Chapter 1

For the umpteenth time, Marshal Jed Thompson wondered how this one-horse town ever got such a name. Saddlers Gulch must have been named shortly after the rainfall of the century, because that slit in the ground sure didn't have any water in it, now. What little rain Saddlers Gulch ever did have certainly channeled through the eroded trench east of town, but Jed couldn't imagine how it could ever have had enough water in it to justify the appellation of "gulch." Must have been some wanderer's fevered dream!

Saddlers Gulch was reasonably typical of western New Mexico Territory, but maybe a little more prosperous than most—it did have 3 saloons and 2 general stores. That second general store was the surprise; Jed often wondered where Cole Granger found enough customers to stay open. Granger wasn't the most pleasant person to deal with, but his prices were a little lower than his competitor, Sam Hudson, so that might make up for the grumpiness.

Hudson's father had been in Saddlers Gulch since before the big war with the Yankees, and Sam had kept the store going after the old man had died. That gave him some extra stock with the long-time residents, but Granger's lower prices had gradually been pulling away the customers since he moved in 4 years before.

The two general stores were on opposite sides of the gunsmith's shop. Hans Glueck was a fine fellow and a damned good gunsmith, but his German accent was so thick that a body had to strain to understand him.

Jed thought that it was appropriate that the most prosperous business in town was directly across the street from the gunsmith. The funeral parlor was a busy place, and Bill Hanscomb averaged a customer a week. He also managed the town's grave yard and had a contract with the town to handle all of Jed's fallout.

It was difficult to tell how much significance should be attached to the fact that the Methodist Church was at the north end of the town's only street and the Catholic Church was at the south end. Two of the saloons were across the street from each of the churches, much to the chagrin of the pastors of the respective congregations. The final saloon was actually a cantina a little to the south of the Catholic Church.

The town's "Mexican" inhabitants lived in adobe shacks scattered around the cantina, while the Anglos lived mostly near the Methodist Church or on ranches outside of town.

The railroad track ran down the middle of "Main Street," and a train disrupted traffic on the street either on Tuesday, northbound, or on Friday, southbound. There was a station, a water tank and fueling bin, and a spur for loading cattle during the fall season. A stage line met the two trains to handle passengers and a few packages. As can be seen, Saddler's Gulch was a veritable metropolis of the southwestern desert.

Jed made his rounds once in mid-morning and the second time in late afternoon as most of the businesses were closing. He also made a third round after 10:00 o'clock on Saturday night to pick up any stray drunks. The jail was down by the railroad station. It was made of adobe with very sturdy walls and could easily serve as a fort if it had to. There were two cells and living quarters for the marshal, which Jed used, since he was not married.

Jed never failed to make a call at all three saloons on Saturday night, since that was when and where he transacted most of his official business. Jed was armed with his Army Brass pistol, his Bowie knife, and an iron sap he carried strapped to his left wrist so that the sap fell naturally into his hand as he let his arm hang at his side.

One Saturday evening, Jed strolled into the Gold Nugget saloon just in time to hear the concluding remarks in a difference of opinion between two cowpokes who worked on adjacent ranches. The argument was now very heated, and both cowpokes had drunk enough to be in a surly mood. As they reached for their knives, Jed popped one on the head with his sap and covered the other with his pistol.

"What's this all 'bout," Jed asked the bartender.

"These two yahoos wuz arguing over the relative speed of two hosses, an' the argument kind of got out of hand. They'll be friends again, soon as they sober up."

"OK. Kin I borrow yer swamper ta he'p me ta git 'em ta cells where they kin sober up?"

"Sure. HEY, JETHRO, COME HE'P THE MARSHAL!"

The cowboy still on his feet helped the swamper to carry to other one to the jail. Jed had already taken their guns and knives, so all he had to do was lock them in the two cells. To the standing one, he said, "I'll let ya'll out tomorrow when ya're sober. 'Til then, jus' sleep it off."

The standing cowboy saluted the marshal and lay down on the bunk. He tipped his hat over his eyes and was asleep before Jed could return to his desk to deposit the confiscated weapons. Jed didn't bother to fetch the doctor for the cowpoke he had hit. Jed hadn't hit him very hard, and the cowboy was mostly sleeping off the effects of too much two-bits-a-shot whiskey.

Jed made a note of the event in his log book and returned to his rounds. Not much else was going on; all the poker games appeared to be moving along without more cheating than usual, and the hookers were not complaining, so Jed decided to call it a night. He removed his boots and weapons, loosened his belt, and flopped down on his bed. He was pretty tired, so he didn't wake up until the two prisoners yelled that they were hungry and thirsty.

Jed let them out of their cells and returned their weapons. They walked out of the jail as friendly as ever, the argument of the night before forgotten in the depths of their hangovers.

After he had fixed himself some breakfast, Jed decided to walk around town to check for any sleeping drunks he had missed the night before. None were found, so he went to the livery stable he favored and rented a horse and tack. Jed liked to ride out on Sundays to escape the pressure of being marshal; this was the only way he could get completely away from his responsibilities to the town.

He had ridden into the hills about 3 miles from town where there were a few trees and he could find some shade. His horse was barely making headway through the trees toward a stream when he heard a woman scream. He came alert immediately and picked up speed as he rode toward the source of the scream.

Jed reached a wide place in the stream and was startled to see a naked woman standing in the water. She was facing the opposite bank where there was a very large cougar staring at her. She was about waist deep in the water, but Jed was able to see a little bit of her rump through the clear water.

Jed pulled his pride and joy from its scabbard—a brand new Henry .44 caliber rifle. He'd had it long enough to be sure of his ability to hit any target within 50 yards, so he cocked the rifle and took careful aim at the "mountain lion." He squeezed the trigger, and the cougar fell to earth, shot in the head.

The woman had not heard Jed's approach; for obvious reasons, she was more interested in the actions of the cougar. She jerked around and saw Jed sitting on his horse, the smoke still rising from his rifle. She screamed again and covered her breasts as she dropped to a squatting position in the water.

She said, "Go away! I'm not dressed!"

"I noticed, ma'am. Where are yer clothes?"

"Over there by the lion."

"OK. I'll turn my back while ya git dressed. Call out when ya're dressed."

Jed turned around and sheathed his rifle. A few minutes later, the woman said, "Ya kin turn aroun' now. I'm dressed."

Jed rode his horse through the stream and said, "Howdy, ma'am. I'm Jed Thompson, marshal over ta Saddlers Gulch."