The Saga of Miles Forrest

Rushing out of the telegraph office and stepping on the boardwalk I saw a man run across the street into the cantina.  Shortly afterward, Jens stepped out of the hotel and leaned against a post.  I moved on up to him noticing that blood was beginning to show on the front of his pants.  Subconsciously, he rubbed the front of his leg then brought his hand to look at the blood.
    I could see that he was in pain as he held tightly to the column.  Pointing with his gun toward the cantina, he hollered as I approached.  “Miles, the cantina.  Careful, he’s wounded.”
I started moving slowly across the street.  “Find the doctor, and bring him back with you.”
    Leaning against the wall outside the cantina, I took a deep sigh, breathed a little prayer then walked through the open doors.  Ramon was standing behind the bar.
    “Ramon…” I began but he cut me short.
    “Senor, please…”
    I was now rightly irritated.  “You disgust me!  You whine and complain about justice, and when you have the opportunity to help you cover your head like an ostrich.”
    The pretty, dark-haired girl who waited on me yesterday came out from the kitchen.  “Sit down, por favor,” she suggested pointing at a particular table.  “I will bring some coffee, but you must be patient, it is not quite finished.”  She nodded toward the table again before disappearing in the kitchen.
    I took a chair, looking at the bar.  “Ramon, Marshal Blasco and I are tryin’ to help you.”
    He began to shake his head.  “Senor, marshal, you simply do not understand our situation here.”  It was then that I noticed his eyes kept darting downward.
    “On the contrary.  I live in Durango.  We have a similar situation there, but we are learnin’ to work together.”
    The senorita came out and stood off to my right.  “Sorry, the coffee, it is so weak.  Go ahead, take a sip and see for yourself.”
    She didn’t bother to give me the cup, but nodded toward the bar.  Quietly I moved out of my chair and moved to the end of the bar.  Laying on the floor with a pistol in his hand was the man I was chasing.  The gun was pointed at Ramon, but his hand was wavering.  Looking down I could see a pool of blood gathering.
    He still didn’t hear me approach, I withdrew my pistol holding it a few inches from the back of his head and cocked it.  That made him jump and I slashed out with my gun across his wrist forcing him to drop his gun.
    Reaching down I grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him up to the bar.  He was weak; I realized that the bullet from Blasco’s gun must have cut an artery and he had almost bled out.
    “Who?” I started to ask when he slumped forward.  Dead.
    I grabbed him by the collar again dragging him out to the street.  When I got halfway across I dropped him and went in search of the doctor.
                             * * * *
    He didn’t look like a miner; his clothes were too clean.  There’s something about him that didn’t quite fit that of a cowboy, but he had been in here for the last four mornings, always eating at a different table.  Molly was thinking about the man sitting two tables away from her while she held her coffee cup in both hands peering over it.
    “Marta, have you ever seen that man before?”she asked.
    Marta turned to look at the man.  “Only since he has been coming in here.  Why?”
    “I don’t know.  Something familiar about him,” Molly responded.  “Hmmm, he had a beard…”
    He caught her staring, he smiled, stood up, tipped his hat, then…