That was a mighty fine breakfast,” said Rev. Chapman heartily. “Mighty fine. Betty and I are so grateful for friends like you and Miles.”
Dale Chapman and his wife, Betty, had accepted our invitation for breakfast. We don’t often get to see his wife except for church on Sunday and then we just greet her as we know other folk want to speak to her. The preacher had come in and done a good job since taking over for Rev. Robinson.
“Well, it’s nigh until noon,” I informed them then reached for the coffeepot sitting on the stove to refill our cups.
For that I received a frown from Molly. “Miles, don’t be exaggerating. It’s barely ten o’clock. Besides, you know we had to wait until the rush was over so I could join you,” she said, then turned to Betty. “It seems like I never get to chat with you, Betty. We need to make some time every week or so to see each other.”
That brought a smile from Betty. After I finished pouring the coffee I glanced around the room. At one table sat Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher. Bill took over the feed store after Kohlmeyer sold out. His wife, Wanda, was a thin, fairly attractive woman with blond hair. She worked along with Bill with her doing most of the bookwork and billing. At another table were four, out of work miners. They had come down early for the winter months. I hadn’t spoke with them yet so didn’t know if they had a claim or worked for one of the large mines.
Marta was waiting on them and seemed to ignore us. Charlie had come back a day from Silverton saying that Masterson had everything under control. Mateo came back from his county rounds and would be in town for the elections with Charlie. I hadn’t been able to talk with him much about Marta, then again, it was none of my business.
“Pastor,” began Molly interrupting my thoughts. “Marta and I usually have a dinner for all the down-and-outs for Thanksgiving and was wondering if you and Betty would like to be involved. We usually start around ten in the morning and serve until six in the evening. I thought we could have some singing and maybe a short message from you sometime during the day.”
I was watching the preacher get excited. I knew he played the guitar. “Great! We would love to. I’ll bring my guitar, and Betty can play the accordion. Oh, and we’ll help with the serving,” he looked at me. “What?”
“Just smilin’,” I replied. “It’s always a good time. Rain, shine, or snow, we’ve done it for several years.”
Molly had gone to the kitchen and brought out pie for each of us, that made my smile grow larger. “Miles, aren’t you spoiled by her pies?” inquired the preacher.
I grinned at him, “Yes, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
Picking up my fork I cut into a piece of apple pie and was lifting it to my mouth when Lucas barged through the door. “Senor Marshal Miles, come quickly,” he gasped out of breath from running. “There is trouble at the voting.”
I thrust the piece in my mouth, put on my jacket and grabbed the Greener then followed Lucas to the polling center. Charlie was between two groups of people–a large contingent from the Mexican town and a group of the local citizens. There was a Mexican man getting up from the ground. I saw that Charlie had an axe handle in his hand and was reaching for his handcuffs.
“What’s the problem?” I asked Charlie.
Before the sheriff could answer Frankie Volder spoke up. “These here Mexicans are trying to vote. They ain’t got no right.” Volder was a part-time laborer for the railroad loading and unloading supplies, along with being a general troublemaker. “Sam was trying to stop them when the sheriff interfered.”
“You want him, Marshal? He committed a federal offense,” said Charlie.
“You can’t do this, I was only exercising my rights!” hollered Sam Tipton. “They shouldn’t be allowed to vote.”
“Give him here Sheriff, I’ll take him over to the jail.” I looked around at the crowd. “Use that axe handle if you need to. I’ll be back as soon as I lock him up.”
I shoved Tipton in front of me. I was only a block away from the jail. About half-way there I heard shouting from the crowd I had left. “Lucas, take him on up and lock him up. Leave the cuffs on until I get there.”
Rushing back I saw that Charlie had begun to swing the axe knocking a couple of the protesters on the ground but he was being overrun. Lifting the Greener up I thumped the first person I came to on top of the head dropping him. It was mayhem, so I decided I needed a little attention getter. I fired one barrel into the air. Everyone stopped, sudden-like.
Seymour Clevenger was the clerk and he had a pistol out carefully guarding the votes that had been cast. The Mexican contingent was slowly moving away back toward their section of town. “Sheriff,” I hollered, “get them back here.”
Turning my attention to the rest, I then leveled the shotgun on Frankie Volder. “The rest of you go stand on the boardwalk behind you. We’ll vote one at a time, under my supervision. Volder, you first, then get out of town! If I see you around after you vote I’ll arrest you for vagrancy.”
I pointed toward the voting area with the Greener. There was some argument coming from the Mexicans and Charlie, but I saw that he began to do the same on his side of the street. After Volder voted I motioned for him to get and then stopped the next person who was coming forward. I nodded at Charlie and he sent forth one of the Mexicans. We continued that the rest of the day until it was time for the polls to close. The tension had ceased after Volder and some of his cronies left, but I noticed that there were several of the Mexicans standing who had not voted. Since they were in line we had to let them vote, so we allowed them to come in groups of three. In a half hour they were finished, the poll closed, and time for Clevenger and Judge Klaser to count the votes. Charlie and I would stay around until all votes were counted.
An hour later, we had the victor…