You did real good, Danny! Now I need yore help again! My horse is tied out back a' the little shed behind Doc' Kilgren's. Yah think you kin fetch it for me?"

"Yes, sir, Marshal!" Danny vowed. Then he pulled free and fled back out the front door-which he'd left open.

The Marshal found and loaded a spare pistol-which he shoved under his belt. Then he rammed a dozen plus bullets into the ammo chamber of his Winchester. He also took the time to cram as much additional ammunition as his pockets could carry onto his personage before finally heading for the front door.

The timing was perfect! For just as the 'dead' peace officer appeared in the street-Danny came cantering up, towing his warmed up-and really ready ta ride-thoroughbred.

"Stay inside an' out a' sight!" the Marshal ordered as he vaulted into his saddle.

Danny nodded and then watched in awe as his boss vanished in a bolt of unbelievable speed-and an incredibly thick cloud of dust.

In whatever condition Crown was, he had ta travel! An' travel fa-ast!

---

Chapter Forty

Katelyn had placed Jamie safely down inside of the Fitzsimmons family's wagon before fleeing any further from her attackers. The woman had correctly ascertained that she could and would run faster-and farther-without the infant's weight in her arms. And run she did! And-for close to a quarter of an hour-Katelyn had remained two steps ahead of her panting pursuers. But all five of the filthy-minded men finally caught up to her-in a little clearing along the riverbank-about a mile southeast of the Settlement. As the exhausted woman was gang-tackled to the ground by the disgusting group, she cut loose with another one of her unbelievably loud, blood-curdling screams.

---

The memory of what had happened to Koree-and her mother-at the hands of those five, big, bad-smellin' buffalo hunters made more than one painful pass across the Marshal's mind on his five minute flight to the Settlement. (Crown could've covered the distance in under four minutes on a cooler day, but to do so that particularly hot afternoon would've meant killing his horse!) The lawman was nearing the Fitzsimmons family's camp when a faint cry came floating up the river at him. He could hardly hear it over the pounding of his mare's flying hooves. So he reigned the snorting, lathered thoroughbred to a halt and then sat there-motionless for a few moments-hoping to hear the sound again. The Marshal didn't have long to wait. Less then three seconds later, Katelyn cut loose with another of her blood-curdling screams! Which the waters of the Cimarron again carried across to him. He aimed his sweating steed in the gut-wrenching sound's direction and then kicked it back into high gear.

---

Katelyn's attackers were so preoccupied with pawing at her body parts-and ripping her clothing off-that they failed to notice the approaching rider 'til he was nearly halfways across the clearing. The group glanced up-in unison. And-upon seeing the Marshal's ghost galloping down on them-their jaws went slack. And they just stood there-feeling too stunned to move...and looking positively aghast.

The lawman took advantage of the element of surprise and began emptying his first peace-maker into the dazed and amazed looking crowd.

Elliot Polk stared in wide-eyed astonishment as the advancing apparition put three slugs through three of his fellow thugs' hearts! A fourth bullet slammed into Butch Delliss' left shoulder! But when a fifth tore at his own shirt sleeve-it was time for him to leave! He disappeared into the bushes which surrounded the little opening they were in, dragging his groaning and grimacing-and sole-surviving-associate along with him. It had never once occurred to him to return fire on the marauding dead man. Because-he believed-a bullet could not STO-OP a ghost. He and his bleeding-like-a-stuck-pig companion were about a quarter of a mile away from the clearing when it finally occurred to him that rea-eal ghosts would not need to kill people with gu-uns! A rea-eal 'ghost' could probably just scare a man ta death-or somethin'! So-o, Polk began thinking that the Judge was right about Jim Crown not being dead. The outlaw also came up with one sure-fire way ta find out!

Once again, Katelyn had used the distraction to her advantage. The resourceful little lady had dragged herself off to hide under the protective cover of some thick, low shrubs that were growing there along the river's sandy bank.

"Katelyn, c'mon!" Jim Crown suddenly called out-and positioned he and his horse between her and the last known where-abouts of her still-alive attackers.

She scrambled out from cover and hurried over to where her husband's horse stood, snorting and trembling-the sweat jes' streaming from its heaving sides and underbelly.

The lawman extended his left wrist.

The woman latched onto it with both of her trembling hands and was immediately hauled up across the front of his saddle. Katelyn was barely aboard when the Marshal once again booted their mutual mount into an all-out gallop! Her husband was apparently in one hell of a hurry to get them both clear of the little clearing.

When they'd covered what the Marshal must've considered to be a safe distance from the site of the assault, the completely-lathered horse was once again hauled in. The peace officer made a prompt-though somewhat painful-dismount and then gently eased his pretty passenger to the ground. Where the reunited couple proceeded to collapse-literally-into one another's open arms.

"Did they...hurt you?" the lawman breathlessly inquired, and began rocking the trembling woman in an attempt to comfort her and calm her down.

