Trouble is brewing, tensions are rising, and it looks like things could boil over in Durango.  Alejo has been beaten up by Frank Moser and Miles is on the hunt.  Javier and Agatha are hiding out in the church and waiting for the time they can leave for his job down near Taos.  Join with me now in another exciting tale from yesteryear in the Saga of Miles Forrest.

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       I pounded on the door of Martin’s Hardware hard enough to rattle the glass.  I knew he was in there because there were lights on.  Upon receiving no answer, I pounded on them again and heard a voice, “We’re not open yet, come back later!”

       One more time I jarred the door, then stepped back ready to kick it in, when a scowling Amos Martin opened it hollering, “I said, we’re not open yet.  Oh,…”

       I didn’t let him finish as I jammed the barrel of the Greener in the pit of his stomach, bringing an “ooof” from him and pushing him back.  I followed with another jab, then another until he was back inside his store.

       “Forrest,” he began, with pain in his voice along with venom, “there’s no call for that!”

       Giving him one final jab, I replied in outrage, “And there’s no call to be beatin’ up a kid!”

       The only expression I got from him was a little widening of his eyes.  He may not have done the deed, but he knew about it.  “Where’s Moser?”

       “Forrest, I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about,” he muttered, the venom still in his voice.

       Not saying anything, I replied by sweeping a dozen or so glasses off the counter near me with the Greener.  After that I stepped to where there were a half dozen lamps placing the Greener on the edge of the counter next to them.

       “You’ll pay for the damage!” he barked.  I tapped one of the globes, not hard enough to break, but he got the idea.  “Moser’s not here!”

       “You’re ’bout the lowest cur I ever did see!  Sendin’ a man to beat up a kid.”

        He let out an oath.  “Big deal, he’s only a Mex…”.  I didn’t let him finish, but swung the Greener catching him on the jaw, staggering him.  Lifting the barrel I was ready to thump him a good one, when he whimpered in pain, “I don’t know where Frank is right now, and that’s the truth.”

       “Why’d you send him to beat up the kid?  Face up to Marshal Ramirez yourself, if you have an issue with him.”

       He was rubbing the side of his face where the barrel of the Greener had landed.  “I just told him to rough him up a bit, give the Marshal a scare, not to beat him up.”

       I moved closer to Martin, bringing the shotgun down to my side.  “You don’t know Marshal Ramirez very well.  You’re fortunate that I got here before he did.  Now, listen, and yuh better get this through your thick skull.  If that kid is crippled or has any other threatening injuries, I’ll be back and do the same to you.”

       “You can’t threaten me like that,” he muttered.

       “No threat, just a fact,” I stated.  “Whatever happens to the Ramirez family, or for that fact, anyone else in the Mexican quarter of town, I will hold you personally responsible.”

       I turned to walk out, then stopped, smiled then took a swipe at his legs with the Greener catching him on the shinbone.  It was not hard enough to break it, but it would hurt.  Instead of going out the front, however, I moved to the back.  Moser and another had left on horses and by chance they might be in the back of Martin’s store.  Upon getting outside, I did see the tracks but the horses were gone, moving down the alley toward the river.

       Moving through the alleyway back towards the jail, I began to shake my head and whisper, “Lord, you’re goin’ to have to help me.  The ol’ anger was buildin’ up an’ it was all I could do to hold it in.”

       Doc Jones was coming out of the cell where Alejo was lying.  He looked over at me, “He’ll be alright, but he’ll be hurting for a week or so.  Maybe a couple of ribs broken, but mostly bruises and scrapes.  He’s resting right now.”

       “Lucas, you stay with him,” ordered Doc Jones.  “Miles come with me, let’s go down to the diner.  I want to talk with you.”

       We walked outside and just stepped down off the boardwalk into the street heading for the diner when we heard shots.  They were coming from the barrio…

Things had seemed to settle down the next few days.  Charlie had gone up to Silverton to check on how the new marshal was doing.  I told Mateo that I would help him in his duties around town.  Durango was getting large enough, no, in fact, it was large enough that Mateo needed a deputy or two.  Mateo did the night check, going to bed around midnight leaving Lucas in the office in case of an emergency.  I would make the morning rounds after getting Molly set up in the diner.  She only owned twenty percent now, but she didn’t put in any less hours.

       I had noticed that throughout the day there was always a hub of men moving in and out of Amos Martin’s store.  He was either doing great business or was running his mouth off to whoever would listen.  Shame is, there were a lot of folk who would listen.  The Sunday crowd was slimmer than normal at church, and some who did come seemed to avoid the preacher.

