I was up early, got a blaze going for coffee. I didn’t sleep much during the night as I was a mite concerned over our company. Greylight was just appearing when I had Lucas up and saddling our horses. We ate some bacon, drank our coffee and were ready to head out.
“Say! Ain’t yuh gonna leave us any coffee?” grumbled the one called Framm.
“Sorry boys, yur the ones who are sleepin’ in,” I said walking over to Hawk.
He began to reach for his gunbelt. “Mister, is a big piece of lead worth a cup of coffee?” He relaxed then moving his hand back.
I nodded to Lucas to get moving up the trail. We would be up and over Molas Pass and down into Silverton by noon. I’d get Lucas settled and then go on with my business.
When we reached the summit the sun had just cleared the horizon. I glanced toward my backtrail and then watched Lucas as he stopped to gaze at the sight. “Senor Miles, it is beautiful!” he exclaimed.
I pulled Hawk up beside him. “The Lord sure does know how to paint a sunrise. Enjoy them for you don’t know how many is allotted for you.”
Glancing to the northwest I wondered if the sun would be hidden before with those dark clouds I could see gathering. All of a sudden a gust sweep through. “Senor, it is cold!” shuddered Lucas.
“Then we best be gettin’ on down from here,” I replied and gave Hawk a nudge. I took the lead, not worrying much about our camp visitors at this point.
We didn’t hurry, but we made good time on the road leading from the summit. Before noon we were in Silverton. I took Lucas to one of the nicer hotels and got us a room. This hotel had their own livery so we left Hawk and Two-Bits there. After getting the room, we went to lunch. I had to smile as Lucas ordered coffee and was pleased to see there was sugar.
“No more’n a spoon. Yuh don’t want to get addicted to that stuff in yur coffee,” I admonished.
After eating we stood outside. “I’d prefer you stayed in the hotel, but most likely you’re wantin’ to see some of the town. All I’m askin’ is that you don’t go north of this street or travel to the east. This town is rough,” I stated, then continued. “The train leaves in the mornin’ and we want to get the horses loaded–don’t want to miss Thanksgiving back at Molly’s.”
He nodded and smiled. I moved on down the street to my meeting. Passing the Wells Fargo office I opened the door and waved. I knew one of the clerks when I worked for Wells Fargo. Then down to one of the banks.
Upon entering a clerk came to me. “I’m here for the meetin’.”
Giving me a sneer he asked, “And who might you be?”
“Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest, that’s who,” and I pushed past him to the room on the right.
“Hey, you just can’t go in there!” he exclaimed. “I have to check first.” By that time I was already opening the door.
These were the owners or the managers of the mining companies in Silverton. The ones who lost the payroll with the train robbery. I recognized a few of them. Then Jakub Brewliski saw me and waved. I moved in his direction and was standing by him when the meeting was called to order. I didn’t see why I had to be there, but Blasco had ordered me so there must be a reason. They had received money that they lost to pay their employees and miners. The missing money was none of their to-do anymore.
Shaking Jakub’s hand I leaned to him and whispered. “We caught two of the outlaws.”
He raised his eyebrows, “Hmm, is that so?”
There was one man, tall, older fellow who began, “I think it’s time to hire our own guards. We hire them to deliver the gold to the train, why not all the way to Denver? Then they can guard the payroll back.”
An oafish-looking man, balding and smoking a fat cigar began to disagree. “Let the government take care of it.”
“Who’s the tall man?” I questioned Jakub in whispered tone.
He was quiet with his answer. “Marlow Bartkopf.”
With that he looked our way. I didn’t know him, but he must have recognized me from somewhere. “There’s the marshal! What do you say?”
I scratched at my head, being caught by surprise then pulled at my moustache. “That’s your business. But remember the more people involved the more will know about shipments.”
They argued back and forth about that and other topics. The room was becoming hot and smoke-filled when they finally called it a day. As we were walking out I asked Jakub, “Who was the other man that kept badgerin’ Bartkopf?”
“Samuel Weinstein,” he paused, “he’s relatively new here. I think he represents the company back in Philadelphia.”
I shook his hand and went to find Lucas…