If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” –1 John 1:8-9 (NIV)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I jumped out of my chair rushing to meet her. She was carrying a package, but she looked fraught as she stumbled toward me. “A man,” she said pointing outside, “ran at me when I was coming beside the park.”
She stifled a giggle then proceeded. “I was startled to say the least, and he would have grabbed me but when he reached for me he slipped on the ice and fell. Otherwise…” she let the thought linger.
“Did you get a look at him?”
Shaking her head, she muttered, “No, I only saw that he had on a brown coat and was wearing some kind of animal fur on his head, fox maybe.”
I took her to the table where Doc was still sitting. Donning my coat, I picked up the Greener and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
At the park I quickly found where Molly was accosted and the spot where the man fell. He did not run back into the park but must have run in the tracks left by horses and wagons in the street. He could not be far, so I decided to walk up toward the main part of town looking for any place that he might have left the tracks. There were plenty of people milling around as it was a nice day after a week of snow. I might add, plenty of people were wearing brown.
There were some wearing fur as headgear, but it was almost impossible to try to pick someone out. I did see Lyle Gorman, outside his store sweeping the walk so I went up to him. “Hey-do, Marshal,” he grinned. “Nice day, but with the snow melting it sure creates a mess.”
After greeting him I asked, “Lyle, did you happen to see a man in a hurry come by here? He would have been wearin’ a fur hat.”
He stopped to look around, a gloved hand rubbing his chin. “Can’t rightly say, Marshal. Seems like everybody’s in a hurry. And I ain’t rightly been paying much attention.”
“Thanks,” I muttered and went on up the street to glance in a couple of the saloons. He couldn’t have gone far.
I stepped inside the Broken Drum. After letting my eyes adjust I scanned over the room. Only a few people were at the bar with one table occupied. None appeared as if they just came in from outside. The next stop was Henry’s House. It was a ne’er-to-do-place; one of which Mateo always found miscreants and drunks. I was shaking my head when Mick Barnes the barkeep motioned for me to come to the bar.
“You needin’ something, Forrest?” he asked curtly.
“Just lookin’ around,” I replied then positioned myself where my back was against the bar.
“This is a drinking place, not a looking place. You’re crowdin’ up the bar if you’re not drinking,” he growled.
I glanced up the bar, smiled at the lack of customers, then spoke back to Barnes, “I see you’re doin’ a bang-up business. Now shut up while I’m perusin’ the clientele.”
That caused him to grumble more, and he turned to walk back up to the end of the bar. I decided to follow him, just for fun, or maybe it was orneriness.
My guts told me that something was amiss. At the end of the bar there was a door that either led to a stockroom or to the outside alley. I decided to look inside. As I started to open the door, Barnes hollered, “Hey! You can’t go in there!”
I stopped, glanced over at him. “Watch!” Instead of opening the door as I first intended I kicked it off the hinges. There was no one there, but the door leading to the back alley was open. I knew it would be useless to try to follow outside so I turned back to Barnes.
“Who was in there?”
“Nobody,” came his quick reply.
I heaved a sigh while at the same time lifted the shotgun. “If you don’t want a thump, I would advise you to tell me.”
He raised his chin with arrogant defiance. “Try it!” he snapped.
His eyes were partially fixed on the Greener so since he offered me such an inviting target I obliged him and struck him with my left fist on that jutting jaw. He crashed to the floor. Pulling himself up by the shelf under the bar I saw that he was reaching for a sawed-off shotgun. “Not a good idea,” I stressed, cocking the Greener and pointed the barrel in his direction.
Sputtering some kind of oath he stood glaring at me. “Close up shop. You’re comin’ with me.”
“What for?” he demanded to know.
“Oh, I could come up with a half dozen charges; might even think of a few more while walkin’ to the jail.”
He went to a closet, and I watched him carefully to make sure he only pulled out a coat. After he put it on we started for the door when…