William Hammond Hall was a man with grand designs for the city, and Matthew found himself in the thick of it. The sand hills west of the city were ripe for expansion and every important man in town had his eyes on them. But Mayor Coon held sway, his decision was to give some of it up for development, the rest would remain public land.

To that end Matthew found himself with the survey team out in the hills. What Hall had placed on paper seemed impossible, but then the city had inspiration to build his design. Far off in New York City, Central Park was taking shape and Coon was not about to be outdone. San Francisco would have its park…bigger, grander, as befitting the size of the state.

Matthew stood near the pile of sand they called Strawberry Hill and gazed out at the scene. Spring had come and with it the warm air that upon meeting the cold waters of the Pacific produced a huge amount of fog. It was like standing in a blanket of cotton, so thick and yet so absolutely wonderful to the senses.

The rest of the survey team was out there…somewhere, Matthew just couldn't see them. Even the view of the bay was hidden, it was bewildering. A transit was a useful tool he'd learned, but not in fog. Hall had regaled them with his drawings and then smiled.

"A thousand acres, Gentlemen. Just think of all the wonderful things we can do with such a huge space."

He was right, it was a wonderful challenge. Transforming sand into gardens would require water and lots of it. Lakes and ponds, gardens and walkways, the whole design was laid out before them on paper, making it come to life was another matter. If Matthew wanted he could work on this one project for the next twenty years, but that wasn't about to happen.

San Francisco was a delightful city and Matthew certainly felt he could enjoy living here for a long time. The friendship with Zach and Abe held him fast, they were such wonderful companions. But they had each other as well while he remained alone. It was something he needed to study.

By late morning the fog began to lift and the survey team could once again get back to work. The distance they had to cover made walking impractical so Matthew had brought his horse. He had just mounted for the ride down towards the fort when he came across the body half buried in the sand.

It was obviously a Chinaman and Matthew could see that the side of his head had been bashed in. He stabbed his long survey pole in the ground nearby, took his bearings so he could find the spot again and galloped off towards the fort where the rest of the crew was assembled.

"Travers," he yelled when he galloped up to the team chief. "Travers…there's a body up there."

"A body? What's it look like?" Travers asked.

"Chinese man, his head is caved in," Matthew said.

"Oh…that happens all the time," Travers said. "Don't worry yourself about it."

Matthew was astounded. "Don't worry about it?"

"We can't be bothered with those Chinamen; they kill each other all the time. They have some kind of gang war goin on, been like that for years. Now if they was to kill a white man all hell would break loose. I doubt if the police would even care to investigate."

"So we don't report it?"

"We will, can't have bodies littering up the new park land can we? I'll say something when we get back to the office tonight. Why don't you go back up to the entrance to the fort and see if Jennings has that measurement figured out yet, he's holding us up."

Matthew turned his horse towards the fort and followed the road. Travis Copley had been a city worker for ten years; he knew the ropes pretty well by now. Hall had given him command of the park survey team before they even began. It was still distressing that a dead Chinaman meant so little, they were people too.

There was a whole community of Chinese living in their own section of town. Matthew had walked up Kearney one evening until he reached Sacramento Street. He marveled at the different sights and smells this foreign culture brought to the city. It had never occurred to him that they were considered less than human, and it bothered him.

The Indians he had encountered were misunderstood; it was probably the same with the Chinese. And as he had with Walking Horse, Matthew wanted to understand these Chinese people, he just wasn't sure how. The only Chinese he knew were the two young men who worked in the kitchen of the Bellamy washing dishes.

After work he returned to the Drake to wash up for dinner, Zach was not there. The boy had been away with his musician friends a lot this past month, but Matthew knew they were preparing for this big concert. The only intense conversation he'd had with Zach this past week was about Abe.

"Twelve days," Zach said. "We have twelve days until the concert. Abe promised to be here but he doesn't even know when we're going to perform."

"I have confidence in him, he promised to be here," Matthew replied.

The Bellamy was crowded this evening so Matthew stood outside by the door. The alley was right there at the corner and he could hear the clatter of dishes from the kitchen echoing down the narrow passage. He had the time so he wandered down the alley towards the back of the restaurant.

The two Chinese men were washing dishes in a tub out back and they glanced up at him as he approached. One of them gestured down the alley.

"Customer use front door," The man said.

"Do you speak English?" Matthew ventured.

"No speak…work," The man replied.

"I just wanted to talk to a Chinese," Matthew said.

