Eat another piece of that chocolate pie, Lucas,” I said with a laugh. “It’s only your third piece.”
He smiled at me and took a swig of milk and forked in another bite. Sitting there with his arm bandaged you would think that nothing had happened.
“Senor Miles, I did not cry when he cut me,” he said.
I reached over and jostled his head and messed up his hair. “You’re quite the little man.”
Looking up I saw Doc Jones enter the restaurant with Trenton. He had been out a couple of times now since Lucas had been hurt. He was a different man, but who wouldn’t be with an ear sliced off and missing an eye? But there was more. He seemed different, not as cocky, but, well, there was something that I couldn’t put my finger on.
“How’s my best patient today?” asked Doc of Lucas.
He reached down and felt his stomach. “Full, senor doctor.” That brought a laugh from everyone, except Trenton.
I got up and grabbed cups for the newcomers and filled them with hot coffee.
About that time Molly came to the table. “Lucas, want another piece of pie?” she asked. That brought another chuckle from the table.
Since the fire, we had moved back to the kitchen. Good thing we didn’t have much. We lost our bed, a table, lamp, and I had a rifle in the shack when it burned. It seemed that Dreg didn’t really want to kill Lucas or he would have either slit his throat or burned him in the shack. It was as Trenton said, they wanted to hurt me.
I knew that didn’t come from the men causing the problem, for they didn’t even know me. It had to be Wray and Ferguson. Since my little altercation with Wray after the killing and robbery he had disappeared. Most likely he was still in town; although he could have moved to one of the camps or even up to Silverton.
“Molly, excuse me, but I’ll take a piece of that pie,” said Doc.
“Sure. How about you Trenton?” He shook his head. She looked at me. “You don’t have to say anything,” she turned and went to the kitchen.
Trenton just sat there swirling his now cold coffee in his cup. I could see his jaw clinch from time to time.
“Lucas, why don’t you go help Molly?” He got up and went to the kitchen taking his plate and glass with him.
“Okay Trenton, out with it.”
“I’m going to kill this man who calls himself Dreg. Then I’ll find Wray.”
“That’s not the way…” I started but was interrupted.
“You say! You don’t know how I feel!”
“We may not be maimed in appearance, but both the Doc and I have had our share of sorrows, suffering, and scars.”
“It’s not the same!”
“Maybe not, but revenge is not the answer.” I had seen what happened to folks that went after revenge rather than justice. If not for God helping that person they would continue to go down deeper into despair and bitterness.
He looked at me, touched the place where his ear once had been and slammed down his cup.
“I had a present for you, but you acting that way I’ll just keep it for another time.”
“What is it?” he asked sarcastically. “An ear you can tie on? Or maybe Doc can stitch it on?”
As he got up he knocked over his chair and bumped into Molly, causing her to drop our pie.

Trenton was staying in a little shack behind Doc Jones. I went by to see him every day or so. Doc was concerned with infection in his eye and would have to clean it everyday. I could only imagine the pain. When I would visit with him he would say little, very quiet, just nodding or very melancholic answers.
I took Hardy with me so Trenton could get a good look at him. “Recall seein’ him durin’ the holdup?” I asked.
He looked him up and down and shook his head. “He wasn’t inside the office.”
“Think you’re up to walkin’ to the Doc’s? Marshal Gold is bringin’ a dead man for you to look at.”
“Forrest!” he barked. “I’m not a complete invalid.”
I just stared at him. “Sorry, Miles. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I’m still trying to get used to my new look. Life will be different from now on.”
“Why? You’re the same man. You keep a-talkin’ like that and you will be a handicapped man.”
Grabbing Hardy by the arm, I turned and walked out with Trenton behind me. The marshal was still with Doc when we came arrived.
“Here yuh go marshal. Trenton can’t identify him, so you can arrest him for something.”
“I sent a deputy to get the undertaker.” He paused and looked at Trenton and sort of hesitated before he spoke again. “His name reportedly is Vickers; recognize him?”
