Bobby Lester stopped at a small town.  He actually wanted to avoid people, but his horse was acting like he had a problem with his foot—a pebble in his shoe perhaps.  I'll get it taken care of an' then get outa here, he told himself.  He didn't want to take a chance of being spotted by a lawman.

He sat outside the livery while the shoe was being worked on.  Little did he know that he had been spotted.  But not by a lawman.  A heavy-set gentleman followed him out of town.

Bobby was much too absorbed in his sorrow to pay any attention to the lone horse and rider some distance behind him.  He trudged along, not knowing exactly where he was going.  He just knew that he had to head West.  He must travel away from his trouble with LeAnna and away from Melinda.  He did not stop again until dusk.

He built a fire in the darkness of twilight.  After dinner, he tried to sleep, but something kept him awake.  That something was not a noise or strange fear.  It was simply a feeling, a feeling that he needed to stay awake.  So he spent the night thinking of Melinda.  At the earliest light of dawn, he covered the campfire over with dirt continued his westward trek.  Surprisingly, he wasn't at all sleepy.  And he wasn't half as weary as he had been the day before.

He knew that the further he traveled, the more arid the terrain would become.  The plush fields of grass and tall pine trees soon yielded an occasional rocky hillside.  Another few days, or perhaps a week, of travel, and he would reach the mountains.  He would stay in the mountains for awhile, he decided, maybe even find himself another job.  Surely no one would follow him that far.  Surely he would be safe.

The sun was hot upon his shoulders.  He chose to take a little break.  He directed his stallion to a large tree near a rocky hill.  He dismounted and unpacked some jerky for his lunch.  He held it in his hand momentarily and then reluctantly took a bite.  He was already missing Birdie's cooking.  He sat down beneath the tree and leaned against the trunk.

His horse snorted loudly.  "Okay, pal," Bobby said, "We'll get ya some water real soon-like.  Surely there's a pond or stream 'round here somewhere."  He bit off another piece of jerky.  The horse stomped and snorted again.  Bobby looked up.  "What is it, boy?"  He glanced around.  He saw nothing wrong, so he continued his lunch.

A single stone rolled down the nearby hillside and stopped next to his boot.  He gazed up the embankment.  Nothing.  His horse fidgeted and stomped.  "Okay, I got ya, big guy."  He stood to his feet and swung himself up into the saddle.  "Let's go, then." 

Suddenly several larger stones plummeted down the slope.  Bobby turned to look.  There was a person there!  Someone was falling down the hill!

He bounded from his horse as quickly as he had mounted and ran to help.  He clumsily climbed up the shifting ground.  The falling man stopped abruptly on the other side of a boulder.  Bobby hurriedly tripped around the enormous rock.  He had to help this person.  The body lay still.  Was he dead?  No, he was breathing.  Bobby knelt beside the lifeless form.  The man's shirt was covered with blood.  He carefully turned him over.

Bobby gasped.  "Mr. Bledsoe?"  No, surely it wasn't.

The man began to cough and wheeze.   He slowly opened his eyes.  Though his voice was weak and gruff, he cursed vehemently.

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked him.

"Shoulda took you out last night," the man sputtered.  Bobby was now sure that it was Mr. Bledsoe.

"What's the meanin' of this?" Bobby asked.

"Had you in my sight last night," Bledsoe coughed.  "Shoulda killed you then, but you never went to sleep."

No, he hadn't slept.

"We need ta get you to a doctor," Bobby said.  "Where's yer horse?"

"Let me die!" Bledsoe barked.

"I will not," Bobby said.  "Where's yer horse?"

The man responded only with a cough.  Bobby climbed to the top of the hill.  The horse was on the other side.  He slid down the slope and led the gelding to the other side of the hill to his own horse.  He retrieved Mr. Bledsoe's unconscious body and slowly folded him over the saddle.

Now—where should he go?  It was a day's ride back to the small town where he had had his horse's shoe fixed.  He didn't think Mr. Bledsoe could last that long.  He let his eyes scan the area for some sign of civilization.  "Smoke!" he said out loud.  On the western horizon, a thin wisp of white smoke snaked its way toward heaven.  "Where's there's smoke, there's fire.  And where there's fire, there's hopefully people."

He slowly led Bledsoe's horse toward the smoke.  Its source was a small ranch house.  Bobby tied the horses to the gate and hurried toward the wooden porch.  He knocked loudly.  An older woman answered.

"Can you help me?" Bobby asked.

"What's the problem?" she questioned back.

He pointed toward the horses.  "This man fell on the rocks and hurt himself."