The man put down his dish and gave him a curious glance. "Talk…talk…go see Lin Po," He finally said.

"Where is Lin Po?" Matthew asked.

The man pointed down the alley. "He there."

The alley stretched away in the gloom, traversing the whole block of buildings. It might be dangerous, but he had little money and wasn't carrying his pistol. Lin Po…a curious name. Matthew walked away from the dish washers who didn't give him a second look.

There was little to see in the dark alley ahead but Matthew followed the path, careful to avoid the puddles of dirty water. There was nothing down here, but he could just see the street ahead when he came to the alcove. There was the back door to something but sitting in front of it were two Chinese men playing a game by the light of a lantern.

Matthew paused to watch and one of them looked up. "Are you lost, good sir?" The elder man asked.

"Are you Lin Po?" Matthew asked.

"Most humbly, I am," The man replied.

"You speak English very well," Matthew said.

The man nodded. "I have been here longer than most of my countrymen, is there something you wish?"

"I don't want to disturb your game."

The old man chuckled. "This is Mah Jong, the game may last an eternity…but Mr. Chen is so far behind I imagine he would welcome an end to the battle."

He said something in Chinese to the other man who immediately stood up and bowed before leaving his chair and going thru the doorway. Matthew approached the small table covered in shiny tiles. Lin Po was dressed in a long black robe and was wearing a curious little hat. But his face was pleasant; the small white beard on his chin spoke of the ages he had seen.

"As you see, the game has ended…what do you seek..?" Lin Po asked.

"Matthew Rollins."

"I am Mr. Lin, will you sit with me?"

"Thank you," Matthew said. "I have a question…"

Lin held up his hand. "I have many answers, but you seem troubled. Is there something you came to tell me?"

"I found a dead Chinese man today out in the hills west of town. I work for the city, we were out doing a survey and I found the body," Matthew said.

Lin nodded. "I think you found Lu Chang, he has gone missing since last week."

"I don't understand, Mr. Lin. I reported the dead man to my boss but he didn't seem to care at all, he said the police wouldn't even investigate."

"And this disturbs you?" Lin asked.

"Yes…well he was murdered, someone ought to inquire…do an investigation," Matthew said.

Lin smiled. "You have not been in this city very long, have you? No, there will be no investigation, it is unnecessary, I can tell you who murdered him."

"What? How could you know?"

"Lu Chang was a businessman, a Sam Yup. He was not a member of the Tong here and refused to join with the other members. A sad mistake on his part. He assumed he could control his own affairs and resist the organization, you see the results."

"So he refused to join this Tong and they killed him?" Matthew asked.

"It is not so simple; do you really wish to know?"

"I suppose…do you think I ought to know?"

Lin smiled. "Why do you come here? Lu Chang was just a Chinaman; he should be of no concern to you."

"He is a person, he must have family. Won't they worry about him?"

The smile left Lin's face and he gazed at Matthew for a few moments. There were few in the white man's city that would care to know anything about the Chinese who arrived on their shores. But thousands arrived at the docks every week, they could hardly remain unnoticed.

Lin had awaked this morning with the feeling that this would be a special kind of day, and that thought had stayed in his mind. As one of the elders in this Tie Fow, the white man's big city, he was respected for having second sight. Lin did not know the source of his mental ability, he just accepted it.

His mother had been much the same, but she laughed it off as nothing more than instinct or intuition. But when the feelings came to him Lin had learned to respect the thoughts that came with them as well. This young white boy now became his focus. His face was marked and yet it suited him, gave the boy character. In the twenty years he had been in California no white man had ever made him feel this way…this one was special.

"Lu Chang was a man much as I am," Lin finally said. "He came from Canton on the ship, I doubt if many knew him very well. But I would be grateful if you would show my nephew where his body lies so that we may return it to his city."

"You're going to send his body back to China? Shouldn't it just be buried here?"

Lin shook his head. "It would not be proper, he must return to his ancestors."

"I don't understand," Matthew said.

"Of course you don't, the Chinese ways are foreign to you. It took me a long time to understand some of the customs I see here, I still have questions, I always will. Why are you here, Matthew…what brings you to my door?"

"I guess…well, the best way to understand something is to ask for answers. Now I'm not so sure I know what questions to ask. But your people are more than just a curiosity, we live here together. I just don't like being ignorant."

"You are not ignorant, Matthew. An inquisitive mind needs information like the body needs nourishment," Lin said. "It's a healthy sign that you sit here in the darkness with me and seek the light of wisdom. Tell me about yourself and I will reply in kind, for something tells me I would like to keep your acquaintance."