“He’s the man that tied Tom to the chair.” I watched Trenton shudder; maybe he was reliving the event. “I remember shooting one, maybe twice. I know I hit someone, but things happened so fast. Someone fired at me, and I fell. There were at least five in the room,” he stopped and went over to a chair and sat down. “Then they grabbed me and all I felt was pain. That’s when they told me to tell you that they were going to hurt you.”
“Ferguson?” I asked.
Trenton shook his head, “I didn’t see him. I don’t think he was there.”
“Vickers and the one called Dreg,” I muttered. “At least three others.”
Through the door burst Lowell, one of Charlie’s deputies. He looked at me, “There’s a fire out toward your place Forrest.”
“Check on Molly at the eatery!” I yelled as I pushed past them and headed up to our little shack. She shouldn’t be there, but my insides were crawling as I tried to run in the snow. I slowed as I neared and pulled my pistol. That shack wasn’t much, but Molly and I called it home.
Warily I walked closer. My eyes wandered back to the tree line and then around as I continued my steps. Then I heard running off to my left getting closer. I turned; it was Molly along with Charlie and Lowell.
“Lucas!” she screamed and tried to run past me. I grabbed her. “Miles, Lucas went up to the cabin,” she spoke frantically.
“Easy, it could be a trap.” I started up one side and Charlie Gold moved around the other. Lowell stayed back with Molly.
There was no way I could get inside the shack. I heard Charlie yell, “Miles, over here. The boy.”
I ran and then noticed the snow was red. Charlie was bending down to an object laying there. It was Lucas. He was taking off his bandana and wrapping it around the boy’s arm.
“He’s bleeding. We’ve got to get him back down to the Doc.”
Charlie picked him up and turned and stopped. One wall of the cabin was still there with flames just now starting to overtake it. On the side was a face–smiling.
Charlie was half running, half slipping as he raced back to Doc Jones. I grabbed Molly and we followed.

Another six inches of snow had fallen overnight. It sure is pretty, except when it starts to melt or the horses and mules have their way in it in the street. Sure can get messy. But this morning when I walked to the Wells Fargo office the streets were bare except for the wagon tracks. It was cold; glad I wasn’t riding the top of one of those stages.
I entered the office and Emerson Watson was behind the counter. As I entered I saw him reach for what I assumed was a gun on the counter, and when he saw me he relaxed.
“Morning Mr. Forrest,” he said. “Coffee’s on the stove.”
Where he got that “Mr. Forrest” from I don’t know. Emerson had been going over the inventory of what was taken in the robbery. Some gold, the deposits from a host of local miners; he’d been working alone since the robbery. We had trimmed the open hours back to fives hours per day, and a six-day week. The telegraph from Denver said that they would send someone up to replace Tom and Jim.
I had been going to the office a couple of times a day just to help ease Emerson’s mind and to make my presence seen.
“Mr. Forrest,” started in Emerson as I was pouring a cup of coffee. “Why wasn’t I working that day? Why wasn’t I killed instead of Jim or Tom? Tom has a family, what will they do now?”
He was quite distraught. “There’s no easy answer. But I learned a long time ago not to question the ways of Providence. When God says it’s time there’s no palaverin’ with Him.”
“Just don’t seem right. Not that I’m complaining that I’m alive, but still.”
“Emerson, this world is evil, and nobody said that things in it would be fair. We could go on and on, why them, not me; why this, not that, and on we can go. Sure there are things at times we can do to help ourselves and others, but there are those times when there ain’t an answer.”
I took a couple of sips of coffee, topped off the cup and went back to the inner office. I knew what Emerson was going through. Throughout my lifetime I had thoughts like that. Perhaps the greatest gift or grace the Lord had given me through the years was that no matter what I could trust Him. The heat hadn’t reached back here much so I draped my sheepskin coat around my shoulders.
There were voices in the main office. I went to the door to sort of eavesdrop.
