The Saga of Miles Forrest

What do you think went wrong with Billy?” asked Molly.
    I shrugged my shoulders then stood up, turned to the stove and took hold of the handle of the coffeepot.  I brought it back to the table and filled Molly and Marta’s cups.
    Anihu, Marta’s sister, came out from the kitchen.  I motioned her over, “Come, join us.”  I went to the counter for another cup.  Rarely did she ever appear from the kitchen.  She would come in early in the morning, get the stoves hot, cook, clean the kitchen, and leave at night after closing.
    She gave a little smile as I pulled out a chair for her then poured her a cup.  “Gracias, Senor Forrest,” she said stiffly.
    “Está bien,” Marta whispered.
    Then Marta looked at Molly.  “To answer you, Billy is what you say, spoiled!”
    “Well,” I remarked, “we gave him plenty chances.”
    Molly started to reply when through the door walked Doc Jones.  Anihu glanced at him, then jumped up and scurried to the kitchen.
    “Was my approach untimely?” he questioned with concern.
    “Sit down, Doc,” suggested Molly.  “Miles, would you get him some coffee?”
    “She hasn’t been the same since our mother died from the fever sickness.  She was always quiet, aloof, but now she rarely speaks to anyone.  When she sees you Doctor Jones, she remembers the diphtheria and the death of our mother.”
    “I am truly sorry,” answered Doc.
    “I’m concerned about Billy,” interrupted Molly.  “What will happen to him?”
    After taking a sip, I replied.  “It depends on which court takes precedence.  If tried for shooting you by the State, he’ll most likely spend several years in Canon City.  If the federals try him for shooting me, he’ll go to that prison in Kansas,” I paused, taking a long drink, wiped my moustache and continued.  “Either way, he’ll be spending a long time in prison.”
    “Shame,” Molly remorsefully replied, “I always liked him.”
    I just grunted.
    “Who would have guessed he was related to banker Billington?” Doc was questioning when two youngsters burst through the door.
    “I have a message for you marshal,” yelled one.
    “No, I have the message,” said the other who turned to face his opponent.
    “Hey!” I yelled.  “Tommy, who gave you the message?”
    “It was that old man, Grizz, I think he’s called.”
    “Okay, Henry, what was the message?”
    “To hurry on down to the jail!”
    Standing up I searched in my vest pocket and found two nickels.  Flipping them each one I said, “Tell him I’m on my way.”
    Reaching down I drank the last couple of swallows of coffee, wiped my sleeve across my moustache, received a frown from Molly, so I patted her on the shoulder saying, “Let me go see what Grizz wants.”
    Grizz was standing outside the jail with Charlie Gold.  As I approached, he pointed at the bundled draped over the packhorse.  It was a body…