It’s been three days since the trial of Ben Hendrick. I would be taking him to Canon City tomorrow to begin serving his sentence. Hopefully, on the way I might gain some more information regarding the man who had escaped and the involvement of Amos Martin. So far, he had been close-mouthed regarding others and had become quite sullen. I tried to play on that whenever I saw him, mentioning the fact that he was left to take the blame. Or saying something like a “fine lot of friends he had.” Anything to work on his mind.
The morning after the trial I went to Martin’s Hardware. He opened at 9:00 and I was there shortly after. “Just checkin’ on yuh, Martin. I want to make sure nothin’ happens to yuh.”
“What do you mean, ‘checking on me?’ I haven’t done anything wrong!” he bellowed as if I had hit him. Perhaps I had.
“Well, we have a kidnapper who’s escaped custody, and I want to make sure no harm befalls you,” I replied with a large smile.
He gave a grunt, then snapped, “Why would any harm come to me?”
I pointed with my finger in the air, then lowered it towards him. “Say, that’s a good question.” I stopped to begin my exit, then turned back to Martin. “Just so’s yuh know, I’ll be checkin’ on you regularly. Either myself, or Sheriff Gold,” I said, letting that linger for a moment then added, “or Marshal Ramirez.”
The blood began to flow up his neck. “You be havin’ a good day,” I remarked then walked out of the store.
I was at his shop the next morning to greet him before he opened up. “Mornin’, “I greeted him with a grin. “Trust yuh slept well.” Then I proceeded to walk off down the boardwalk.
Charlie walked by as he was closing up for the evening, but just for the orneriness of it, I had Mateo stand outside during the day for twenty minutes or so. I hadn’t quite figued it out why he hated the Mexicans and most likely Indians so much. Come to think of it, when any Utes or Pueblos come to town they don’t bother going into Martin’s store. ‘Course they might not need anything there, but perhaps there could be something deeper.
The third day, I waited just before noon to walk in to greet him. He was waiting on a couple of customers and I purposely interrupted. “Howdy gents,” I said congenially, “Martin, I didn’t want yuh to think I forgot ’bout you. I’ll be takin’ Hendricks out tomorrow, but don’t yuh worry, I’ll see that yur well-guarded.”
“Well guarded, what did he mean by that? Amos, are you in some danger?” questioned Tom Kramer, a local farmer. He turned to me, “Marshal, are we in danger being in this store?”
Shrugging my shoulders I simply replied, “Ask Mr. Martin about that,” then turned and walked out.
I would be leaving mid-morning, but I wanted to see Martin one more time before I left. I arrived at the hardware store around 9:30 and was surprised to find the door locked. There were lights on inside. Since I’m the curious sort, part of being a marshal, I walked on to the back. There were horse tracks at the back door and when I went up to it I found it partially opened.
I gripped the Greener in my left hand, and pulled my pistol as I stepped inside the store. The backroom was dark, and I stepped to look through the doorway before entering the main part of the store, I stopped to survey it. No one was inside. Slowly I moved in and approached the cash register. Before getting there I saw a form lying on the floor behind the counter.
Martin! I stooped down to see if…