The Saga of Miles Forrest

Molly was keeping me busy cleaning up tables and waiting on a few.  Aniha was doing most of the cooking and it seemed we were busier than ever, or maybe it was just because I was wearing the apron.  
I had rushed down to the doctor’s office and he sent me in to see Charlie.  His eyes finally opened, and there was some color back in his cheeks.  
“Whatya bring your ugly face in here for?” he said in a husky voice.  
I clasped his good shoulder and then left.  Hurrying over to the diner I grabbed Marta and told her to run to Charlie.  That’s when Molly grabbed my arm and took me to the kitchen.  “Here!” she ordered.  “Put this on.  It’ll fit, sort of like wearing chaps.”
What she had given me was an apron.  I was fumbling around with it when she said.  “If you’re going to take my help away, you have to take her place.”  Then she laughed.  “Oh, Marshal Forrest, you are too cute!  Now get out there and clean the tables and fill up coffee cups.  I’ll take most of the orders.”
It went along pretty well.  I didn’t spill a drop of coffee on a customer.  The rush hour was almost over and then some hardcases walked in.  I could almost smell them before I saw them.  I was pouring coffee for ol’ Benjamin when I caught the eye of one of them.  They went on over to a table, but their aroma totally followed them.
They looked like hide hunters.  All three of them had long, scraggly, greasy hair.  Two wore buckskin outfits while the third wore a torn, dirty, flannel shirt.
One started banging on the table.  “Where is the service in this joint?  We want some coffee and beer now!”
Well, I hadn’t spilt any coffee until they caused that commotion.  I heard Benjamin give a yelp.  Seemed I missed the cup and poured it on his wrist and he dropped the cup, which naturally broke.
“Sorry, Ben.  I’ll get something to wipe this up,” and used the front of my apron for his hand, but had to go to the kitchen for a rag and another cup.
Molly had gone over to the table of discontents.  “I’ll bring you men some coffee, but we don’t serve any alcohol here.”
One of the men in leather grabbed her and pulled her to his lap.  “Well, pretty lady, beer ain’t rightly alcohol.  Why don’t you run on down to the saloon and get some for us?”  He pushed her up and gave her a little pat, which I saw coming out of the kitchen.
“Have your sweet helper bring us the coffee,” said the one in flannel and gave a laugh.
She ignored them and went to get cups.  When she brought them back.  One grabbed the cup and slammed it on the table spilling the coffee.  The other two emptied their cups on the floor.
“I said, he would pour the coffee!”
“Hey, waitress,” called the one in flannel.  “How ’bout a refill on the coffee.  Lady here got sloppy.”
I had finished wiping the floor but had not stopped watching them.  Standing up I moved toward the stove to get the coffeepot.  Molly intercepted me.  “Miles, don’t start anything,” she whispered.
I smiled at her.  “Molly, you know I never do the startin’.”
As I approached the table one remarked.  “My don’t he look cute in that apron.”  He reached out his cup and motioned for me to pour.  
The pot was freshly made therefore was full.  For some reason I was distracted and poured the hot coffee on his hand.
“Why you…”
Before the one in leather could react I threw what was left of the coffee in his face, scalding it.  He let out a scream.  One was grabbing his burnt wrist and then decided to go for his gun.  While he was fumbling with it I slapped him in the face with the coffee pot.  “This is for makin’ me waste a pot of good coffee.”  And I hit him a second time.
I don’t know if the third man was just a dimwit or was watching the show.  But he finally started to move when I grabbed a chair at the next table and brought it down over his head.  That put him out of the fight.
Now back to leatherman.  His face was red and looked like it would blister.  He reached for his belt and pulled out a Bowie knife.  I’m goin’ to slice out yur guts!”
Reaching under my apron I drew my Schofield and slashed his face, now opening his skin since it was baked and tender.  His hand went to his face and I hit his wrist with the pistol, most likely breaking it and forced the knife to fall.
Two men were now completely out of it so I turned my attention back to the man in flannel.  This time with a cocked gun.  “Now I think it’s time for you boys to leave, that is unless yur still hungry.  I can give you a ration of lead, right quick.”
“We’ll see yuh ‘gin,” he said.
“I don’t figure anytime soon.”  
The man with the scalded face was in a world of hurt and couldn’t help carry out the man I cold-cocked with the chair.  “Get out!” I ordered.
Finally, they struggled out.  I muttered more to myself than anyone.  “Now, to make a fresh pot of coffee.”
I turned and looked at Molly.  “Miles, I told…”