Anything else you can tell me about the man?” I asked, hoping that the livery man might be more amiable since the marshal had left.

     He shook his head.  “Like I said, I don’t pay much attention to those who come and go.”

     “Do you remember if he was shot?”

     “Marshal, from my recollection, no person came into the livery bleeding.  I would have noticed that, but again, I don’t pay much attention.”

     I gave him a little wave indicating that he could go back to his work, whatever that might be.  There were three hotels in town and I could check their registers, or if it was my man he might be seeking a doctor.  I started back up the street to find something for supper thinking about that marshal.  He sure didn’t make the town feel like home.  “Lyles Hampton,” I muttered on my walk.  The name sounded familiar.  I would go ahead and eat, then maybe check the other hotels.  The man was carrying my bullet, maybe that would be a persuader to quit his evil ways and get on the straight and narrow.

     Shots were fired a distance away.  I took a couple of quick steps towards the sound, but caught myself–old habits die hard.  Not my town, and I wasn’t going to make it my jurisdiction.  Now, I told myself as I stepped upon the boardwalk leading into a cocina, that doesn’t mean if I don’t see a wrong being committed I wouldn’t step in, we all have that responsibility, but I wouldn’t interfere with the town marshal.  Hampton, I shook my head.

 

     I made that cocina my place to eat while I was in Taos trying different things that I could tell Molly when I got home.  They had good food, not any better than Emelda’s, but they had one thing they called a chili relleno that caught my fancy.  Three days later I was back in Durango.  I’d wait a couple of days before confronting Martin.  Maybe he would make a slip and give himself away.  I was not worrying for by now Agatha and Javier would be settled in.

     It was good to be home.  Charlie was out investigating some cattle rustling.  Seemed a small herd headed for Telluride had been stolen.  That meant no fresh meat for the people and miners there, but also some small rancher was out of his money.  That was the nice thing about sheriffing–helping others.  Not that I didn’t think I did as a U.S. Marshal, it was just different for often I did not see those against whom the crime was committed, I just went after the miscreants.

     Molly had baked me a butterscotch pie when I returned and I was sitting at my regular spot in the diner, by the stove as it was still cool in the mornings.  The coffee was always there, and I was enjoying the company with my wife.  Doc Jones was up the canyon delivering a baby.  So we were sitting alone.  Maybe after I finished my pie, I’d go up and see Mateo and Lucas at the jail.

     “What’s wrong, Miles?” The question caught me off guard.  “You were just staring off into space looking over the rim of your cup.”

     I took a quick sip, I hadn’t realized what I was doing.  “Nothin’, at least nothin’ that I know of.”

     “You were off somewhere’s, I was just wondering,” remarked Molly.

     Honestly I couldn’t remember what I had been thinking about, so I gave her a blank stare telling her so.  I scratched my head, then pulled at my moustache after which I got up to get a refill.  Grabbing the pot I made a motion if Molly wanted her cup warmed up, then I filled mine.

     Upon taking my place at the table again, I told her that nothing was going through my head, I was just staring.  For that I received a smirk.  “There is one thing, however,” I started, “I met the marshal in Taos, and his name keeps going through my mind like I should know it.  I know I have never met the man before, but still…”

     A couple of customers came in and Lola, Marta’s niece, went over to wait on them.  With the baby, Marta hadn’t been working as much and Lola was doing a good job.  She had a great demeanor about her, and was always friendly with the customers.

     “Molly, have you ever seen the ruins?” I asked abruptly.  The thought came out of nowhere, and before she could answer I added, “We could take a week, pack up and I could take you to see them.  Two-Bits needs some work, I don’t know the last time she’s seen a saddle.”

     She gave me a look.  “What brought that on?”

     I took a deep sip, “I don’t know, it just hit me.  We haven’t been anyplace in a while.  I don’t care to take you up to Silverton, and I know you don’t like Denver, so we could go out to the ruins.  It’s not too hot yet, and the streams should have plenty of water.”

     “Plus, I need some time alone, in God’s great cathedral to think and ponder, and want you with me.  Time is passin’ us by and we need to see some things together before we get too old to sit in the saddle.”

