The Appaloosa, also known as the spotted horse for its unusual colors, is a big horse, strong-willed and sure-footed. The Stranger rode one, using a firm grip on the reins to negotiate the rough terrain of the draw. He had been following the wagon train for some time, using the heat and the dust as cover. It was long since gone, leaving one last wagon with a broken wheel alone in the draw.

The driver, a young woman in jeans and buckskin, was attempting to fix it, willing but unable to lift up the iron-rimmed wheel. Intent on her task, she didn't hear the soft footfalls of the approaching horse and rider.

"Howdy ma'am," said the Stranger tipping his hat. His smile was warm and friendly.

She whirled around, right hand clutching a Colt Dragoon, her big brown eyes wide in surprise.

"Howdy yourself," she said, shading her eyes with her left hand. "And just who might you be, mister." There was a pause. "Say, you know anything about wheels? This one's bust."

"Some. Let me take a look at it ma'am and see what I can do. Just do me a favor and point that thing somewhere's else."

She looked at him long and hard while he dismounted and tethered his ride to the brake. The Dragoon slid back into a holster she wore slung over her left shoulder.

Didn't take him long to see that the rear axle had partly come off its brace. That in turn had pushed the left rear wheel off its axle.

"Can ya fix it?"

"Yeah I'm pretty sure I can. Lucky thing it's empty otherwise we'd be here a whole lot longer. I'll need that log over there though, see it, the one by the sage? How about you drag it on over here while I get this brace fixed up." He lifted a hammer out of the box under the seat. He almost didn't see the leather bags packed right up tight against the box inside the wagon bed.

A loud scream brought him on the run.

When he found her she was all wrapped up in herself, hand over her mouth. Wordlessly she pointed to a pair of boots sticking out from under the log. A faded red stain on his shirtfront left no doubt as to his fate.

She looked over his shoulder as the stranger knelt down to take a closer look at the body. "Do you know who he is?"

"Yeah I think I do," he said softly. "Been looking for him for some time. Friend of mine named Beau Walton. Last I heard he was riding for Wells Fargo for the mines and such hereabouts."

"That's where we're goin', or at least I was until this here wheel come off. "

"Happens a lot does it?"

"Yeah so they just go on without me 'til they stop and then someone'll come back and help out. We gotta contract to take freight 'n' such 'cross the panhandle to the rail head. That's me and my pa what owns the train. There's a Wells Fargo relay station just up ahead where we stop to get water and fresh horses."

"Well," said the stranger, standing and dusting himself off." There's not much we can do for him right now so let's get you fixed up. Go get your team ready to back up a little. We gotta get the axle back in place or none of us is going anywhere. Once that's done it'll take both of us to get the wheel on."

"Okay. I'm awful sorry 'bout your friend."

"You and me both honey. He was a good man and a good friend. Don't know who did this but I aim to find out. We'll take Beau with us to the station if that's alright with you. This is a matter for the law. I can wire the Sheriff from there."

It was a quiet ride to the Relay station.

Her name was Kansas. And she was right proud of it.

"You don't say! And just who's idea was that," he asked. "Don't seem like much of name for a girl, if you'll pardon my saying so."

"Pa done it. He really wanted a boy so when I come he went outside and howled at the moon. All he kept sayin' was dang blasted Kansas so that's who I am."

They were caught up to the train by now. It had halted at the northern end of the draw, which opened out onto a flat prairie afternoon. Clumps of sagebrush and stands of sycamore dotted a waving sea of short grass. The drivers tended their rigs or watered the mules. Kansas' father rode back to see what was doing.

"Mighty obliged to ya mister. Right sorry about yer friend. Can't say's I knowed him but we'll take him with us, see he's done proper. George is my name."

"Much obliged. He was a good friend."

"Where ya from."

"Oh here and there. Texas mostly, New Mexico a little, Arizona."

"Arizona!" Kansas exclaimed. "You been there? You know Wyatt Earp? I read about him all the time in the paper seems like!"

"Yeah I know him," said the Stranger smiling broadly. "There's three of them down there, brothers, Virgil, Morgan, and Wyatt. Keep the law for the good folks of Tombstone and thereabouts. Matter of fact I rode with Wyatt a while, 'til he took a badge."

"No kiddin'. Where'd ya ride to? All I ever done is ride to town and back with the wagons. Where you been? What's it like way out there?" George shushed her and pointed at the dead man. "Have some respect, honey."

George headed back to the lead wagon to get the train moving again. Time was money and they didn't get paid if they were late.

Kansas was still eager. "So you were going to tell me the last place you rode to."

"Out west mostly. There's lots of land under those prairie skies, places where a man can live a good and decent life. Raise a family, run a herd or two."

