The man was leaning toward one side, and grimaced as he took a step. As he got to the table where we were sitting he opened his coat revealing a rifle cocked and ready to fire. Nodding at Molly, he said, “I hear that you’re the proprietor of this establishment.”
Molly nodded, then the man continued. “I don’t want to hurt anybody or cause any trouble, but I’d like some grub for me and the boys to take along with us,” there was a pause. “And I hate to have to ask, but I want all the money you have on hand. It’s nothing personal, mind you, but me and the boys are in a bad fix.”
I noticed all the time he was talking to Molly, but he kept his eyes on me. “Now, Marshal, I know that you’re a-hankering to pull that hogleg you’re carrying. Please don’t. I really don’t want to bloody up this establishment needlessly.”
“Mister, what’s your problem? Maybe I can be of help.” I replied, placing both hands on the table. Looking around the room I saw where the men were placed. There was no way I could get all three men.
He laughed at my suggestion. I continued to talk as Molly got up and went to the kitchen. “If you’re hurt, this here is Doc Jones. He’s a fine doctor. If it’s your soul that needs healing, the other man seated here is the Rev. Chapman. Between the three of us we should be able to help in one way or another.”
“Marshal, you’re mighty considerate, but there’s not much any of you can do to help the likes of me or the boys. As soon as we get a bite to eat, the money, and some food to take along we’ll leave your fair town.”
Molly had Emelda bring out three plates of biscuits covered with gravy. The man by the kitchen motioned for her to set one on the table in front of him, then told her to take a plate to the man at the door, and one over to the table next to us. He then sat down placing his pistol on the table and began to eat. The man at the door did the same while the one talking with us stood there watching and waiting.
“What’s your name, Mister?” I asked, wanting to know who was holding a gun on me.
A slight smile came to his face. “Fred Dover, Marshal. It mean anything to you?”
I nodded my head. “I’ve heard the name. Robbed a bank up at Gunnison and another toward Montrose. What I don’t understand is why did you come back south and not keep goin’ into Utah?”
“The boys, Clem and Lige Donor, wanted to see their home down near Santa Fe. Plus my bones don’t cotton to cold weather. Usually warmer down toward New Mexico.”
The other two ate in a hurry and were now back on their feet. Emelda and Molly had packed three bags of food for them, placing them on the table by the man by the kitchen who I assume was Clem Donor. Molly had a small sack of money that Dover motioned for her to place on the table by his plate and told her to sit there. He glanced at the other two and they had their guns out. Dover laid the rifle on the table picked up the plate and began to shovel the food into his mouth.
When he finished, he nodded at Molly thanking her. “Sorry folks for the inconvenience, but we have to run.”
He started to back out, then gave out a shrill cry of pain, falling to the floor. I jumped to my feet, pulling my gun as Clem Donor hollered, “Fred!”
Fred Donor was on the floor curled up, his face etched in pain. My gun was on Clem Donor. I yelled, “Lige, don’t do anything stupid!”
When I said that I saw him out of the corner of my eye…