     That brought a chuckle.  “You mean before I get too old to ride.”

     I didn’t mean that at all, but decided that I should now take another bite of pie.  “Let’s plan on leaving next week, I do want to see Amos Martin.  The man who died had a name on his lips as he was dyin’ that sounded like Martin.  I want to confront him with it.”

     “I don’t know why he, or anyone else is like that,” uttered Molly.

     I shook my head in answer, then Mateo stepped through the doorway…

Miles was waiting in Taos for the train to return to Durango.  He had taken a room in the hotel and had decided to take a walk before supper to get the lay of the town.  He was in the process of talking with a not too helpful or joyful hostler at the livery.  Join with me and let’s see what happens in the life of Miles Forrest.

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

     “Get on out of here, O’Shannasy!” ordered a rough voice from in back of me.  I started to turn noticing that the hostler only took a couple of steps back and was leaning forward.  After I completed my turn the man spoke to men.  “I don’t like strangers asking questions in my town, nor riling up the citizens.  You have no right…”

     That’s when I cut him off.  “On the contrary,” I said, looking at his badge.  

     A grim look came on his face with his eyes going past me to the hostler.  “O’Shannasy, I told you to git!”

     Without looking at the hostler, I countered that order, “No stay, I want to talk with you!”

     “Mister, you better shut your mouth, or…”

     I noticed his hand on the grip of his gun.  “Or what, Marshal?  Can’t a man talk with a citizen of your town?” I asked, emphasizing “your”.

     The marshal seemed to control his anger then asked.  “Who do you think you are coming in here like this?”

     Calmly I responded, “Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest, and this man might have some information regarding a man who attempted to murder people on the train.”

     The marshal snorted, then snapped, “You have no jurisdiction here!”

     Giving him one of my best smiles, I replied, “This badge is my jurisdiction.”

     The man either had a bee in his bonnet or an unsightly rash somewhere unseen.  “I think you need to come with me,” he snarled and started to pull his pistol.

     I poked him, not too gentle, in the gut with the barrel of the Greener causing him to gasp and grab his stomach.  I didn’t want to hit the town marshal, but it was tempting.  Instead I lifted the Greener up cocking it.  “Now, Marshal, why don’t you get along with your business, and let me tend to mine,” I said, then added.  “I don’t care much for folk to interfere with my investigations.” 

     He stared at the barrel of the shotgun; it does have the tendency to gather one’s attention.  His eyes went up to mine, then over to the hostler.  His hand was still on his stomach as he straightened.  “This isn’t over,” he muttered.

     “It is for now!”

     Trying to pull some dignity to his being he removed his hand and with a huff walked away.  I didn’t pay him any more mind and turned to the man before me.  “Mr. O’Shannasay, you heard what I said.  I just want to follow up regarding the train holdup.  One man was wounded and rode away.  All I want to do is talk with him, see if he could be the man from the train.”

     He shook his head while shrugging his shoulders.  “Don’t rightly know.  I didn’t pay much attention.  He gave me a dollar for the stall and feed.  I couldn’t tell if he was shot or not, I didn’t see any blood.”

     “Did he give a name?”

     Shaking his head, “Nope, all he said was ‘take care of my horse’ an’ handed me the coin.”

     I nodded at him.  “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”  I turned, took two steps, then looked back at him.  “That marshal, he have a name?”

     “That’s Marshal Lyles Hampton,” he said, emphasizing the “marshal.”

     Cocking my head to the side, I pulled on my moustache, thinking.  For some reason that name sounded familiar.  Lyles Hampton…

The train had an hour lay-over in Taos, so I spent the time with the young couple and the Chapmans.  Javier and Agatha seemed relieved to be in Taos after the attack.  They were both smiling, and indeed, it was a time to smile.  Newlyweds, starting out on the adventure of life together.  They had a rugged start and it was a shame that Agatha’s father had such a burr under his saddle.  I asked Javier about his parents and he told me that they both died a few years back when the epidemic struck Durango.  Since then he had hired out to some of the ranchers.  It was Bert Winfield who recommended the Lazy J outside of Taos and had sent a letter of recommendation to Juan Pablo Miranda.  