"Wow, wish I could go."

"Well maybe some day you will but you gotta grow a little first. Now why don't you head on up and help out your Pa. I'll be along directly."

No sooner had she ridden off than he climbed back into the wagon. He pulled a badge and wallet out of the dead man's pockets and pocketed those. He'd make sure they got back to his wife Sarah, and any money owing. It was the least he could do for an old friend. That done he pulled the bags out from their hiding place and inspected them.

There was a large leather satchel with Wells Fargo stamped on it, and a similarly large lock keeping it closed. Thought so he murmured, Wells Fargo payroll. It's here alright and looks like nobody's touched it. But where was Beau's he wondered.

The other bag was stamped US Mail and contained maybe a dozen letters addressed to whomever. He put them back in the satchel except for one letter which caught his eye. It was addressed to someone at the Relay station, Bagby, but it was in a Wells Fargo envelope. Company paper and envelopes weren't supposed to be used for ordinary letters. He pocketed that and put the mail bag back.

It didn't take much persuading for the Stranger to be persuaded to join them for the rest of the journey to the Relay station. Pa introduced himself as Daniel MacLean, former owner of a ferry just downriver from Vicksburg. When the bluecoats came he and Kansas lit out south and west. When they stopped running, Daniel took a job with Wells Fargo, leading trains of freight wagons through eastern New Mexico, and across the Texas panhandle.

Turns out Daniel was kin to Kit Carson, a distant cousin of the infamous range rider and Indian agent.

"Don't talk about him much" mumbled Daniel, in between chaws on his tobacco. "People say he was mean to the Navajo, stole their land and food and such like. Don't hardly believe it myself. I ain't seen 'im since sixty-five but the Carson I knew wouldn't have done such things."

"Yeah. All those eastern papers are filled with stories even I don't believe," countered the Stranger, "and I work out here. Listen, if you don't mind my askin' where you headed after we get to the Station."

"Well, we gotta change teams, pick up a coupla extra mounts, and take the whole shebang west to the New Mexico border. There's a new railhead out there. We unloads there, trade the horses for fresh and head on back. Round trip takes us about a week."

"I see ya got some bags in the last wagon, take a little mail do you?"

"Yep. Pony Express doesn't ride this far out no more so we take mail, and run other such like to the mines when we pick up the ore. Take it direct to 'em cuz them miners can be a right ornery bunch iffn it don't come to them on time."

It was the peak of a blazing hot prairie day when the wagon train finally reined at the Relay Station. Walton's body was pulled from the wagon and laid to rest in a stall in the horse barn attached to the station. Once done the Stranger made himself known to the Station Agent, a man named Bagby.

He didn't seem too pleased to meet the Stranger but at Daniel's insistence signed him on as a temporary wagon guard. Muttering under his breath about the expense of hiring nobody's, he shuffled over to the open door and pointed out the corral he could use. Overly large with sweaty palms and slicked back hair, Bagby didn't seem the type to run a station, and that bothered him some.

Putting his horse in the corral along with the other fresh relays, the Stranger noticed a roan at the back that was all sweaty and dusty, like it had been ridden hard recently. Being on his own, it seemed unlikely that Bagby would be riding hard anywhere, so who's horse was that he wondered.

"That be mine", mumbled Bagby. "With all the trouble lately with the payroll, Company wants me to take a ride around some. Figure if I show up once in a while I might scare 'em off."

"Yeah well, it didn't do much. That's my friend in the barn over there. Last I heard he was riding for Wells-Fargo out here. I was riding through and thought I'd pay him a visit. Seems I was a little late."

"Yeah seems that way, don't it. Man can't be too careful around here."

Truer words were never spoken. Less than an hour later a wounded man rode in, or rather staggered in. Kansas saw him first. She was tending to the relay horses they were taking with them to the railhead when he hobbled into sight. And what a sight he was, dusty, hatless, and covered in blood.

"Come on mister, let me give you hand, where are you hurt. HELP! HELP! Wounded man here! HELP!"

The station emptied of every man. Bagby waddled out of his office cradling a shotgun, the Stranger with matching Colts, and the other men a mix of rifles and pistols. They surrounded Kansas and her find in short order and escorted them back to the station.

"Well friend", said the Stranger. "Looks like you ran into a little trouble somewheres. Can you tell us about it? What happened?"

"Ambush, plain and simple. Somebody took a couple shots at me 'bout a mile or so back. Dropped my horse and darn near dropped me. I shot back best I could but I couldn't see where they was acomin' from. Aahh, that hurts missy."

"Yeah well sit still or it'll hurt worse. Looks like it's through and through. Won't be able to shoot for awhile but I reckon you'll do."

