Miles was waiting in Taos for the train to return to Durango. He had taken a room in the hotel and had decided to take a walk before supper to get the lay of the town. He was in the process of talking with a not too helpful or joyful hostler at the livery. Join with me and let’s see what happens in the life of Miles Forrest.
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“Get on out of here, O’Shannasy!” ordered a rough voice from in back of me. I started to turn noticing that the hostler only took a couple of steps back and was leaning forward. After I completed my turn the man spoke to men. “I don’t like strangers asking questions in my town, nor riling up the citizens. You have no right…”
That’s when I cut him off. “On the contrary,” I said, looking at his badge.
A grim look came on his face with his eyes going past me to the hostler. “O’Shannasy, I told you to git!”
Without looking at the hostler, I countered that order, “No stay, I want to talk with you!”
“Mister, you better shut your mouth, or…”
I noticed his hand on the grip of his gun. “Or what, Marshal? Can’t a man talk with a citizen of your town?” I asked, emphasizing “your”.
The marshal seemed to control his anger then asked. “Who do you think you are coming in here like this?”
Calmly I responded, “Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest, and this man might have some information regarding a man who attempted to murder people on the train.”
The marshal snorted, then snapped, “You have no jurisdiction here!”
Giving him one of my best smiles, I replied, “This badge is my jurisdiction.”
The man either had a bee in his bonnet or an unsightly rash somewhere unseen. “I think you need to come with me,” he snarled and started to pull his pistol.
I poked him, not too gentle, in the gut with the barrel of the Greener causing him to gasp and grab his stomach. I didn’t want to hit the town marshal, but it was tempting. Instead I lifted the Greener up cocking it. “Now, Marshal, why don’t you get along with your business, and let me tend to mine,” I said, then added. “I don’t care much for folk to interfere with my investigations.”
He stared at the barrel of the shotgun; it does have the tendency to gather one’s attention. His eyes went up to mine, then over to the hostler. His hand was still on his stomach as he straightened. “This isn’t over,” he muttered.
“It is for now!”
Trying to pull some dignity to his being he removed his hand and with a huff walked away. I didn’t pay him any more mind and turned to the man before me. “Mr. O’Shannasay, you heard what I said. I just want to follow up regarding the train holdup. One man was wounded and rode away. All I want to do is talk with him, see if he could be the man from the train.”
He shook his head while shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t rightly know. I didn’t pay much attention. He gave me a dollar for the stall and feed. I couldn’t tell if he was shot or not, I didn’t see any blood.”
“Did he give a name?”
Shaking his head, “Nope, all he said was ‘take care of my horse’ an’ handed me the coin.”
I nodded at him. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I turned, took two steps, then looked back at him. “That marshal, he have a name?”
“That’s Marshal Lyles Hampton,” he said, emphasizing the “marshal.”
Cocking my head to the side, I pulled on my moustache, thinking. For some reason that name sounded familiar. Lyles Hampton…