Things had seemed to settle down the next few days. Charlie had gone up to Silverton to check on how the new marshal was doing. I told Mateo that I would help him in his duties around town. Durango was getting large enough, no, in fact, it was large enough that Mateo needed a deputy or two. Mateo did the night check, going to bed around midnight leaving Lucas in the office in case of an emergency. I would make the morning rounds after getting Molly set up in the diner. She only owned twenty percent now, but she didn’t put in any less hours.
I had noticed that throughout the day there was always a hub of men moving in and out of Amos Martin’s store. He was either doing great business or was running his mouth off to whoever would listen. Shame is, there were a lot of folk who would listen. The Sunday crowd was slimmer than normal at church, and some who did come seemed to avoid the preacher.
It was three nights after the incident with Martin that there were signs of trouble again. Mateo was making his way home just after midnight when he saw a couple of men running out from the Mexican area of town. He hollered for them to stop, but they kept right on running. Then a shot was fired, not from the direction of those running, but from the barrio, missing Mateo by only inches.
He moved into the shadows, seeking to find where the shot was fired. He glanced down towards the way the men ran, thinking they might come back. After fifteen minutes of waiting, he moved slowly, keeping to the dark of the shadows in the direction of his home. Whoever fired the shot had either moved, or left the scene, but he was still cautious as he approached his adobe.
Finding the door was locked, as he attempted to open it, he smiled. “Good woman,” he muttered to himself, then knocked on the door.
A few seconds later, he heard the lock being released, and the door slowly opening. When it opened enough to let him in, there came a gasp from Luciana and she covered her face with her hands. Trembling, she pointed one hand toward the door. In either blood or paint, it was hard to tell in the darkness the word “DEATH” was printed.
Mateo quickly shut and locked the door moving his wife back to the lowly burning fireplace. He was glad of the warmth, as the night beat had put a chill in him along with the message on the door. For several minutes he held his shaking wife.
When I went by the jail the next morning, Alejo was telling Lucas what had transpired. “It had to be Martin,” I thought to myself, the anger beginning to boil inside.
I would give Mateo another couple of hours to sleep then would go up to see how he and Luciana were doing. “Alejo, do you want to join me for breakfast at the diner?” I asked, and not waiting for an answer, I added. “As soon as I finish my rounds I’ll meet you there.”
He smiled, then answered, “Si, Senor Miles. I have to fill up a couple of woodboxes and when I finish I will gladly meet you.”
Looking back at the cell area, then to Lucas, I said, “You might as well join us since there are no desperadoes to guard. Lock up the office when Alejo comes back and we’ll head down.”
I was just coming from behind Doc Jones’ place when Lucas hurried out followed by Doc. “Hey,” I hollered, but they didn’t pay any mind and continued up to the jail. I thought it prudent to follow them. Arriving at the jail, I followed them back to the cell area where I saw Alejo lying with the tar beat out of him on one of the cots. I stood by the doorway while Doc went in to minister to him and Lucas came to stand beside me.
We both watched Doc, then heard Alejo groan loudly. Without looking toward me, Lucas said, “Alejo said it was Frank Moser and another man.”
It was early that neither the saloons nor the stores were open. I questioned Lucas, not staring at him. “Any idea where they might be?”
“He was pretty woozy when he stumbled in here,” stated Lucas. “They were waiting for him at the bottom of the hill near the Widow Moss’ place. He muttered something about being run over by a horse, then they dismounted and started beating him.”
That was a good place to start. Since no one was out yet, I could find the tracks left by their horses. “It’s time I gave someone a good thumpin’. Stay here…”