     One thing I did know; the Lazy J was not a lazy outfit.  Juan Pablo shipped some of the best beef out of New Mexico, and raised some fine quarter horses.  I met the old vaquero when I had some dealing in Santa Fe.  He was a fine gentleman, but there was steel in his eyes.  He could smile and laugh, but there was also a firmness to his jaw that when it was set there was a rigidedness that would not be changed.  Yes, he would be a fine mentor for Javier.  And similar to King, down Texas way, he allowed families to live and thus thrive on his ranch.  I found out that Agatha would be teaching in the little school on the ranch.

     The Parson and Betty said that they would miss only this coming Sunday.  It was the first break they had taken since coming to Durango.  Some people have the notion that all preachers do is spout out a sermon on Sunday.  They forget about the preparation, and if he’s a good pastor, the praying.  Then there is the visitation–visiting the sick, the old, the decrepit, and the heathen.

     I stayed until the train pulled out then started off towards the center of town.  Taos is an old town, dating back to the late 1700s, but the old pueblo probably dates back another five hundred or so years.  It is inhabited primarily by descendants of the Taos and Pueblo Indians, with some Mexicans thrown in.  The new town is not far south and that’s where I found myself looking for a place to stay.  With the railroad coming through the town was doing an up-and-coming business and there were three hotels to choose from.  My eyes wandered down the street, and finally I settled on a place:  La Elegancia.  Why?  I just like the sound of the name.

     The lobby was clean, and moderate in size.  There were three floors in the building and I requested a room on the bottom floor.  The clerk gave a wide smile that showed off a mouth of teeth.  “Wise choice, Senor.  Et is not quite so hot.”  I paid him for two nights which came to $2.50.  I thought it a mite high, but then again the railroad helped inflate the prices.  I chuckled to myself of the times I heard regarding prices in the mining towns–prices higher, gold town you know.

     Turning to go to my room, the clerk spoke up.  “Senor, if the noise is loud above you, please come see me.”  I nodded and touched the brim of my hat with the barrel of the Greener.

     Entering the room I fell down across the bed.  Ahhh, it was worth the price.  I decided to wash up, then go find something to eat.  I wanted to see if the enchiladas here were as good as those made by Emelda or Adela.  After brushing myself off, I set the Greener in the corner near the bed.  I didn’t think I’d need it in Taos, after all I wasn’t after anybody here.  As I was shutting the door and preparing to lock it, I straightened up, opened the door and reached for the shotgun.  I had grown so used to carrying it with me, I felt that I was going out alone, almost naked into the world.

     I asked the clerk where was the best place to eat.  He shrugged his shoulders, mentioned a few places, then said that the cocina in the hotel was muy bueno.  I nodded my thanks and walked out.  Standing there, looking out to the west, the sun was a bright ball, beginning to lower itself into the earth.  Looking up and down the streets, a thought came to my mind to go to the livery.

    “Viejo,” I said, moving to a man sitting on the bench in front of the hotel.  “Can you tell me where the livery is?”

     “Si,” came his quiet reply.

     “No, the livery.”

     “Si.”

     I sighed.  “Gracias,” I said moving away, then I heard the voice coming from the old man in good English with a slight accent.  “Senor, there is a livery at each end of the street.”

     Turning I took a step toward him.  Then I smiled, “Si,” turned and started walking toward one end.

     As I walked, I brought the Greener up, for no apparent reason except to check it as I walked.  In a few minutes I spied the livery, not from the sign, but because there was a corral outside with several horses in it.  There was a little man who I took to be a hostler.  He didn’t look brawny enough to lift a hammer nor to shoe a horse.

     “You looken for a horse, Mister?” inquired the man with quite a brogue.  One that certainly didn’t fit in with the rest of Taos.

     Looking at the corral, then to the man, pulling on my moustache.  “Not really a horse, but perhaps a man.  Someone who rode in sometime in the past three hours, perhaps hurt.”

     The man smiled, then it vanished as quickly as it appeared.  “Not my habit to inquire ’bout customers,” he said, then spat to the side on the ground as if for emphasis.