"Oh, my, yes," she clucked.  "Bring 'im on in."

Mr. Bledsoe's size made it difficult, but Bobby managed to get him through the small door.  He laid him on a bed in the corner of the room.

The lady set to work on him immediately.  She cleaned his wounds and examined him thoroughly.  "Doesn't look good," she told Bobby.  "Some broken ribs.  I'm afraid he might be bleedin' inside.  You his friend?"

Bobby slowly shook his head.  "Not exactly."

"He your pa?"

"No.  An enemy, you might say."

She looked up at the young man.  "You push 'im down the mountain?"

"No, never!" Bobby was quick to reply.

"Then what happened?" she asked as if she had every right to know.

Bobby chose his words carefully.  "He was lookin' for me, an' he just fell.  I guess the rocks gave way or somethin'."

"Well, if he's an' enemy of yours," the woman continued her probing, "then why'd ya bring 'im here fer help?  Why didn't ya let 'im die?"

"I couldn't do that," Bobby said.  "He's a person, just like you an' me."

"What's yer name?"

"Bobby.  Bobby Lester."

"Hmm," she said as she wrapped Mr. Bledsoe's head.  "Yer name sounds familiar.  An' he looks familiar.  You two from around these parts?"
"No."  Bobby shook his head.  "We're both from the East."  He thought he'd better leave it at that.

"Well, tell ya what," the lady said, "My husband'll be back this evenin'.  You stay for supper.  An' Harold will decide whether or not this guy needs to be taken to town for a doctor.  It's a long ride ta town, ya know."

Bobby tipped his hat.  "I'm much obliged at yer offer, ma'am, but I really need to get goin'."  He stopped.  Did he really need to get going?  The reason he was on the run was lying in that bed beside him.

"Aw, you can stay fer supper," she said.  "How long has it been since ya had a home cooked meal?"

"Not really that long," he admitted, "But I guess I'd better stay with Mr. Bledsoe."

"That's right.  Now, you watch 'im while I go get the dinner on."  She stood and started to walk to the next small room.

The lady's husband, Mr. Williams came home just as she was finishing up with dinner.  Mr. Bledsoe still had not awoke again.  Of course, Mr. Williams had many questions for Bobby, each which the young man tried to answer honestly without revealing too much information about the situation.  But at the dinner table, Mr. Williams got extremely close to the entire truth.

"You say that man, Mr. Bledsoe was lookin' for you?" Mr. Williams asked.

Bobby looked at him timidly and slowly nodded.

"Have you done somethin' wrong to him that he'd be followin' you all day from town?"

"Well," Bobby hesitated.  "Not exactly."

The older man slurped his soup.  "How'd you make him your enemy then?"

"It's a long story," Bobby said, "An' one I don't like sharin'."

"Maybe you should share it with me," Mr. Williams suggested.  "If you don't, I'll still figure it out.  You see, I suppose one of you is an outlaw.  Maybe both.  I think I've seen Mr. Bledsoe's mug before.  And you look rather familiar to me too.  Could it be that I've seen you at the post office?"  He shrugged.  "It's only a matter of time until I remember."

Bobby suspected something himself.  "You a lawman?"

Mr. Williams smiled.  "You could say that.  I actually retired from the judge's seat just last month.  Ever heard of hangin' Judge Williams?"

Bobby's eyes widened.  Hanging Judge Williams?  It seemed his days of running had now come to an abrupt stop.  It looked like his life may come to a stop as well.  "Can't say I've heard of ya," he muttered.

"I'm a little hurt by that," he chuckled.  "Thought everybody in these parts knew me."

"I'm not from these parts," Bobby reminded him.

"So how 'bout it?" the judge asked.  "Tell me your story?"

The young man sighed.  "Fine."  He pushed away his bowl of soup.  "I was workin' on a ranch outside a small town in the east part of the state.  I kinda fell for a girl named LeAnna Bledsoe."

Mr. Williams pointed toward the bedroom.  "Mr. Bledsoe's daughter I presume."

"Yep," Bobby agreed.  "They were a well-to-do family.  Big wealthy landowners.  That's plantation country out there ya know."

The judge nodded.

"I think LeAnna was afraid that her pa wouldn't like me," Bobby went on.  He told the painful story, stopping many times to clear his throat and once to choke back a single tear.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Williams said when Bobby had finished.  "I knew I had seen you before.  Those wanted posters always seem to stick in my mind.  But that doesn't explain why Bledsoe looks so familiar."

"What are ya gonna do with me?" Bobby asked.