Matthew smiled. "You want my friendship?"

Lin nodded. "If this is possible. But first we must judge one another worthy of that friendship. I would be a miserable person if I did not allow you the chance for such understanding."

"You remind me of someone I met on my journey west…" Matthew began, and Lin Po listened.

Mr. Chen brought them tea and still they sat in conversation by the light of that small lantern for hours. Matthew had forgotten all about his dinner as he absorbed Lin Po's description of life in China and what had brought him to these shores. In exchange he told the man about his life in St. Louis and the experience he gained on the wagon train.

"We are both far from the place of our birth," Lin finally said. "It is interesting that the mind can accept the challenges it takes to accomplish such a thing. Like you, I came here with only the smallest knowledge of what awaited me."

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Abe and Zach," Matthew said.

"But I sense that your journey is unfinished, you feel like you must have greater accomplishment," Lin said.

"Yes…how did you know?"

"I am old, I have seen many things. There is time in your young life for the things you desire. Friendship is a strong bond; it will go with you no matter where you are."

"It's getting late," Matthew said. "I've enjoyed our conversation, but I have to work in the morning."

"The first sign of mature thinking is to meet your future commitments. I will be here when you come again," Lin said.

"Thank you, I learned a lot this evening," Matthew said.

Lin chuckled. "You have learned something of value then, may you use it well. My gratitude for your company."

Matthew rose and turned towards the alley. He turned back to look and saw Mr. Chen had returned, the game had resumed. He wondered if they played all night long. But as he climbed the hill to the Drake he knew he would go back, there was much he could learn from the old man.

The following morning there were two Chinese men waiting for him outside the Bellamy as he finished his breakfast, one of them was the dishwasher. He bowed as Matthew stepped through the door.

"Uncle say you show me Lu Chang," The man said.

Matthew nodded. "Let me go get my horse, meet me at the gate to the fort in one hour."

The man bowed again and they walked away. Matthew could see several people in the street looking at him strangely. The Chinese rarely spoke to a white man; they seemed to move in the shadows off the main streets. There was no accounting for the prejudice Matthew saw, the Orientals went about their own business, and it didn't make sense.

He saddled his horse and rode by the survey office to see where the team would be this morning. The schedule had them working the north line towards the beach; they would be away from where Matthew had found the body. He rode out towards the fort and met Lin Po's nephew and the other man who had brought a hand cart.

Matthew led them up into the sand hills until he saw the survey pole he had left to mark the spot.

"There," Matthew said, and the two Chinese men moved forward. They pulled the body from the sand, wrapped it in the canvas they had brought and loaded it in the cart.

"Thank you," The nephew said. "His family thanks you." Matthew nodded and then turned his horse towards the beach.

The town of Stockton was booming. Abe could see that the fertile soil of the San Joaquin Valley was attracting farmers and ranchers by the score, many of them having made their way overland from the east. But despite spending three days there he found no trace or mention of Mason or Henry.

The trail south took him past little communities, some comprised of little more than a dozen families who had built close to the stagecoach road. Modesto and Turlock were just small stops on the vast Butterfield Line. It took him another three days to reach Madera where he stopped for the night and sought lodging. There were a few men sitting in the cantina and their conversation caught his attention.

"About half a dozen men crossed the river and then tried to rob the ferry offices last week, someone told me they were with Mason and Henry," One of the men said.

"Firebaugh ain't a very big place, Walt. How did you find out about it?"

"The stagecoach driver told me, he said word's spread all up and down the line. Figured they run off into the mountains, might have gone thru Pacheco Pass, might be headed for Watsonville," The man named Walt said.

"Now that would be dumb, Camp Low is over there, they'd be riding right into the hands of the army."

"Lots of places to hole up in them mountains. Just makes me nervous, I have a load of freight goin that way right soon."

Firebaugh and Pacheco Pass, Abe had no idea where they might be. He walked back out to his horse and pulled the maps from his saddlebags. If he could get word to the army then they might catch up to these men. Abe figured Mason and Henry hadn't avoided capture for all these months by being dumb.

The station manager showed him Firebaugh on the map, a ferry ran across the San Joaquin River there and the stage used it to cross for the run to Watsonville. If the Mason and Henry gang comprised six men then they would be enough to attack a stagecoach. Abe spent the night in relative comfort and then took the road towards Firebaugh in the morning.

