The Saga of Miles Forrest

This here’s ’bout the spot, Mr. Bartholomew,” I remarked.
“The spot?  What are you talking about?
“Somewhere along this section was where Wray was murdered.  I didn’t see any marks along the siding where he could have come up from the ravine.  Whoever killed him must have been aboard the train,”  I paused, letting this sink in.  “Trenton was not on the passenger list.  So I think yur jumpin’ to conclusions about him.”
I believed it was Trenton, and I would hold him for questioning if I ever saw him, but I wasn’t going to give this jasper the benefit of that thought.  “Have your men in Denver checked the train crew?  I’m sure a former judge had his enemies.”
He just sort of frowned at this.  After that the conversation stopped.  I nudged Molly.  “Want to go to the diner to get some coffee?”
“Oh, Miles, sit down and relax.  You’ve been there already.  At lease wait a couple of hours until lunchtime.”
Sighing, I nodded.  I kept noticing Bartholomew’s eyes moving toward me, and then down, kind of like he was anxious about something.
“Mister Bartholomew, somethin’ botherin’ you?” I asked.
 He sort of stuttered, “The shotgun, do you have to carry it all the time?”
 I gave him a little smile.  “This ol’ Greener?  Why, Mr. Bartholomew, she is almost as sweet to me as my precious Molly.  In fact, I probably have my hands on it more than I do on her.”
 With that I felt a sharp elbow in the side.  I darnt not look her way.
 “Well, it makes me nervous,” he retorted.
 Smiling again, “That’s the whole purpose.  It makes lots of folks nervous.  It can do quite the damage to a person’s body.”  But I moved it to the seat that was facing us and we got quite and into the rhythm of the clickety-clack on the rails.
 The trip wasn’t all that bad, I was just anxious for some reason, ready to get off. Bartholomew just wasn’t my style of company. Arriving at the station in Denver I helped Molly off and motioned for a carriage.  As I was helping Molly up the step, Bartholomew came up behind me and grabbed my shoulder.  I whipped around and just stopped short and crowning him with the Greener.
 “See, this is one reason I carry this shotgun.  I could have easily cracked your head with it.  For a man who’s supposed to be smart, you really don’t have much sense.”
He just grumbled some and then said.  “The Wells Fargo office is just down the street; we don’t need a carriage.”
“First things first,” I replied.  “I need to see a friend first.”
“But Myers wanted to see you first thing!”  He was getting livid.
“You tell Myers and anyone else that I’ll be down in short order.”
“But I was told…”
“You told me, and I’ll see you in a bit.  Now you better get along and report.”
I gave the driver the address.  I figured if Cook was in town he would be at his office.  It had been only a few months since I had been in Denver, but my mercy, there were a lot of people.  The streets were bustling with folk moving up and down them.  Things sure had changed since I first came here from Texas. 
Riding in the carriage a person could spot all kinds of folks.  There were the fancy-dancy folk; it seemed that they walked with a peculiar style, kind of a stiff legged with a wiggle in the behind.  Then there were the down-and-out, those with the weasel-eyes, looking to snitch something and moving-in-and-out of the crowds.  One thing that was rare was a common person.  Yep, seemed like Denver was becoming like Chicago or one of those eastern cities.  People putting on airs and people ready to make a buck from them.
 Cook’s office was a little place down from the Mint that was being built.  I must have been shaking my head for Molly asked, “What’s wrong, Miles?”
 “Just thinkin’ ’bout all the types of people here now.”  I nodded, “And here is another sort, federal people from Washington.”
 She gave a half laugh.  “You’re silly.  You’re a Deputy United States Marshal, isn’t that a federal person?”
 The carriage came to a halt.  “I’m not that kind of federal person.  That gives me half a mind to let you get out by yourself.”
 “You do that,” she remarked, “And that’s what you’ll have–half a mind.”
 I helped her out, being the gentleman that I am.  Then the driver said “four-bits”, and I almost choked.