"Do with ya?" the judge repeated.  "Well, that all depends.  You don't sound like you're lyin'.  I can usually spot a liar from a mile away.  And it's your word against his.  Lets see what he has to say about it when he wakes up."

"An' if he doesn't wake up?" the young man wondered.

"Then I guess I'll have to make a decision whether or not to turn you in.  We'll just wait and see.  But I am going to have to ask ya to sleep here tonight.  I can't let you go until I hear from Bledsoe.  You can just make yourself a pallet on the floor next to the old man."

Some time in the middle of the night, Bobby awoke.  He'd been dreaming about LeAnna.  He assumed that all the talk about the shooting had triggered the nightmares.  When he finally fell asleep again, his dreams became more intense, more frightful.  But this time it was Melinda, not LeAnna, who died.  He awoke in a cold sweat.  Something was wrong with Melinda.  He was sure there was something wrong.  He needed to get back to Point Blank, but he knew he could not leave.  It would make him appear guilty.

Melinda sat rocking in her grandmother's rocking chair.  It was cushioned with pillows her mother had made.  The only time she got to enjoy its comfort was when she was at her sister's house.  She definitely needed some comfort right now.  She had been awake all night.  She was miserable.  She hadn't eaten all day for thinking about Bobby, and her head ached.  Her mind and her good sense told her to stop feeling sorry for herself and get over him; he'd never be back.  But then her heart, the voice she chose to listen to, told her he loved her and would return.  She began to cry again, but breathed in deeply to stop the tears.  She had always tried to be so strong.  She had allowed herself the liberty of crying only one night when John died.  Surely his death was more tragic than Bobby's departure.  Therefore, she would not cry anymore, she decided.

She stood and pulled her robe tightly about her.  She needed to do something to get her mind off of him.  She could take a walk.  The wonderful summer night's sights and sounds would raise her spirits.

As she quietly closed the door behind her, an owl hooted somewhere in the distance.  She shivered at the eerie sound.  She looked up.  The stars were bright, and she stood and watched them twinkle.  They were so beautiful, she thought.  The wind blew slightly and caused a wisp of hair to play about her face.  She brushed it away absent-mindedly.

She wondered if the horses were awake.  She wanted to take another look at the colt Birdie and Red were going to give to Joey.  She climbed over the corral fence.  She wasn't sure if Red put all the horses up at night.  She may have to go to the stable to visit them.

In the slight moonlight, a movement caught her attention.  She peered into the darkness, but she saw nothing more.  Whatever it was is gone now, she told herself, and she continued her trek toward the stable.

She scanned the area as she walked.  Katie and her baby could be anywhere.  She gasped.  Suddenly there was a figure before her.  She stopped in her tracks.  She knew immediately what it was.  The cougar let out a blood-curling scream.  Her first instinct was to run, but she knew better.  She stood as still as possible, for her entire being trembled with fear.

What do I do?

The cougar pranced from side to side, watching her.  Slowly it came closer.  She heard a twig snap behind her.  Was there more than one cat?  Was she surrounded?  A new fear gripped her heart.  She fixed her eyes on the mountain lion and breathed slowly.  The animal licked its lips and crouched down, ready to pounce.

As the cougar leaped toward her, a large figure rushed past her.  It was Katie.  She was charging the cat!  On contact, the cougar yelped in pain.  It fell to the ground but was soon up, ready to fight.

Running now did not even enter Melinda's mind.  She was frozen there, just a few feet from the battle.  She could not believe her eyes.

Katie bucked and stomped.  The lion clawed and snapped it jaws.  Both animals seemed determined to win out.  Suddenly, the cougar leaped for the horse.  Katie lost her balance and almost fell as Melinda watched in horror.  The mare regained her footing and once again charged the cat.  When it was down, Katie reared on her hind legs and came down on the cougar's head and back.  A sickening snap told Melinda that the lion had lost the fight.  It let out one last cry and then fell to silence.

The horse snorted with each breath.  It had taken a lot out of her to defend herself against the large cat.  She stared at its lifeless form, perhaps, Melinda thought, waiting for another go-round.  Katie slowly walked toward the cougar.  She sniffed, turned, and looked at Melinda.  Then she broke into a run across the dark field.

Though Melinda had wanted to see the colt, she dared not follow.  She, too, sprinted across the grass, but in the other direction—back to the house.  She was still frightened and constantly checked her back as she ran.

Before entering the house, she glanced behind her once more.  Without looking ahead, she took a step forward and ran right into Red who was coming out for the early morning chores.  She gasped and let out a slight scream.