He reached the San Joaquin River by dusk and decided to camp out before crossing in the morning. He could see the ferry barge tied fast to the other side so he unsaddled his horse and started a small fire. He was just beginning to fry his bacon when he heard another horse approaching and a voice called out.

"Hallo…got room for one more?"

Abe motioned to the stranger sitting astride the horse and the man dismounted. The man wore a pistol in a side holster, an old Colt army model.

"Thank you kindly," The man said. "Name's Joe Dye."

"Abe Wheelwright…guess we're too late for the ferry."

"That's fine with me. Where you come from?" Dye asked.

"Been up at Angel's Camp a while, that was a bust," Abe said.

Dye laughed. "I never did see myself as a miner. You a southern man?"

"I grew up in the Shenandoah," Abe said.

Dye nodded. "I just rode in from Fresno; the news there says that Lee surrendered."

"Oh…I hadn't heard," Abe said.

"I thought you might be mad hearing that," Dye said.

"My family lost everything, only my mother left now. Mad don't cover it."

Dye was silent for a while as Abe finished the cooking. "Got a plate? I'll dish you some food," He said.

Dye went to his saddlebags and came back with his kit. "I'll buy you breakfast after we cross."

"Fair enough," Abe said. "Where you headed?"

"I'm lookin for a friend of mine, John Rogers…heard they might be around here," Dye said.

"Don't know him, sorry," Abe said.

"You ought to meet him, he served the Confederacy, got shot up a few times," Dye said.

"I think we all did," Abe said. He could feel it comin; this man was lookin for Mason and Henry too.

"You served?"

"Second Virginia, Jubal Early's command," Abe said.

"Really? I think John would really like to meet you, what did you do?" Dye asked.

Abe looked the man over, this was going along just a bit too easy, he didn't like the feeling he was getting.

"I did nothing," Abe said. He took his cooking kit over to the river and washed it out. The best way to win this man's trust was to ignore him; he wasn't even in the gang. This man Rogers might be something different, Abe would have to wait and see. He put away his kit and rolled out his blankets, the only other thing he said to Dye was good night.

Dawn woke them both and Dye now seemed a bit more respectful. Abe remembered playing the mysterious stranger back east and the effect it had. Good, it seemed that Dye had spent the night thinking. The ferry crossed to pick them up an hour after sunrise and took them into Firebaugh.

Abe could immediately tell these people were on edge, they looked suspiciously at the two strangers in their midst.

"I have to go talk to a few people," Dye said. "You sticking around?"

"I suppose…I'll see you at the cantina later on," Abe said.

Dye seemed to like that and he smiled as he rode off. Abe led his horse across the dock to the ferry office.

"I'd like to see the manager, please," Abe told the clerk at the front desk.

"I am the manager," The man replied. "Burns is the name."

"Can we speak privately?"

"I suppose, no one here," Burns said.

Abe pulled out his wallet and showed the man his badge. "Abe Wheelwright, Deputy Marshal out of Sacramento. I heard you had a little problem last week."

Burns looked relieved. "Yes, Sir…yes we did. Four men came in here and held me up, didn't get much. I figured they were waiting for the stage to cross but when I didn't hang out the signal flag the stage just kept on going once the ferry docked."

"You use a signal flag?" Abe asked.

"Sure thing. If I have mail I put out a flag and they stop, otherwise they keep going about ten miles out to the regular stop and change horses. Those outlaws didn't know that, I wasn't gonna tell 'em."

"Very good, Mr. Burns. Did the army come thru here?"

"Not yet, but I sent a message on thru to Watsonville, they must be alerted by now."

"You did everything right, Mr. Burns. Was there anything in their conversation that you remember?" Abe asked.

"They were mad about something, I think it was the war news…you heard it's over?"

"Yes, thank you," Abe said.

"I heard one man say Corralitos, that's up in the mountains off the road to Watsonville. But they were arguing about heading south, seems they feel the law is on their tail. Oh, and here you are," Burns said.

"I figure they'll head south, thank you," Abe said. "Look, you never saw me…no one knows I'm a deputy so let's keep that between us."

"Yes, Sir, whatever you say."

"How long does it take the stage to get to Watsonville?"

"Comes thru here later this morning, it'll be in Watsonville tomorrow at noon," Burns said.

"I need to send a message to Camp Low," Abe said.

"Yes, Sir…I'll get you an envelope," Burns said.

Abe took the message pad and wrote: Commandant, Camp Low. Intelligence says Mason and Henry gang heading south, maybe from the Corralitos area. Six men at this time, advising you to intercept. Wheelwright, Deputy Marshal.

