Let’s go home, Miles,” said Molly to me at supper.
There were three other boarders sitting at the table with us, but Molly and I were the only couple. They joined me in looking up from our gravy-laden pork chops.
“Ma’am,” one man began. He was a short-balding man and had always been very polite. He worked in the assay office in town. I knew he made good money so I wondered why he didn’t have a place of his own. Reckon he preferred to save his money. Life was easier this way for him. “I trust that none of us hurried your decision. We,” in nodded at the other two men, “have greatly enjoyed your company at the table.”
Turning her attention to him, she replied, “You have done nothing wrong. I just want to be on my way home.”
“I can understand, especially after what happened to your husband this afternoon,” piped up a weak-eyed, frog-looking sort of a man who operated a carpenter shop.
The other man hadn’t joined in, he just started cutting his porkchop though watching with upturned eyes. He was dressed well, and Ma Jones said that he owned a haberdashery shop.
“Oh, do tell what happened to my husband,” she suggested looking over at me. I gave a slight shrug of my shoulders and joined the haberdasher in eating.
“You don’t know? He shot, not only that, he killed three men down on Main Street. They were ruffians; I’d seen them hanging around town. They were the type to slug someone in an alley and take his gold.”
“Do you know their names?” inquired Molly.
“No, no, no one knows their names. That’s one of the problems. They were just ne’er-to-dos, men slumming the town.”
I wiped my moustache off with the linen napkin then answered. “Lard.” They all looked at me. “Lard, was the name of the big one. That’s all the name I got.”
“Everyone was saying that your husband was cornered. He was lucky, three men, one behind him even, and he shot all three. Yesiree, he was lucky,” said the frog-looking man.”
“Hmpf,” snorted Molly. “There was no luck about it if Miles shot them. It’s called Providence, Mister Haskem. The Lord was there to protect him.” She paused, then added, “plus the fact that he is mighty good with a gun. But that is another reason for us to go home.”
Finally the third man had to have his say. “You a gunman, then it’s good riddance to you!”
Molly jerked her head toward the man, her eyes flinging daggers in his direction. “Sir, my husband carries a gun to aid his profession. A gunman–no, but a man who knows how to use one to protect those around him.” She then got up and left the table.
I pulled on the end of my moustache, then looked down at my plate. At least I had finished the porkchop. I stood then saw the piece of cake sitting there. I looked at the three men and was not willing that anyone else should have it. I picked it up, took a large bite from it, nodded at the men and left carrying the rest of the cake.
We were about half-way home the next day. I asked Molly if she didn’t want to shop in Denver, but she replied that she had done all her shopping already. Fortunately we were able to make connections from Central City to Denver and now were traveling out of Pueblo. The clickety-clack of the train over the rails didn’t hinder our talk. I told her of the situation with the shooting, and we discussed other things.
Putting her arm through mine, she uttered, “Thank you, for bringing me. We don’t get much time together.” Then she snuggled close. I thought she might have dozed off, but she lifted her head and pulled away. “We’ll get in on Wednesday, right?” I nodded. She gave me a smile, “That’ll give me time to help Marta and Emelda with the Thanksgiving dinner. Joe Dixon said he would give us several turkeys, but I told him that only two would fit in the oven. Mateo was taking Lucas along with him and his two boys to hunt. The weather’s been mild, so there might not be as many out-of-work miners in town. I look forward to doing this every year, don’t you?”
Before I could give an answer she snuggled back to me, and this time I knew she was asleep.