This series was put on hold for a couple of weeks, so let’s go back to where we left Miles. He had just arrested the crooked city marshal of Silverton, Todd Johnson, and had placed him in his own jail. Miles had moved off into a darkened corner away from the office desk and was waiting for the night to pass when shots were fired blasting out the windows, the glass falling on the desk where he might have been sitting. Let’s return to the action in another exciting adventure in the Saga of Miles Forrest.
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I had expected something of this nature to happen, but even if one is prepared for it, shots do tend to get one’s attention. I waited, lifting the barrel of the Greener toward the door. It was silent, then the door crashed open. I still waited. One man came through, then another, and I could see a third coming. It was time to unload both barrels. There were screams, a thud, some yelling and two men hurried to get back outside. I quickly pulled my pistol, fired three shots at the entrance, then quickly reloaded the shotgun and my pistol in the lull.
Another man was down, and possibly one more hurt bad enough that he wouldn’t cause any problems. That buckshot may have even twinged the third man in the doorway. I had lost count of how many deputies Johnson now had, but it had to be only a handful. They would be more careful about showing themselves or doing anything rash.
I didn’t move for at least thirty minutes, waiting to see if they would try anything else. I also wanted Johnson to be on edge. He would be wondering what had happened and since the door to the cell room hadn’t opened I’d let him think the worst. Finally I did move, but it was up to the front corner. I would be protected from shots coming in from either window or the entrance.
Sitting on a chair in the front corner I could see the figure of the man lying on the floor. Shame. Why do some men go to the bad this way? I’ve heard all the reasons, but really none of them make sense. The devil sure gets his claws on some of them, lying and deceiving them into thinking that evil is the best, quickest, and easiest way to get ahead, but all it really does is hasten their appearance before their Maker.
It must have been around five o’clock when I heard someone holler. “Marshal!” I didn’t answer. I didn’t want them to know my location. Besides, were they hollering for me or their boss? Again, I heard, “Marshal!” louder this time.
The sounds of footsteps on broken glass caught my attention. No matter how quiet they were trying to be, I couldn’t help but hear them, and it helped that I had moved closer to the outside wall. “Marshal Johnson,” came the voice again, quieter this time. Then a holler, “Hunker down!”
Two men came in, I fired the Greener again, and heard one man holler, “No!” It was then I saw the stick of dynamite in his hand as he was falling. I moved toward the wall, pulling the desk that was there over on top of me. It wasn’t light when it fell on me, but I figured that was all the chance I had. Seconds later, the stick of dynamite exploded. If the shotgun blast hadn’t taken care of them, that explosion certainly would have.
Two left, three? Maybe there were more, but one thing for sure was that explosion would wake the town people. They were used to hearing dynamite going off up in the camps and around the mines, but not down on a main street.
I was trying to pull myself out from under the desk when I heard a voice, “My land, this place is a disaster. Lloyd, go for the doctor, I see bodies lying about.”
From my prone position all I could see were the legs of men coming to view the scene. I let the man go for the doctor, then spoke up. “Everybody hold still. I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Miles Forrest, and any sudden move might make me jerk my finger and you’d be joinin’ those on the floor.”
“Sure Marshal,” came the voice. “What in the world happened?”
“Get out of the way!” hollered a man whose voice I recognized. “Miles, are you in there?”
Morgan Appleby.
“Morgan, clear those people out of the office and make way for the doctor.”
“Where are you, Miles?”
“I’ll show myself after the office is clear. I have Johnson in a cell in the back.”
Slowly the men began to move out of the office, but I knew they were hanging around on the boardwalk and in the street outside the jail. Holding on to the back of the desk, I pulled myself up. The concussion from the blast had made me some dizzy and there were some bruises and cuts I didn’t know I had. I felt the hand of Morgan grasp my arm, holding me steady.
“When the doc shows up, I need to have these men identified, and also see if Johnson has any more deputies.”
Morgan helped me move over to my original position to the chair in the back corner. He looked at the office and began to shake his head, when…