Burns assured him he would hand it to the driver personally, and Abe went out for his horse. Burns was already outside the office placing a small yellow flag on the pole. Abe wasn't sure what this Dye fellow was about, but it was the only lead he had so far. The only thing that was certain was that he would have to travel further south.

Dye was in the cantina standing with several other men. These didn't look like outlaws, they weren't even armed. Dye motioned for Abe to join them and they took a table towards the back.

"Abe, this here's Joshua Benson and Frank Watts, they're friends of ours," Dye said, which meant they were secessionists.

"Any word on your friend, John?" Abe asked.

"Yes, the boys all split up, but they'll be headed south to allow things to cool off up here. They have a camp in the mountains outside San Bernardino, that's where they'll be."

"I don't know the territory, is it far?" Abe asked.

"About a four day ride," Dye said.

Abe sighed; he was getting weary of chasing these men all over the place. Dye must have understood the reluctance.

"I guess we could just head west and see if we can hook up with them in Corralitos, hard road thru those mountains…"

"I understand, let's stay in the valley and head south," Abe said. "Where we gonna end up?"

"San Bernardino would be the closest town, but we go past Los Angeles. I've been there once, sweet town, we could go on down there and wait for them."

"Damn, you must like eatin beans," Abe said. But he knew he would go along. It was probably time to start establishing himself with Dye, that way when this John Rogers came along things would be easier. Abe knew he would be glad when this was over.

He'd been gone from San Francisco for a month, and Abe was sure that Zach was worried and disappointed. Spring was in the valley, and that meant his boy would soon present this concert he was supposed to attend. He would give this another ten days, and then head home.

Dye led him down the valley, stopping at small places off the beaten track. It was almost like Dye was avoiding towns and way stations, which means he didn't trust Abe. But Dye's horse threw a shoe and they had to find a blacksmith.

"Closest place I know is Kern Island," Dye said. "It might be back in business, they had a flood last year."

"Well I'm not looking forward to walking and your horse is gonna be lame if you try and ride it any further," Abe said.

"I figured that, we'll go find us that blacksmith, shouldn't take more than a few hours," Dye said.

"Good, then we can have a steak if they got any."

Kern Island was a miserable place right on the marshes. The San Joaquin Valley was just about played out here, and the mountains loomed in the near distance. Abe saw a sign as they rode into the village.

"Guess they call it Baker's Field now, what's left of it," Abe said. He spotted the Butterfield Stage office as they passed it, and a cantina lay right next door. Abe pulled his horse to the side and dismounted.

"Where you goin?" Dye asked.

"I said I wanted a steak. I see that blacksmith sign down the street. Go leave your horse and come back up here, I'll order you one," Abe said.

Dye smiled. "Good, make mine rare."

Abe watched Dye ride up the street and walked into the stagecoach office. The man behind the desk was startled when Abe said he had an urgent message for Sacramento. Abe pulled a pad off the desk and began to write in a hurry. He wrote about ten lines and then looked up.

"You got an envelope?"

"Sure, that'll be a dollar," The man said.

Abe addressed the envelope and the man looked at it. "The Governor's office you say."

"I do, how soon will it leave here?"

"Stage comes thru this afternoon, takes two days to reach Sacramento."

Abe nodded as he handed over the dollar. "That will be just fine."

He slid next door and ordered two steaks and a beer from the woman behind the bar. He was just taking his first sip when Dye came in. They each had a steak and two beers, and then walked back up the street to pay for the horse.

The ride south was made difficult by the swollen streams in the mountains, but they finally made it into the Los Angeles Valley.

"Tomorrow we could reach the camp, but I'd bet we're the first ones there," Dye said. "The boys usually tie one on when they get back together like this, John can drink a man under the table."

"I didn't come along to get drunk, I came to make money," Abe said.

"We can do that, you in a hurry?"

"The war is over; I need to send money back home. I can't imagine how bad they have it in Virginia, wasn't anything left when I rode out," Abe said. "Hooker came down that valley like the devil himself, burnt everything."

"Is that when you joined up with Early?"

"You don't believe me, do you?" Abe asked.

Dye shrugged. "Just seems like if you was with Early you wouldn't have come out here."

Abe shook his head and pulled out his papers. Dye looked at the commission and the travel orders and handed them back. It was only then that Abe figured the man couldn't read.

"You never fought a day, did you?" Abe asked.

