There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven…  A time to cry and a time to laugh.  A time to grieve and a time to dance.  A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.  A time to embrace and a time to turn away.”  –Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4-5 (NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

     With the shotgun ready I took tentative steps forward towards where the voice came from.  It was quiet…very quiet.  I could hear only the crunching of the ice under my feet as I moved.  There was that ominous warning, so I moved warily.  Suddenly I stopped, looking down I saw a lump of a man lying in the snow, slush, and ice.  Moving close enough that I could nudge the body with the barrel of the Greener; I poked at him.  No movement, no sound.

     I bent down to examine the body.  It was Barnes and he was dead.  Standing back I turned to look back down the alleyway.  “Doc!  Come on up!”

     Doc scurried up the alley to where I was standing.  It was hard to see in the darkness, the only light was coming from above as we were between two buildings.  Doc stooped to get closer to the body.  Quickly he withdrew his hand.  It was covered in blood.

     “Help me turn him over,” he ordered.

     Squeezing by Doc, I moved down to the feet of Barnes.  When he nodded we lifted to turn the body over.  “Hard to see here, but it looks as if one of those pieces of buckshot hit his jugular.  I’m thinking the running pushed the lead into the vein which caused him to bleed out.”

     “So if he hadn’t run, he might have lived?” I questioned.

     “Possible.  Hard to know.  If the shot had already penetrated, probably not, but if it hadn’t I could have picked it out,” he paused as he stood.  “Let’s go ahead and drag him out.”

     That meant me as there was no room for two men to walk side by side.  I handed Doc the shotgun, then picked up Barnes’ heels and began to pull him about ten yards to the entrance of the alley.  Coming to the light, I stopped to peer around the buildings making sure the way was clear.

     “I’ll go get Parker, if you want to stay with the body,” he muttered then took off before I could object.

     While waiting for Doc and the undertaker Parker to arrive I tried to work the situation in my mind.  First, I was beaten, then Molly attacked.  Then this random shooting, killing, seemingly one of the men who was out to get me.  “Lord,” I whispered, “you have to help me work through this.”  

     It must be some sort of vendetta or retribution.  But who…?

     An hour later, Doc was sitting with me in the diner joined by Charlie Gold.  As we all sipped our coffee, I looked over at Charlie.  “Do you know anything about Mick Barnes?”

     “As I recall, he showed up in late summer, maybe August, and went to work for the Broken Drum,” he paused to take a swallow.  “I couldn’t say if there is any connection between him and Dixon or not.”

     “Well, I’ll start there,” I muttered and started to get up.

     “Hold on, Miles.  Let me go talk with him.  You don’t have the best relations with the Broken Drum,” said the Sheriff.  “And I’ll let Mateo know what happened when he comes on duty.  I know he was out late last night putting down a couple of barroom brawls.”

     He stood, donned his coat and headed on out.  Doc was scratching the side of his face, then muttered, “So you don’t have any idea?”

     Shaking my head, I replied, “Could be any number of people.  I’ve made a few enemies in my time.”

     “Anyone just released from prison?” he suggested.

     “I’ll send a telegram to Canon City, and also Blasco.  They may give some light on who it might be.”

     We sat there in silence for a few minutes; I refreshed our coffee.  Then the sound of the door opening caught my attention.  That’s why I always sat where I did, so I could see who came in the entrance.

     One of the men I hadn’t seen in several years, but I didn’t recognize the other man.  He hadn’t changed much, except to look more surly than in my past dealings with him.  It was…

There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die.  A time to plant and a time to harvest.  A time to kill and a time to heal.  A time to tear down and a time to rebuild.”  –Ecclesiastes 3:1-3 (NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     The windows of the entrance were blasted out with the shot flinging glass and buckshot everywhere.  Barnes caught a good bit before we had time to react.  A few pieces found their way to me, but nothing serious.  Watching where the glass was I half-crawled to the doorway.  There was no one there but a few onlookers across the street.  I stood up then went outside to see if I could spot anyone.  In the far distance, up at the end of the street I saw a horseman pounding away.  

     I pointed to the couple across the street to come over to me.  As they began to approach I went back inside to check on Barnes.  He was bleeding from several spots, but from a casual observance I didn’t think any of them posed a severe threat to life.  I helped him up to a chair, then went to the bar to grab a couple of towels.  “Use these to stop the blood, until Doc gets here,” I ordered, then turned my attention to the couple.

     “Everyone all right?” questioned the man quite concerned.

     Nodding, I replied, “Nothin’ serious.  You’re the Hansens right?”  He seemed proud that I remembered.  “Linda and Cory.”

     He was gloating a little, then answered, “Proud you remembered us.  Yes, we own the leather and cobbler’s shop down the street.”

     “I saw you were across the street when the blast occurred.  Did you see the man who fired the shot?”

     He began to shake his head.  “We were hurrying to get to the shop as we’re some late in opening up this morning.  I wasn’t paying attention until after the shot, then I grabbed Linda and we got down close to boardwalk,” he said then smiled.  “Sorta to make ourselves as small as possible.”

     “I understand that.  But you can tell me nothing about the man?”

     Continuing to shake his head, “I’m sorry Marshal.  All I know is that he was wearing a brown coat and riding a bay horse.”

     “His spurs,” blurted Linda.  “He was wearing those Mexican rowels.  I saw them when he spurred his horse to ride off.”