Red stopped her and took hold of her arms.  "What's wrong?" he asked her.

"I… it… she…" she panted.  She wheezed and coughed noisily.

"Why are you out here?" Red asked again.  "Why were you runnin'?  What's the matter?"

Melinda coughed again, and this time she could not find her voice.  She felt lightheaded, as if she might faint.  So she simply sank down to her knees on the cool ground.

Red knelt also, still holding her wrists.  "Melinda, what's wrong?"

She breathed in a few more times to clear her head.  "Cougar," she said.

"Where?  Followin' you?"  He peered into the darkness.

Melinda shook her head.  "No.  Katie fought it.  She killed it."

"Katie did?"

"Yes, she saved my life.  I was just going for a walk, and there it was.  I knew not to run, so I stood there.  Right as the cougar jumped toward me, Katie hit it and knocked it down.  Then they fought, and she killed it."

"Where?" Red asked.

She pointed.  "On the other side of the corral."

"And is Katie okay?"

"Yes," she replied.  "She seemed fine.  She may have a few cuts and bruises, though."

"I'll go check her out," Red said.  "You go inside an' get calmed down."  They both stood, and Red walked her to the door.  "There's coffee on the stove."

Melinda slid into a kitchen chair.  She was still shaky, and her head pounded with each heartbeat.  She put her hands over her face and cried.

Bobby paced the wooden floor of the small bedroom.  The sky outside was beginning to lighten.  Soon the sun would make its way over the eastern hills.  Surely the judge would be up soon.  Somehow he would have to convince Mr. Williams into letting him leave.  He had to get to Melinda.  He felt that she was out of danger now, but she still needed him, needed his comfort.

Bobby heard footsteps outside the door.  Mr. Williams stepped inside the room.  "Breakfast'll be ready in a bit.  I got to go out an' milk the cows.  You can stay here or go with me."

"Actually," Bobby began.  How would he ask the judge if he could leave?

"Hold on," Williams said.  He started toward the bed.  "Looks like Mr. Bledsoe is comin' around."

Bledsoe groaned and slowly shook his head.  He opened his eyes.  "Where am I?" he growled.

"In a bed," the judge replied shortly.

"Where's that Bobby Lester?" Bledsoe added.

Mr. Williams held up a hand telling Bobby not to talk.  "Why do ya want to know?" the judge asked.

"'Cause I'm gonna kill 'im!"  Bledsoe struggled to sit up but winced in pain and collapsed back down to the pillow.

"Why do ya want to kill him?" the judge quizzed him.

"He killed my daughter!"

The judge stepped closer to the bed.  "He says you killed her."

"Why, that no good…"  Bledsoe reached toward Mr. Williams.  "Liar!  He's a liar!"

"No, I don't think he is," the judge said.  "Why don't you just let him go?  Then you'd both be free of it.  You only shot your daughter accidentally, right?"

Bledsoe relaxed and seemed to ponder the question.  He suddenly jerked his head to one side.  "No!  I didn't do it!  He did it!  He killed her!"  He breathed in deeply and made a horrible face.  Bobby could tell he was in a lot of pain.

"So you're going to kill him?" Mr. Williams asked.  "Instead of lettin' the law take care of him?"

"The law?" Bledsoe mocked.  "The law won't take care of it!  The law is just as bad as him!"

"What makes you say that?"
"They're just a bunch of…  I'd kill them all too!"

Judge Williams smiled.  Bobby watched his face.  It appeared the old man had suddenly been enlightened of something.  "You care for a game of cards, Mr. Bledsoe?" he asked.

"Cards?"  A dark shadow fell across Bledsoe's face.  He stared at Mr. Williams for a moment.  Bobby thought he saw a flicker of fear in Bledsoe's eyes.  What kind of game was the judge playing with him?  What did the judge know that Bobby did not?"

"Sure," Williams said.  "You play, don't you?'

Bledsoe acted as if he didn't know how to reply.  "I play some," he finally said.

"Play enough to place some high stakes?"

"Depends on what those stakes are."

The judge rubbed at his beard.  "If you win, I let you take a shot at Bobby and let you stay here until you heal."

Bobby listened in disbelief.  Take a shot at me?!

"And if you win?" Bledsoe asked.

"If I win," Williams said, "You let Bobby go and clear his name with the law."

"Fine," Bledsoe grumbled.

Bobby watched as the judge pulled the deck of cards from his pocket.  Everything seemed to move in slow motion.  Williams took a seat in the corner of the room and moved the lamp table between him and Bledsoe.  Bobby hoped the judge knew what he was doing.  Otherwise, they both may be running for their lives.  The judge turned his chair around backwards and straddled it.  He began shuffling the cards.