Dye looked uncomfortable, but finally shook his head. "No, I was in Missouri and when they started signing people up I left, rode down to Texas lookin for my brother's ranch. I spent two years there before meeting up with John."

"So this whole story about the gang being a bunch of Rebs is a lie, I should have known," Abe said.

"Don't go sayin that to either Mason or Henry, they get pretty loco about it," Dye said. "Look, seeing as you was an officer maybe they'll take to you kindly if you join up."

"I won't decide that until I talk to them, they might figure I'm not what they want. No matter, it's not your concern," Abe said.

Dye held up both hands. "I understand, it's not my business."

Abe wanted to see this camp, mark it's location on his map and turn the whole thing over to the local sheriff. As they rode into San Bernardino Dye seemed to be dragging his feet.

"You know maybe we shouldn't just go out to the camp. They might be a week getting down here and I get tired of my own cooking. Let's find a place just outside of town where we can camp, we'll see them on the road that way," Dye said, and then he smiled. "This way we can eat some decent food, how's that?"

"That's fine; I just hope they don't take too long to get here. If this doesn't work then I'll have to go find something else," Abe said.

The place Dye decided they should camp was an old abandoned shack with the roof caved in. There was a well head in the front yard and Abe went over and pumped the handle, after a few tries water gushed out the spout. He filled the trough and let his horse drink while he looked around. Dye had gone inside and came out laughing.

"It's got no roof, must have come off in a storm. Long as it don't rain we'll be fine."

They ate in a small cantina on the outskirts of town. Abe was beginning to appreciate the fiery diet of the Mexicans who blanketed the area. It took great quantities of beer to wash away the burn left by the food, but Abe was careful not to overdo it. Dye on the other hand was a liberal drinker, staggering out to his horse after their dinners.

By the third day Abe was growing impatient, he didn't think the other gang members were going to arrive any time soon. By late morning Abe told Dye he was going into Los Angeles and look at some things. Dye offered to ride along but Abe refused the company.

He rode off leaving Dye behind and promised to return the following day. The ride across the valley was easy and Abe ended up on the coast where he saw ships in the harbor. He rode towards the docks and watched the merchant ships unloading their goods.

"Excuse me," Abe called out to a man supervising one of the crews. "Is there an office for the ships?"

"Harbor Master…green building up that way," The man replied, pointing up the dock.

Abe slid off his horse in front of the building and entered the office. Bloom would have been at home here, papers lay stacked on just about every horizontal surface. Two men sat at desks, another stood with a telescope looking out the broad glass window.

"Can I help you?" The closest man said.

"I'm wondering what it would take to book passage in one of your ships, I need to go to San Francisco," Abe said.

The man rose and walked over to the counter. "We get few passengers originating here; those are cargo ships out there. The first passenger ship isn't due in from Panama until first of the week."

"I need passage day after tomorrow," Abe said.

The man shrugged. "Don't think any of the merchant ships will accommodate you."

"I think they will, its official business," Abe said, and he pulled out his badge.

"Oh…well. Yes, Sir...let me get the Master."

He walked across the room and said something to the man at the window. The man snapped his telescope shut and turned towards Abe with a smile.

"Marshal, what can we do for you?"

"I need passage on Thursday for me…and a horse," Abe said.

"Horse?"

"Government property, can't leave her here…she belongs to the Governor."

"Oh…I suppose that can be arranged. The Chelsea leaves Thursday morning, get you into San Francisco by Saturday."

"Who do I pay?" Abe asked.

"Your ticket will be free, Marshal…always glad to do our part to support the fine lawmen of our state. Afraid it's the horse that will need to pay passage. They'll have to knock together a pen for her on deck and then…um, clean up the mess."

Abe grinned. "Understand, I'll gladly pay."

He passed over twenty dollars for the horse and promised to be back on Thursday morning. The Master gave him a receipt and a word of advice.

"If you can, pack your own supply of food. What they serve on those ships isn't fit for hogs."

"Thanks for the warning, I'll bring my trail supplies," Abe said. "See you Thursday."

He had decided to leave; something wasn't right about all this waiting. Dye was up to something and Abe didn't feel like waiting around to find out what it was. But the least he could do was tell the sheriff what was going on in his territory.

San Bernardino was still very much a foreign town in so many ways. Most of the people on the streets were Mexican; many of the signs were still in Spanish. But the sheriff's office was plainly marked in English and Abe tied his horse to the rail out front.

