Brrr, I was cold. We had a good, wet snow last night and the dampness had gotten into my bones. Doc Jones laughed when I came in to huddle around the stove at the Diner. He told me it was old age creeping in and once it did not even a stove could get rid of it.
Lucas had shoveled off the walk in front of the jail, and I went down to Foster’s store to help Darnelle shovel in front. I paid Connor Blackstone a dime to clean off in front of the diner, then go up and shovel in front of the Foster home. Wilson was doing some better, but he was mostly confined to a wheelchair. I would try to visit him once a week or so, and he would walk with a cane from the wheelchair to a rocker that sat in front of the fireplace.
Doc and I was sitting in front of the stove; I was still trying to warm up while he was enjoying a biscuit along with a big piece of sausage. I had already eaten as I had come to the diner early to get the stoves fired. Molly was wanting to make several pies and Emelda would be in before six. Marta would show up shortly after. She hadn’t been real friendly since our discussion a few weeks back, but came and did her job without saying much. I think she and Lucas were on the outs as he was staying at the jail. Without a city marshal there were few in the cells. Either Charlie or Mateo would try to be here for the weekend to keep control over the bar crowd.
Since Masterson had taken over in Silverton Charlie hadn’t gone back to visit. Mateo was over in Telluride and when he came back Charlie would go on up to Silverton to check things out. He was good about letting Masterson work the town and he would hear complaints surrounding the mining camps. With this snow some of the miners who hadn’t shown any color would pack up and go to Silverton or on down here to Durango. Overall the past couple of weeks had been very quiet.
I was working on my second cup of coffee. My toes were beginning to warm and the chill from my body had now passed. Doc was wrong, I thought when John Newsome came in the door. I hadn’t talked to John much since Foster’s stroke. He went to all the tables in the room greeting those sitting at them. He was doing some politicking as next week was election time. This was the first time he had faced an opponent–Theodore Howell was running against him.
Howell had come to town from Omaha and set up a hardware business. From what I knew about him, he was hard-working and a straight-forward businessman. On a day-to-day basis he was much more friendly than John. His wife Sally stayed in the background as far as the store was concerned but she was always helping out when someone needed assistance. She had become good friends with Betty Chapman and would often sing during the Sunday morning service. That alone didn’t set well with Jewelene Newsome. There’s talk going about allowing women to vote. I haven’t thought through the issue yet, but one thing for certain it would certainly make elections more interesting.
Newsome finally made it to our table and without asking set himself down. “Doc, how are you this crisp, snowy morning?” he said enthusiastically slapping Doc on the shoulder. “Miles, how about filling me up a cup of coffee from the stove.”
I ignored him by asking, “What brings you out on this cold morning, John?”
“Oh, just thought I’d come visit the folks of this fine community. The stores in the competent hands of Jewelene,” he said looking past me at the coffeepot on the stove.
“Miles, he’s stumping,” related Doc. “Election’s next week and John is out shaking hands and kissing babies.” Doc chuckled, then added looking seriously at Newsome, “Be careful, John. Don’t be getting the impetigo.”
He frowned at Doc. “What are you talking about?”
Before Doc could answer Marta came by. “Would you like some coffee, Senor Newsome?” she asked kindly.
“Yes, I guess Miles didn’t hear me. I would appreciate a cup of your fine brew.” Doc and I looked at each other; he rolled his eyes and I ducked my head down toward the table. John didn’t pay much attention to Marta after replying. She gave a slight frown then went to get a cup.
“I hear the famous Bat Masterson is the marshal up in Silverton. I would certainly like to meet him. Maybe he could come down this weekend and give my campaign a plug,” he said. Marta brought him coffee and he didn’t thank her. He took a taste and frowned. “How about some honey!” he hollered.
“Train’s runnin’,” I ventured. “You could get on this afternoon and come back tomorrow. I’m sure Mr. Masterson would love to meet you,” I said with some sarcasm.
It was Doc’s turn, “John, you’re not running for governor. I don’t think someone of Mr. Masterson’s reputation would want to leave his duties up in Silverton.”
Marta had brought some honey and Newsome was spooning it into his coffee and stirring it. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right. He does have to fulfill his obligations.”
I looked at John, the spoon banging against the cup was getting on my nerves. “John, have you ever been to Silverton?”
He looked at me like I was crazy, then he took a sip. “This coffee’s cold!”