"No-o!" Katelyn rather relievedly replied, "But I hate ta think...a' what would a' happened...if you hadn't a' shown up! What about you-ou? Are you all right?"

"They never even got off a shot!" the still amazed Marshal announced. It was-beyond a doubt-the most one-sided gun battle the lawman had ever been in! "What about Jamie?"

"I put him in Helen's wagon," the boy's still a bit breathless mommy said. And then went on to explain, "He cain't crawl out a' there by himself...So he should be all right, too!"

"C'mon, I'll walk you back ta the Settlement," her husband offered-and released the hold he'd been keeping on the rest of her, to firmly clasp her hand.

"You're in no condition ta go after those men!" his bride determined as she was hauled off-torn dress and all.

"I'm in no mood ta let 'em get away!" Jim Crown quickly-albeit, a bit angrily-came back.

"Have you forgotten again what the Lord sayeth about revenge?" the worried woman wondered.

"I tol' yah, He sometimes works in mysterious wa-ays..." the mysterious lawman reminded the lovely lady right back-and kept right on walking. But not talking. The 'newlyweds' completed their journey to the Settlement in silence...well, almost. About two-thirds a' the way back, the hand-holding couple happened upon a rather large group of his special deputies rifle-toting wives.

"Thank God you're safe!" their leader, Helen Fitzsimmons cried when the gun-toting group caught sight of them.

"How's Patrick?" the Marshal wondered as the relieved rescuers began, one-by-one, to hug his roughed-up a bit-but not 'raped' wife, "Danny said he'd been shot?"

"Oh...well...Not exactly," Patrick's heroic wife hesitatingly replied, "You see, he was crouched behind this tree that Danny always leaves the hay fork leaning against. The bullet hit the hay fork, and the hay fork's handle went flying with so much force that-when it hit Patrick in the head-it knocked him cold. The Doctor's stitching him up now. He says that Pat might have a slight headache for a day or two, but other than tha-at, he'll be fi-ine!" she finished, much to her husband's boss' relief. "He also said that Ned and Rebecca Shroeder now have a beautiful baby boy!" she blurted out and then stood there, beaming with joy.

Speakin' a beautiful baby bo-oys...

"How's Jamie?" Katelyn casually inquired, "He jes' woke up, so I know he needed changin'..." her words trailed off as the joy suddenly drained from her friend's face.

"I don't kno-ow...I haven' seen him," Helen avowed.

"But...I left him in yore wagon," Jamie's mommy anxiously stated.

"He's not there, Katelyn. I just went through our whole wagon looking for a box of spare cartridges-" Helen's words were suddenly drowned out by the sound of a very fast-moving horse's drumming hooves.

Jamie's horrified mommy turned in the fading sound's direction just in time to watch the horse-and it's rider-disappear from view.

---

Speakin' a' horses' an' their riders...

While their mysterious visitors slept the entire morning away, the soldiers at Fort Dawes had carried out an exhausting-and unsuccessful-search for their missing-but certainly not missed-Major.

Around noon, the Lieutenant-who had taken it upon himself to personally search the guard house-had, at last, been allowed to assume Command of the Post. A still saddle-sore, but somewhat refreshed, Senator Fisher had then issued the Fort's new Commander the 'Presidential Directive' he was carrying.

At which time, Lieutenant Anderson issued his troops the order to mount up...because they were needed to help the Marshal restore order in Cimarron.

Several of his sergeants-who were all older and wiser than he-had suggested to their young, and inexperienced new leader, that-with the temperature hovering at, or above, the hundred degree mark-it might be better to wait and then ride out after nightfall.

Better-perhaps-for them, the Lieutenant had patiently pointed out, but the Marshal might be dea-ead by nightfall.

Thus, the entire Company of soldiers-some completely bare-chested, some in just their underwear, (The young Lt. had mercifully allowed his men to shed their dark-blue, heat-absorbing, Army-issued shirts.) had been plodding slowly...and steadily...and silently along all that hellishly hot afternoon.

The so-ore, sweating-and not jes' from the heat-Senator suddenly swung his doggie mount up beside the Lt.'s and at long last, broke the silence, "At this rate, we won't reach Cimarron 'til after nightfall!" he bemoaned.

"Sorry, Dave..." Mark apologized, "I know how you feel. I like the Marshal, too. An' heaven knows I want to help him. But if we push these horses, or these men, any harder in this heat, we won't reach Cimarron at all!"

Dave shut his bemoaning mouth and dropped his sweating horse back in alongside Mr. Adams'.

"That kid sure makes a fine Commanding Officer, don' he," Charley confessed with a wry smile, "Makes me proud ta have played a part in his promotion!"

"Me, too..." Dave bemusedly agreed.

And then they all returned to riding slowly...and steadily... and silently along.

TBC

Author's Note: I have not had the time to rewrite and beta these chapters, but I will do so next Winter...when the works all done on the farm. lol

:) Ross7