There were two men inside sitting around and Abe didn't see a badge on either of them.

"Is the Sheriff around?" Abe asked.

"John…there's a man out here wants to see you," One of the men called out.

From an open doorway a tall dark haired man stepped out, a towel around his neck and foam on his face. The man closed the razor in his hand and wiped the foam away.

"Sheriff John Fulgham," The man said. "What can I do for you?"

Abe opened his wallet and displayed the badge. "Abe Wheelwright, Deputy Marshal from the Governor's office."

John looked surprised, but he smiled and held out a hand. "Well, Marshal, what brings you to our little town?"

"Abe…can we talk somewhere private?"

"Sure. Emmet, you and Billy scoot outta here for a while," John said.

"Yes, sir," They both replied and left the office.

"What can I do for you, Abe?"

"Mason and Henry are due in here any day; they have a camp about twenty miles outside of town. I've been tracking them since I left Stockton."

"Well, I'll be…they're comin here?"

"Yes, at least one of the gang is already here waiting for them, he thinks I followed along to join up," Abe said. "They were in the Watsonville area four days ago, split up and plan to head down here one at a time."

"I'll keep my eyes open. Don't suppose you know any names for me?"

"The man I'm with is Joe Dye; he brought me here to meet John Rogers who hasn't shown up yet. I'm going to give it another day and then I have to head back north. I can't handle them alone; I imagine you'll need a good sized posse."

"You saw my two deputies; I can't go out there lookin for them with just the three of us. But if they're hole up in the hills then eventually they'll come to town and we'll get them. Much obliged for the warning, Abe. Are you goin back out there with this Dye fella?"

"I was trying to pinpoint the camp for you, but if you aren't going after them directly I won't bother. I ought to go tell him I've had enough of this nonsense and plan to head back east now that the war is over, he might think that's a good thing."

"Well you be careful, that gang has already murdered a handful of men."

"Thank you, John…I plan to be very careful."

Abe knew he didn't have to go back, but then he didn't want Dye to get suspicious and alert the other members of the gang when they showed up. Sheriff Fulgham was going to have enough trouble with these men.

Abe slowed down as he rode up to the shack on the side of the road, there were now two horses tied up out front. Dye was out tending the cooking fire and waved when he saw Abe, there was no sight of the second man.

Abe dismounted and watered his horse. "See you got company," He said.

"Sure do, John just got here this morning…"

A man stepped out the door of the shack and Abe immediately felt uncomfortable. Unlike Dye who was just a fool, this man was hardened. His face and body looked tough; his gun was slung low like a man who knew how to use it.

"Howdy," The man said. "You Abe?"

"Yes, that's me," Abe replied, and he began to unsaddle his horse so it could go feed on the nearby grass. Rogers walked over, moving in such a way that Abe would have to face him and leave Dye at his back. Abe didn't take the bait and carried his saddle over to the porch on the shack.

"I hear you carry a Confederate commission, not much use now, is it?" Rogers said.

"It only represents what I was," Abe said. "That's all gone now."

"Abe, mind if I see those papers?" Rogers asked.

Abe paused with the saddle at his feet and pulled out his wallet. He brought out the commission paper and held it out making Rogers walk over to take it. The man was close now, too close to draw his pistol if that's what he intended. Abe picked up the saddle and moved towards the porch as Rogers unfolded the paper.

"Abe Wheelwright…interesting name, don't think I could forget something like that," Rogers said.

Abe set the saddle down and grasped the butt of his rifle, fingers sliding down until he griped the cocking lever. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rogers give Dye a nod and Abe pulled the rifle out and cocked it in one swift motion. Rogers had a hand on the butt of his pistol and was pulling it out of the holster, but then he looked up at the barrel of the rifle pointed at his face.

"Drop the pistol…slowly," Abe ordered.

Rogers stared at him just long enough for Abe to catch the motion of Dye reaching for his pistol. Abe swing the barrel of the rifle and pulled the trigger, the bullet catching Dye in the shoulder and throwing him across the yard.

Abe cocked the rifle just in time to see Rogers bring his pistol to bear and fire. A flash of pain went thru Abe's left arm and he pulled the trigger on the rifle. The shot caught Rogers square in the chest and he went down on his back, dead before he hit the ground. Abe jacked another round in the chamber and stalked over to where Dye lay on the ground.

The man whimpered when he saw the rifle pointed at his face. "You have two seconds to tell me what that was all about," Abe said.