"I'll do that," Bledsoe snipped and grabbed for the cards.  He examined them carefully.  Bobby assumed he was looking to see if they were marked.  He then shuffled, cut, and dealt them like a pro.

Sure ain't hidin' his skill none, Bobby thought.

The judge slowly picked up his hand.  His face remained emotionless, but Bobby thought he saw a slight twinkle in his eye.

Bledsoe reviewed his cards, coughed, wheezed, and then grimaced.  Bobby knew that the man's pain was intense, but he hoped part of the ugly face he made was due to a bad hand as well.

"We've already set the openin' bid," Williams said.  "I'll let you decide what you want to do from here."

"I'll take two," Bledsoe said.  He replaced two of his cards.  "What about you?"

Mr. Williams shrugged.  "I think I'll raise ya."

"Raise me?" Bledsoe asked.  "What d'ya have in mind?  Stakes're already pretty high."

"If you lose, you turn yourself in," the judge said.

"Turn myself in?" Bledsoe grumbled.  "For what?  You said I'd be free since it was an accident."

"Well," the judge said, "Was it an accident when you killed a Texas Ranger?"

"I don't know what the hell yer talkin' about."  Bledsoe looked him square in the eye.

"Oh, I think ya do.  I remembered where I've seen ya before."

"Where?"

"You are wanted for the murder of officer John Warren."

Bobby gasped.  Mr. Bledsoe had killed Melinda's husband?  He listened more intently.

"But I'm willin' to let ya go if ya win," Williams added.

Bledsoe looked at his hand and then looked back at the judge.  "You ain't gonna take no cards?"

"Don't need to," Williams said.  "I'll go with what I've got."

"Yer bluffin'," the wounded man growled.

"Maybe.  Maybe not.  Are ya gonna take my bet or not?'

"Alright."

Bobby breathed in deeply.  If Judge Williams won, he would not only be free to go back to Point Blank, but also carry news to Melinda that her husband's murderer was in jail.  He ran a shaky hand across his face and stared wide-eyed at the judge.

Bledsoe sniffed.  "No one saw me kill 'im anyway.  You got no proof that I did it."

"So you'll take the bet?" Williams asked again.

"Yes."

"Then I call."

Bledsoe fanned his cards out on the table.  "Three aces.  I win"

The judge held up a hand.  "Not so fast."  He smiled.  "Looks like we'll be takin' a ride into town today."  He laid his cards face up.  "A straight flush."

Bledsoe leaned closer to the table.  "How'd you do that?  You must've cheated!  The cards are marked!"  He coughed, and blood streamed from his mouth.

"We need to get you to a doctor," the judge said.  "Bobby, you stay here with him, and I'll go hitch up the team."

"Just let me die," Bledsoe sputtered.

"I don't think so," Mr. Williams said as he closed the door behind him.

"You did all this," Bledsoe told Bobby.

"Me?" Bobby asked.  "How?'

The wounded man coughed up more blood.  He gasped for air and sank down on the pillow. "Tell that Williams to hurry up."  Blood dripped from his chin as he spoke.

Bobby turned and walked to the window.  He stood there for a few moments recalling his dream from the night before.  He wanted to get on the road home.  He saw the judge walking toward the house, so he shook the thoughts clear from his mind.

"Here comes Mr. Williams," he told Bledsoe.  No response.  He looked toward the bed in the corner.  Bledsoe must have fallen asleep.

The judge opened the bedroom door.  "All ready.  Bobby, will you help me get him the wagon?"

"Sure."

Williams pulled the blanket back from Bledsoe's torn body.  Bobby stepped to his side.  "I can get 'im myself iffen you'll just get the door for me."

"That won't be necessary," the judge said.

"I don't mind," Bobby insisted.

"No," Williams said.  "I mean we don't need to carry him to the wagon.  He's dead."

"Oh," was all that Bobby could manage.  He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes.  "What's that mean to me?" he asked the judge.

Williams waved his hand.  "You're free to go.  I'll tell the proper authorities that you are clear.  Bledsoe all but confessed that he killed his daughter.  And he did confess to John Warren's murder."

"I know officer Warren's widow," Bobby said.

The judge looked up at him.  "You do?  Well, give her my regards.  Jonathan Warrenwas a fine man and one of the best officers."

"I'll do that."

"Will you help me bury Bledsoe's body?" Williams asked.  "And then you can be on your way."