The Saga of Miles Forrest

Dave went down to the station with us, both as a friend and to sort of keep guard as well.  I told him I didn’t need a nursemaid to help me along.  And what did I get from him?  Just a smile.
“Molly, it’s always good to see you,” he said as he helped her up the step to the train.  “Try and keep better control of your clumsy husband.”
She leaned down and hugged him.  “You’re a good friend, Dave Cook.”
“Looks like someone else came down to escort you off,” he remarked to me.  Over to the side was the chief of the Denver police and two of his officers. 
I waved and smiled at them.  They didn’t wave back.
“Dave, what’s wrong?  You’d think I was the criminal, not the person that was shot at,” I said shaking my head.  Then I reached out my hand.  “Hope our trails cross again.”
He didn’t say anything; just took my hand.  When he released it, he waved up at Molly.
The coach was crowded so we couldn’t grab a seat where we could look in both directions.  Hopefully when we reached Pueblo and had to change trains the new one wouldn’t be so crowded.  We would grab a bite to eat there and then board the train that would take us to Durango.  Most of that trip would be during the night.
Sitting next to me, she sort of cuddled and rested her head on my shoulder.  Looking up she said, “One thing for sure.  Being the wife of Miles Forrest sure hasn’t been boring.”  Then she buried her head back on my shoulder.
Being my nature I looked over the passengers.  Mostly there were business-types going down Texas or other places.  I didn’t see one questionable person on board except for some squirrely-looking guys, the type I would take for shysters.  There were a couple of other women on board besides Molly.
It has come to my attention that the clickety-clack of the train on the rails and the rocking motion can rock a person to sleep.  I wasn’t trying to stay awake so I succumbed to slumber.  Finally at the second water stop, just outside Colorado Spring I decided to take a walk.  Molly was awake so I asked her, “Want to walk with me?”  She declined.  “I’m goin’ to try and find a cup of coffee; be back shortly.”
The trains were more and more luxurious and this one had a dining car.  I ordered two cups of coffee and my mercy, for the two of them it cost $.16.  When I tasted it, well, words cannot rightly express.  It was dark, sort of, but they must have just rinsed the beans in the water.  Sixteen cents for flavored water.  Guess that’s the way life was becoming.
I took it back to Molly.  She took a sip and grimaced.  “What is this?” 
“Finest coffee on the Denver, Santa Fe, and Rio Grande.  Tasty, ain’t it?”
At least it gave us something to drink, bad as it was.  “Miles, I don’t want to live in Denver.”
I looked at her.  “Me neither.  I reckon I can still ride the stage as shotgun.  They’re not owned by Wells Fargo, just do some shippin’ for them.  The marshalin’ job don’t make much money unless I would take up huntin’ outlaws full time, and that would take me from home.”
She was trying to drink the coffee.  “Do you think it was Murker who shot at you?”
“It wouldn’t be him, he would have one of his flunkies do it.  But no, he has no reason to kill me,” I paused and took a sip.  “Ferguson had been seen on the Front Range the past few months.  Could’ve been him.”
“Strange sort of events.  I don’t reckon he’s around,” pausing and looking at her.  “But you never know.”
“When we get to Pueblo, let’s not go find a place to eat.  Let’s just find a place to buy a sandwich and find our train.  I don’t have a good feeling.”
Patting her arm and then taking her hand, I just nodded.