Dye was in a great deal of pain, the bullet had gone thru his arm and into his chest. Abe could see a trickle of blood on the man's lips; Dye was already good as dead.

"I…I told him your name…and he knew it. They robbed a stage outside Watsonville, driver had a letter from you to the army in his pocket, we knew you was a marshal."

"That bullet caught you in a bad way…nothing I can do for you," Abe said.

Dye looked up at him, the pain glazing his eyes, and then the man coughed once. "I didn't trust you…I…" And then he keeled over dead.

Sheriff Fulgham was just finishing up his supper when Abe rode up to the office with two bodies strapped to the horses. John looked up thru his window and stood up, knocking his chair over.

"Well…I'll be damned," He said.

He walked outside and stared up at Abe, immediately noticing the young man was wounded. The sleeve of his shirt was covered in blood and Abe had his arm hung in a sling around his neck.

"You all right, let me go get the doctor," Fulgham said.

"I'm fine, they just winged me," Abe said. But as he got down off his horse he almost fell.

"Emmet, get out here," Fulgham yelled.

He sent the deputy for the doc, and helped Abe into the office. Abe groaned as he sat down in the nearest chair, and used his right hand to help move his left arm.

"Sorry, it might be worse than I thought…I think it's broken," Abe said.

"Well you stay right there, Doc is on the way," Fulgham said.

"When I got back Dye had company, that's John Rogers out there with him. They tried to sucker me, guess it didn't work. Sorry I had to kill them, might have been able to make them talk."

"That's fine, that's two less we have to face. You stay up in the hotel for a few days; we'll take good care of you," Fulgham said.

"No, can't do that. I have a ticket for San Francisco, leave tomorrow."

"You can't be traveling like that. Damn, you're a stubborn man."

Abe managed a smile. "Guess I am."

The Doc pronounced the wound clean; the bullet had gone clean thru his arm. But it had broken one of the bones in his forearm along the way. Abe told him to splint it up good; he would suffer the pain for a few more days until he got home.

Fulgham took him to the hotel and got Abe a room. The Doc had given him some pain killing medicine, but Abe wouldn't take it. He asked the sheriff to let him rest a while then make sure he was awake for supper. Fulgham promised to come back for that.

Abe tried to sleep but his arm throbbed. The Doc had set the bones back in place but the bandage seemed too tight. Abe rolled out of bed and put his arm back in the sling before he went downstairs. Emmet was sitting in the lobby.

"Where you goin, Marshal?"

"Can't sleep, too much pain," Abe said. "I need to visit the dry goods store, need some food for the trip tomorrow."

"I'll go get it for you, what ya need?" Emmet asked.

"Pound of jerked meat, some beans I suppose, enough for a couple of days. I have a ship to catch tomorrow morning down at the harbor."

"We'll make sure you're on it, John said to do anything you want," Emmet said.

"That's mighty nice of him…but I sure don't know why."

"Why you're a hero, Marshal…the whole town knows about you. Shot those two outlaws to keep them from robbing and killing the folks round here…damn sure sounds like a hero to me."

Abe shook his head, in too much pain to argue about it. "I need a beer," Abe said.

"Come on then," Emmet said.

Abe followed him across the street to the cantina and Emmet showed him to a seat in the corner. Emmet went to the bar and came back with two beers.

"Mind if I join you, Marshal?"

"Abe…just call me Abe."

Emmet grinned and handed over the beer. It tasted good and Abe did away with it in less than a minute. The bartender appeared with another full bottle. Abe reached for his wallet, realizing it was in the wrong pocket and he couldn't reach it.

"I need to get my money," Abe said.

"No, Senor…the Marshal do not pay, we are happy to see you," The man said.

"Gracias," Abe said…his one word of Spanish.

Emmet went off to the store with half a gold piece Abe had managed to fish out of his pocket. There were four beer bottles on the table when he returned and Emmet smiled, Abe wasn't feeling the pain much anymore. Fulgham joined them and the three of them sat down to eat.

"We got a telegram this afternoon, seems the army ran across some of the gang headed our way," Fulgham said. "A patrol caught up with Mason and two other men, they had a shoot out but Mason escaped. The only thing the soldiers got was his horse."

Abe smiled. "Long walk to get down here, you'll get them."

Fulgham nodded. "We will thanks to you. I sent a telegram to Sacramento, to your boss the Governor, told him all about your accomplishments. I also sent my thanks; maybe you'll get a raise."

Abe didn't respond and Fulgham turned to see why. The Marshal was asleep with his head down on the plate.


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