Take him to jail, Sheriff,” I said motioning toward Olson.
“Os, get out some paper and write exactly what you saw and heard,” I ordered Oswald Dierker the bartender at Olson’s saloon. “I want it dated, and signed. Sheriff, before you take off with Olson I want you to read what Os wrote, then sign it.”
I turned my attention back to McCall who was now standing. “McCall, I don’t understand you. I even vouched for you to the city council.”
His face turned into a snarl, and he lashed out. “Forrest, you’ll pay for this.” He dropped his hand lower toward the butt of his gun. I stepped on his hand and it sounded as if I broke a bone, but it would have been in his little finger. Painful, a little, would it keep him from handling a gun, slightly maybe.
“Go ahead, give it a try,” I challenged him.
“I’m faster than you, Forrest!” he asserted.
“Your call, I’m waitin’.”
Quickly he placed both hands on the table. He must have figured there was just enough damage and pain to slow him down and he didn’t figure on eating some of my lead.
“I’ll be back for you,” I informed him then picked up the Greener, took the two shells from my vest pockets and loaded it.
Walking out of the saloon I turned to my left starting up the street toward Foster’s mercantile. There was always a pleasant atmosphere in his store, largely due to his daughter who kept the shelves straight and stocked. When I walked in she was standing on a little ladder dusting shelves.
“Hello, Darnelle, your father around?” I asked.
“Why, Marshal Forrest, I haven’t seen you in several weeks. Where have you been keeping yourself? And yes, he is in the backroom. Daddy! You’ve a visitor!” She stepped down from the ladder and stood behind the counter busying herself straightened out jars filled with different kinds of candies.
She always made me grin. “Been chasing badmen down in New Mexico. Bad deal,” I informed her.
Fear ran across her face for a moment. “You didn’t get hurt?”
Shaking my head, “No’m, but two U.S. Marshals were seriously wounded. The Lord kept His hand on me.”
“Why, Miles, welcome. I didn’t know you were back. What can I do for you?” inquired Wilson Foster.
“Mister Foster,” I began. I always liked him and his wife, a good man, but at times he was sort of weak-kneed. “Has McCall asked you for money for his protection?”
He started blinking his eyes rapidly then looked down. “Uh, why Miles, whatever do you mean?”
“Wilson, don’t play games with me! If you’re hidin’ somethin’ I’ll find it out! Now answer me!”
I glanced at Darnelle; her eyes were wide. “Daddy, tell him!” she snapped.
My stare went back to Foster. “I’m waitin’.”
“Uh, well, he called it ‘insurance,'” responded Foster. “It’s just twenty-five dollars a month. No real big deal.”
I wanted to slap him silly. “It’s called extortion! An officer of the law doesn’t protect you for money; it’s part of his sworn duty.”
Upon receiving the information I was needing I turned to walk out tipping my hat, “Darnelle.”
Going across the street to John Newsome’s shop I hoped he wouldn’t be as mealy-mouthed as Foster. He was over at a counter rearranging some of the ladies’ wear. This was a shop that I wanted to be out of quickly and so I go right to the point and he answered me the same.
I stopped to see Rufus, owner of the Broken Drum, and he was quick to answer my question. The charge for him was to be thirty-five dollars since he was competition with Olson. I liked Rufus, didn’t care much for his occupation, but he was an honest man.
One more stop, I didn’t have to go to every store, but I wanted a fair sampling. On down the street, back toward the diner next to the telegraph office was Solly Vendor’s cigar store. The same story, McCall was planning on making a tidy some from these businesses. I had enough evidence to arrest McCall so I headed back up toward Olson’s saloon.
McCall wasn’t there. Looking at Os, he just opened his hands shrugging his shoulders. As I started to walk out I heard the shot of a small caliber pistol, then the boom of a .45…