“When we gettin’ our money back?” came a rough voice.
“And you are?” asked Emerson.
“I’m Vickers and this fellow is Hardy. We had gold in this bank. We want it.”
I looked through the door. Emerson was calm. “Mr. Vickers, Mr. Hardy, Wells Fargo is investigating the robbery. Until then all assets are frozen. We cannot refund anything until we recover the stolen goods or Wells Fargo deems it proper to pay. But give me a minute, I’ll check your account.”
“You’ll pay now or you’ll be sittin’ in that chair cut like that other fellow.”
Emerson grabbed the gun on the counter, cocked it and pointed it at Vickers. The other man, Hardy, started to pull his pistol when I came out the door with mine drawn.
“It clears your holster, and you’re dead!” I said.
“Have a seat over there,” and I pointed with my gun. “Hold them, Emerson while I fetch the marshal.”
I started out the door and I saw a flash from the corner. I dodged a bullet that hit the doorframe and I fell to the floor just inside. Action was taking place, Vickers and Hardy decided to take a chance. There was a shot from Emerson. I turned and saw Vickers fire into the floor as he fell head forward. Hardy wanted to get in the action, I could see it, but there was now two pistols trained on him.
“Drop it now!” I ordered. His gun thudded to the wooden floor.
I looked at Emerson. “Why Vickers and not Hardy?”

Doc Jones was sitting with Marshal Gold, myself, and Molly a few days after Christmas and he was fondly putting down his normal order of liver and onions.  Charlie and I had some elk ribs and Molly had brought out some pie. 
Doc eyed it with delight and remarked, “Boggy-top pie.  What flavor?”  I think he liked pie almost as much as I did.
The man I cold-cocked was in jail.  The name he gave us was Sam Smith.  Most likely not his birth name.  He was in a daze for a couple of days and was mostly rambling when he talked; that is, when he finally decided to talk.  The marshal finally enticed him with a cup of coffee.  Amazing what that brew will do.  He was given his meals with water, and he began moaning for a cup of coffee.
His partner just went by the name, “Blade.”  He said Blade was sort of running the crew as the go-between with this other man.  Smith said he only saw the man once; that he was fairly tall and thin.  He was wearing a beard that he kept trimmed, but he never heard his name.
“Doesn’t sound like Wray,” said Doc.
“It could be Ferguson, but the last time I saw him, he wasn’t sportin’ a beard,” I replied.
“Doesn’t take long to grow one,” entered Charlie.
Molly got up to get the coffeepot to give us all a refill.  “Do you think they’ll come for you Miles?”
“Yes,” and I paused.  “One way or another.”
She put a hand on my arm and I looked at her.  “I can’t be with you every hour of the day, nor with Marta and her family.”
“It might help if she slept here in the eatery, rather than up at your…” Doc sputtered, “your house.”
“It’s a shack, Doc,” retorted Molly.  “We know that.”
“It would alleviate some walking around, and it would be safer here in town,” joined in Charlie, finishing his cup and nodding for me to pour more.
“It’s Wray!”
“Miles, you know the law.  He’s already talkin’ about you threatenin’ him, and wants a restraining order against you.”
“I know the law, Charlie!  But if Molly or my friends are hurt, I’ll go for him.”
“Maybe,” Doc entered the conversation.  “Just maybe, if word went out that the source of payment might not be there in the event of another attack, the gang might become some concerned.”
I looked at him, “Not if they’re successful with me.”
“Hmmm, well, guess you have a point there.”
“But it would give them something to think about.”  I looked at the marshal.  “What are you holdin’ Smith for?  He didn’t do anything, but stand there.”
Gold smiled.
“I’m goin’ to make Wray uncomfortable until he gets that restrainin’ order.  And there may be a couple of those owlhoots in town watchin’.”
“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” said Charlie finishing that cup and holding it out again.
I stared at him.  “This place makes better coffee than I do down at the jail.”