     My hand went to the side of my face where I felt the same type of spur a month ago.  I wondered if it was the same person.  Someone with a vendetta.  “If either of you think of something else, come see me.”

     They both nodded, but before they turned to leave Cory asked, “How are the boots holding up?”  I remembered that I took a pair of boots to him for new soles.”

     “Fine, fine.  You do good work.”

     That made both of them beam and as they left Linda patted me on the arm.  “I pray that your day goes much better.”

     “So do I, “Ma’am, so do I.”

     As they walked off I saw Doc scurrying up the street as fast as he could in the slush and mud.  He glanced at me upon approaching and I pointed for him to go inside.  I followed.

     Barnes was gone.

     I followed the drops of blood out the back.  Doc was coming behind me.  The trail was hard to spot, but every now and then there was a drop of blood.  Wish the snow had stayed on the ground longer.  We walked down the alley cautiously.  I had already been startled once today and didn’t want a similar occurrence to happen.  

     The trail moved from the alley to the back of a warehouse where I saw that it went between two buildings.  “You stay here until I say it’s clear,” I ordered Doc.

     “You say he was hurt badly?” came his question.

     “Not that I could see.”

     He muttered something I didn’t quite hear, then spoke up.  “That blood is getting brighter.  I’m wondering if an artery wasn’t nicked.”

     I looked at him, then started moving up between the buildings.  A nice set up for an ambush if ever there was one.  No place to go if a shooter appeared.

     It was like I was prophesying.  A voice sounded in front of me, but in the dark of the shadows I couldn’t see anyone.  “You’re as good as dead, Forrest.”

     Stopping in my tracks I flung the Greener up…

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…

But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.”  –1 John 1:7 (ESV)

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     The snow came the day after Christmas and continued for three days causing fifteen inches or more to lay on the ground.  It surely slowed things down for a while; it took businesses a day to get open, and then the proprietors had to keep shoveling and sweeping to keep the boardwalk clean.  Most of them hired kids from the town to do it for them, but I did see Solly sweeping his own walk, and Lucas volunteered to go help Darnelle shovel and sweep in front of Fosters.

     If I took it slow and easy I was able to keep the walk in front of the diner clear.  The bruises were gone, the cuts and punctures healed, but if I moved fast or in one direction, I could still feel a twinge in the ribs.  With carriage and horse traffic the main roads were eventually packed down so folks could get around easier.  Now, a week later it was slush, muck, and sludge.  The temperature now up to the forties’ it was now a job to keep the mud from the front of the door.

     I had just finished my task entering the diner.  “Miles, why don’t you hire one of those youngsters to clean that walk off?” questioned Doc while sitting at the table guzzling coffee.  

     Going to the stove I reached for the pot, shook it a bit and heard the coffee swish inside, what little of it there was.  On the table was my cup, and I poured it full, then looked for Marta or Lola.  Both were busy with customers.  Since the weather had warmed, the diner had been busy.  Lola saw me, lifted her hand with a finger pointing upward signifying in a minute.

     As she came to me I held out the pot, “If you would please…”  She smiled nodding.  I had taught her to make pretty decent coffee and she willingly took up the task of making sure the pot on the stove where I sat was full.

     Sitting down, I took a swallow of the hot brew.  It was bitter, strong, almost scorched and I grimaced at the flavor.  I don’t mind strong coffee, in fact that is my preference, but I do not like scorched coffee.  Doc gave a chuckle.  “Sort of like drinking tar,” then he laughed again.

     Molly was out, buying from an IOU I gave her for Christmas.  I gave her a small gift, but I reckoned she knew better what she wanted or needed so I promised to buy her something later.  She was out now fulfilling that promise.

     “Still no idea of who tore into you?” asked Doc, pushing his cup aside.  

     I shook my head.  “I have no idea.  I’ve looked for people I might have arrested in the past, for someone who might be after me.  There are several strangers in town but most of them are hardluck miners out of a job.  If something had been stolen from me I might think it was some of them, but all they wanted to do was beat me up.”

     “You mean, beat you to death,” declared Doc.  “If Lucas hadn’t come running out, a few more licks and kicks in the right place might have done you in.  Fortunately for you those spurs didn’t catch you in the eye.”

     Reaching up I touched my cheek where one spur came mighty close to doing so.  “I’ll find them, Doc.  Sooner or later one of them will slip up.”

     We were talking about the weather, and Sunday’s preaching when Lola came with a fresh pot of coffee.  I quickly downed the tar in my cup, making a face as I did so.  Not only was it scorched, thick, but also cold, but I wanted to make room for the fresh coffee.  Lola giggled as she saw my face, then proceeded to fill my cup.  “Ahhh, that’s much better.”  I received a smile, then she placed the pot on the stove.

     “Either of you men want something?  Pie maybe?”

     Doc shook his head, and I replied,, “Not now.  When Molly gets back.”

     The coffee was good and Doc and I sat there sipping the fresh brew, chatting about this and that.  He told me that Edith fell, slipping on the ice and was laid up at home.  Nothing serious, but it bruised her hip and she was having trouble getting around.

     In through the door rushed Molly. 
     Miles…!

 

P.S. Be sure to purchase from Amazon the new novel, Lawman.  It tells part of the story regarding Miles Forrest.