"What brings you way out here anyways." asked the Stranger. "Seems a mighty long way from nowhere."

"Name's Nesbitt, Bart. Don't normally do this kind of work, but a problem arose in the last town I was in. I kind of had to leave in a hurry. Right now I'm riding for Wells Fargo. Got the next mine payroll or at least I did until this happened. Would have brought it with me except I couldn't carry it all. Say don't I know you? You look awful…"

"Don't think so," interrupted the Stranger, shaking his head. "We've never met, right?" Nesbitt nodded, in hurried agreement.

"So what do we do now," asked Kansas as she wrapped up Nesbitt's shoulder. "Shouldn't we call the law in or something'?"

"Take too long," replied Bagby. "Sheriff rode through a couple days ago. He's headed south to settle some land dispute or other. Didn't figure on being back any time soon."

"Well that's too bad, but somebody's gotta go out there and look for the bushwhacker. Or at least try to find the payroll. Guess that's gonna be me," said the Stranger. "You okay with that Daniel? Means leaving you short a man."

Before he could reply, Bagby interrupted. "Won't be a problem. How's about I ride along a little ways, as a scout maybe. Ride on ahead and check the trail, make sure it's clear as far as the end of the hills. Once you hit the flatlands you can see for miles, can't see anybody trying to sneak up on you then."

Daniel nodded in agreement and left with Kansas to get the train ready. The Stranger rode out a short time later following the directions given him by Bagby. The wounded man was to stay behind at the Station until he was better able to travel.

The Winchester model 1876 is a lever-action rifle that fits easily into a saddle holster, fires when wet (mostly), and has fewer moving parts than a horse. It was said you could fire a Winchester twice a day for a week and thrice on Sunday before reloading. It made a distinctive sound when fired.

Following Bagby's directions the Stranger soon found himself riding through a rough stretch of territory, all rocks and sage and sand that slowed his progress to a crawl. There wasn't any trail to speak of and he was headed away from the wagons. Didn't take him longer to figure that he'd been sent off on some fool's errand.

Not wanting to be too far from the wagons for too long he figured if he rode southwest a piece he might catch up to the train before it reached the flatlands. After that it would be a hard ride over open ground. There was every chance he could surprise the bushwhacker and maybe even get a look at him.

The rock he was now crouching behind provided more than ample shelter against the 44-40 caliber rounds coming his way. Luckily the first shot had gone wide, giving him time to dismount and take cover. His Appaloosa, no stranger to gunfire, ambled off a ways and began to crop the sparse vegetation.

The bushwhacker was no shootist that was for sure. Shots kicked up sand all around the outcropping and even hit it once, but that was it. After a time the Stranger got up and ran for his horse, not even bothering to slow down when a round whistled past him. Yanking his Sharpe's carbine loose and grabbing a handful of shells, the stranger sprinted back to the safety of the rock. The shooting appeared to have stopped.

Following the advice of an old Army friend of his, George Custer, he carried the carbine instead of a rifle. Custer was gone north, part of the governments response to the Indian problems in the badlands of South Dakota. That whole thing didn't feel right somehow but George was determined to make a name for himself.

Meantime the Stranger rested the carbine on an outcropping, took careful aim at what appeared to movement in the distance, and fired off several rounds. The deep boom of the carbine went unchallenged and the movement stopped.

Back in the saddle and riding hard for where the train should be, the Stranger paused briefly by a patch of ground showing recent use by a horse and brass rifle casings. Winchester he noted, and still warm. They were a newer type of rim fire cartridge developed by the Winchester Arms Company and only issued to the US Army and other special agencies, including Wells Fargo.

Just south of the ambush site the land was plain bald prairie, flat as a dusty yellow pancake, dotted with small clumps of sage and cacti. Having picked up six spent rounds, the Stranger made note of two trails that came together just about where he stood. One came from the southeast; a single horse ridden hard, reined in quickly, and then left to wander for a short time. A horse used to occasional rifle fire.

The second trail was just as hurried, leaving the same spot and back southwest in the same direction he was headed. Looked to his experienced eyes to be one rider with a newer Winchester rifle and not too good a shot with it. The casings themselves were an important clue. As for the shots were they intended to slow him down a little, or just scare him off? He didn't know but he intended to find out.

He gave the Appaloosa its head, riding hard and fast following the second trail. It looked to cut across the trail the wagons were using. He urged his big mount on and the Appaloosa responded with a burst of speed even the Stranger didn't know he had. Tail and mane streamed back like cavalry flags.

It wasn't long before the trail came into view, and the wagon train itself. It was lazily plodding along, kicking up little dust. It was Kansas who saw him first. She stood up in the box of the rear wagon, waving furiously. She was all smiles when the Stranger reined up beside her.

