The Saga of Miles Forrest

Dave and I hunkered back in his office.  Slowly Dave moved to where I had left the door standing open.  “Don’t reckon he is still out there; too many people.  Think I’ll just have a look.  Whoever was shooting was aiming at me.”
He stood up and cautiously moved to the doorway.  He peeked out and saw that folk that had been hiding in doors of other establishments were now starting to move about.  I stood to join him and looked at the chip in the brick and then down to the threshold. 
“Clumsiness comes in handy at times,” remarked Dave.
“Either my clumsiness or the good Lord reached out and tripped me,” I replied.
“Oh, oh,” warned Cook.  “Get ready for the Denver police.”
There a half dozen men running our way.  A few yards from where we stood they stopped and pulled their guns.  “Drop your weapons!” came the order from one.  They all were pointing their guns at us.
“Now, listen,” Dave started.
“I don’t care who you are Cook, or who you once were, get rid of your gun!”  Then he pointed at me.  “You too!  Drop that shotgun and your gunbelt!”
“What d’yuh think, Dave?”  I had the shotgun leveled and could have fired off a shot and probably taken two or three of them.  Yep, Dave and I could have easily taken the six of them.  I sure wasn’t hankering to kill any police officers though.
“Best we humor them,” he sighed.
“Times are sure a-changin’.  It makes a person wonder whose side they’re on,” I said as I stooped to lay down the Greener.
With our gunbelts and shotgun on the ground we stood there.  Nothing was happening so Dave remarked, “Do you want us to step aside, or maybe one of you should come and collect our guns?”
“Joe, go get their guns.” 
Dave and I just looked at each other and shook our heads.  It would have been so easy to grab this jasper and use him for a shield.  It made me wonder what kind of training they had, or more, where was their common sense?
“Come down here so we can cuff you,” came the one giving orders.
“That’s far enough, Dewey!” exclaimed Cook.  “We are both United States Deputy Marshals and we will not be handcuffed.  You want to ask questions, ask away!”
“Dewey?” I asked.  “Think it might be a good idea for your men to be searchin’ for the perpetrator instead of holding those who was attacked?”
That sort of took him back and shamed him some.  “We’re on it.  Ben, Fern, see if you can find some kind of evidence as to where this shot came from.”
They started to take off when Dave hollered, “Might be a good idea to check the brick and get a line of direction.”  They stopped and one of them came to the building, looked at the chipped brick and then outward.  He pointed, “Let’s check that building,” and they headed for it.
By that time another officer came up.  He looked to be quite the dandy and I figured he might be the chief of police.  “Are you Forrest?” he asked abruptly.
I nodded.
“This is the second run-in with the police you’ve had today.  I should haul you in.”
Dave and I just stood there, neither of us ready to say anything.  That sort of exasperated the chief further.  “Forrest, I want you out of Denver!”
“Leavin’ on the train tomorrow,” then I nodded to the officer who had picked up our guns.  “I want my guns back now.”
“You can get them on the way out tomorrow,” he snapped.
“I’ll take them now, and then I’ll report that you’re interfering with a federal marshal who is actively involved in an investigation.”
“Get out!” he said and turned.
Cook spoke up, “Chief, our guns?”
He spit out the words, “Give them their guns!”