     “I’ve just an inquisitive nature,” I remarked, staring at the man.  “Maybe it’s my job, Deputy U.S. Marshal.”

     He gave that quick smile again, which I believed now was just a nervous habit.

     “Ah, Marshal, perhaps…”

Miles was escorting the prisoner, Ben Hendricks, to the penitentiary in Canon City while the Chapmans were with the newly wedded, Ballesteros.  As the train was filling up with water, there was an attack.  Marshal Forrest had shot the two men who attacked, but his prisoner had been severely wounded by glass which was broken by a shot from one of the assailants.  Join with me with another exciting tale from those days of yore.

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

       I had bent over Hendricks who was bleeding profusely from his neck.  In his last gasp of breath on this earth, he muttered something.  If I willed strong enough, I thought I heard “Martin.”  

       “Did you hear what he said?” I asked turning to look at the conductor.

       Shaking his head, “I heard him mutter something, a name perhaps, but I couldn’t make it out.”

       “Was it Martin?”

       He shook his head again.  “I couldn’t say for sure.  Far as I know he was asking for ‘water.'”

       I stood up to stare at him.  I knew he was right, but I wanted so much for it to be “Martin.”  Turning I glanced out the broken window and found that I could see the man I shot by the tower.

       “Marshal, I’ve got to settle these people down.  I’ve got to get this train rolling.”

       I nodded, “You do your work here, the preacher’ll help you.  I need to check on that man I shot outside.”

       “Well, don’t be long.  We’re behind as it is now.”

       Leaving him, I went out the door closest to me and hurried on over to where I saw the man fall.  There was blood, but the man was gone.  One of the workers was nearby, so I accosted him.  “Did you see a man fall from that tower?”

       He looked briefly at me, then towards the water tower for a few seconds.  Taking a couple of steps towards me, he uttered, “There was a man lying there on the ground, but he’s gone now.”

       “Brilliant,” I thought to myself.  “Did you see where he went?”

       “No,” came his quick reply, “but he did stumble off to the back of the shack then rode off on a horse, but I didn’t see where he went, he just rode off.”

       I put my hand to my face and wiped it down my chin.  Where did they get this guy?  “What direction?”

       “That way I think,” he muttered, but didn’t point.  “I wasn’t watching him, my attention was turned to all that commotion in the car.  What in blazes happened?”

       Without bothering to answer, I went to the other entrance to the car and entered.  Folks were in their seats, and I knew they were ready to be on their way.  A few looked at the body laying in the aisle.  I looked at Javier and Agatha.  “Recognize him?” I inquired.  They both shook their heads.  “Parson, help me drag this body outside.”

       The conductor followed us out, then questioned, “Do you want to put him in the baggage car?”

       I pulled on my moustache for a few moments, then found the worker nearby.  I beckoned him over.  “Think you could bury this man?  I’ll give you a couple of dollars.”

       His eyes widened, “for sure,” he replied reaching out his hand.  

       Reaching in my vest pocket to the little pouch I carried, I pulled out two silver dollars.  “I’ll be back in a day or so.  I better find a grave with a marker.”

       “What’s his name?”

       “Just put on it the date and John Doe,” I told him.  I glanced at the preacher.  “Shame to bury a man an’ don’t know his name.”  He gave a big sigh.  

       The conductor had joined us, and Rev. Chapman inquired, “What about Hendricks?”

       I looked at the conductor and asked, “Would it be all right to place him on the platform outside the car.  We’re almost to Taos, and I’ll take him to the undertaker there.  I want to inform the sheriff, and then fill out the paperwork.”

       Within a few minutes the steam was up and we were ready to be on our way.  The conductor told me that the train from Taos back to Durango would be in two days.  There could be a worse town than Taos to stay for a couple of days.  There might not be any apple pie, but I reckoned I could find myself something good to eat. 

       I placed my hand on Javier’s shoulder as I went by.  “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” I said casually, then thought of something and asked.  “Did either of you say to Agatha’s father where you would be working?”

       They looked at each other, eyes searching, then Javier brought his attention back to me giving me a shrug.

       I nodded, saying, “I hope not…”