"Hey cowboy, that was some ride! You miss me already?" she asked sheepishly.

"No nothing like that I'm afraid," said the Stranger apologetically, "Although I am glad to see you're okay."

"Heard some rifle fire a ways back but didn't see nobody. Musta been a hunter or somethin'. There's no one around here except us and you. The Comanche left for the reservation years ago and the ones we do see come to the post to trade a little."

"Well, I don't suppose it was them but somebody sure wasn't glad to see me. Ran into a little trouble back there and I thought it might be the same way for you. That's why I rode so hard to get here."

She gasped in surprise. "What kinda trouble, you alright?"

"Yeah I'm fine. Say, what kind of rifles do you and Daniel have. Got anything like this?" and he pulled out his Sharpe's carbine to show her.

"Nah, we don't carry guns, 'cept a couple old Colts to shoot rattlers with. Don't need 'em."

"Anybody else, the driver's maybe?"

"No, just Bagby, he's got one, one of them new Army ones. Showed it to me."

"Does he now. You seen him lately? Any idea where he is? I'd sure like to take a look at that rifle. Kind of a hobby of mine."

"Sure," she exclaimed, pointing to the front of the train. "He's up there, getting some water. Just rode in. Says he didn't see any need for scouting anymore."

"Well we'll see about that," and the Stranger rode off towards the last wagon, and Bagby.

"Afternoon Bagby. You seem awful thirsty. Water any good?"

"Why shouldn't I be, it's a hot day. Can't a man stop for a drink of water?"

"Judging by the way your horse is acting I'd say you two have been out in the sun for some time."

"I'm scouting. I supposed to be ain't I? I came in 'cause I didn't see the need. Besides, my canteen was empty, forgot to fill it back at the Station."

"Same here. Just came in from the northeast. Been tracking some bushwhacker taking a shot or two at me back there a ways. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

Bagby paused, canteen at his lips. "No, why."

"That's one of those new Winchesters isn't it?" asked the Stranger. "Mind if I take a look. I've been meaning to get one myself." It slid easily out of Bagby's saddle holster. "Feels nice, good weight to it, good balance. Aims nice." He sniffed the hammer. "Been fired recently too. Seen any rattlers around?"

"Uh no, say gimme that back. You got no right to be snooping around here. Get your water and go."

Oh I'll go alright, but not without you Bagby. You're under arrest!" And with that the Stranger drew his Colt. Bagby raised his hands high.

"Hey," exclaimed Daniel, as he and Kansas rode up, "What gives, what's going on here."

"Mister Bagby here is under arrest. He's coming with me to the railhead where I'll hand him over to the Marshal. He's wanted for Robbery and Murder and I got him for both."

"Robbery? Murder?" gasped Kansas.

"Yes ma'am," said the Stranger. "I've been following those payrolls you were bringing in. Seems Wells Fargo was losing money and they couldn't figure where. They switched to riders and gave you fakes, figuring' you might be the ones. When Jim and Bart went down that put you two in the clear."

"This is preposterous!" spluttered Bagby. "I didn't do anything! You've got nothing on me!"

"Well, we have your half brother in custody, found him through the Army records at Fort Laramie. I'm sure he'll testify against you to avoid a hanging. Seems he changed his name right after the War, so we didn't cotton onto the scheme right away." The Stranger snapped handcuffs onto Bagby.

"I don't figure how," said Kansas. "Them bags always stayed with the wagons."

"Easy enough. His brother put a little extra money in each payroll, which Bagby grabbed when it got here. That's part of his job, taking out his pay and makin' sure you don't take anything yourselves. And he's got the only key to unlock the payroll bags. When Wells Fargo switched to riders his brother started putting letters in the mail with the riding schedules. Got the latest one out of the mail bag myself."

"Once we had him it was just a matter of waiting for you to make a mistake. You made it when you got greedy and took a whole payroll, killed a friend of mine to do it. Then you made it doubly worse by trying to kill Bart and me and turn the trail cold. And you're only one out here with the new style Winchester."

"Mighty nice lookin' but I still prefer my old Sharpe's", said the Stranger, cocking the lever repeatedly, spitting live ammunition all over the ground, "Looks like you're a couple rounds short Bagby. Probably the ones I got in my pocket."

"Well I'll be" gasped Daniel. "Darned if that ain't wildest story I ever heard."

"And it's all true," said the Stranger, smiling. "And I can prove it."

"Just who are you mister," asked an awestruck Kansas. "You never told me your name."

"You never asked."

"Well I'm asking now stranger, who are you."

"Well ma'am you know what they say, no man in the wrong can stand up against a man that's in the right. Leander McNelly's the name; I'm a Ranger ma'am, Texas Ranger."