       It was three nights after the incident with Martin that there were signs of trouble again.  Mateo was making his way home just after midnight when he saw a couple of men running out from the Mexican area of town.  He hollered for them to stop, but they kept right on running.  Then a shot was fired, not from the direction of those running, but from the barrio, missing Mateo by only inches.

       He moved into the shadows, seeking to find where the shot was fired.  He glanced down towards the way the men ran, thinking they might come back.  After fifteen minutes of waiting, he moved slowly, keeping to the dark of the shadows in the direction of his home.  Whoever fired the shot had either moved, or left the scene, but he was still cautious as he approached his adobe.

       Finding the door was locked, as he attempted to open it, he smiled.  “Good woman,” he muttered to himself, then knocked on the door.

       A few seconds later, he heard the lock being released, and the door slowly opening.  When it opened enough to let him in, there came a gasp from Luciana and she covered her face with her hands.  Trembling, she pointed one hand toward the door.  In either blood or paint, it was hard to tell in the darkness the word “DEATH” was printed.  

       Mateo quickly shut and locked the door moving his wife back to the lowly burning fireplace.  He was glad of the warmth, as the night beat had put a chill in him along with the message on the door.  For several minutes he held his shaking wife.

       When I went by the jail the next morning, Alejo was telling Lucas what had transpired.  “It had to be Martin,” I thought to myself, the anger beginning to boil inside.

       I would give Mateo another couple of hours to sleep then would go up to see how he and Luciana were doing.  “Alejo, do you want to join me for breakfast at the diner?” I asked, and not waiting for an answer, I added.  “As soon as I finish my rounds I’ll meet you there.”

       He smiled, then answered, “Si, Senor Miles.  I have to fill up a couple of woodboxes and when I finish I will gladly meet you.”

       Looking back at the cell area, then to Lucas, I said, “You might as well join us since there are no desperadoes to guard.  Lock up the office when Alejo comes back and we’ll head down.”

       I was just coming from behind Doc Jones’ place when Lucas hurried out followed by Doc.  “Hey,” I hollered, but they didn’t pay any mind and continued up to the jail.  I thought it prudent to follow them.  Arriving at the jail, I followed them back to the cell area where I saw Alejo lying with the tar beat out of him on one of the cots.  I stood by the doorway while Doc went in to minister to him and Lucas came to stand beside me.

       We both watched Doc, then heard Alejo groan loudly.  Without looking toward me, Lucas said, “Alejo said it was Frank Moser and another man.”

       It was early that neither the saloons nor the stores were open.  I questioned Lucas, not staring at him.  “Any idea where they might be?”

       “He was pretty woozy when he stumbled in here,” stated Lucas.  “They were waiting for him at the bottom of the hill near the Widow Moss’ place.  He muttered something about being run over by a horse, then they dismounted and started beating him.”

       That was a good place to start.  Since no one was out yet, I could find the tracks left by their horses.  “It’s time I gave someone a good thumpin’.  Stay here…”

Amos Martin has got a mob stirred up saying that his daughter had been kidnapped and was being held in the Mexican section of the town.  He has threatened the law officers and the ministers of the community as well as threatened to burn down the barrio.  Tensions are high and now Marshal Ramirez has offered to take off his badge and settle the dispute with Martin.  Join with me now another saga from the thrilling days of yesteryear.

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       “Easy, Mateo,” I said, moving closer to him.

       “You hear that Sheriff,” hollered Frank Moser from the crowd that was beginning to disperse.  “You need to remove his badge!”

       Moser was a hard-luck miner who seemed always ready to blame someone else for the misery he brought upon himself.  Instead of out trying to find a job, he spent most of his time yapping and drinking in one of the saloons.  Most folks with common sense saw him for what he was.  I guess he saw this as a chance of rising in the eyes of some.

       “I’ll stand by yuh,” barked Moser, moving up closer to Martin.  He turned to look at the men who were now leaving the scene, and with a sneer said, “Even if these cowards back away.”

       Lifting the Greener I stepped toward Moser.  “Then I think you need to feel some of the same medicine that’s been given out,” I said, thrusting the barrel up under his chin, knocking him back a step and then lifting him to his toes.  He quickly calmed down so I took some of the pressure off by removing the shotgun and stepping back to watch him rub where the barrel had rested under his chin.

       A chuckle emerged from Mateo.  “You told me to take it easy.”

       “I’m not fighting the law,” muttered Martin, “but I aim to find my daughter.”  He started to turn away then stopped to glare at the preacher and priest then shot daggers from his eyes at Mateo.  “I’ll find her one way or another.” He spat in the snow then walked away leaving his comrade standing before me.  

       I smiled at Moser, who almost wilted seeing that he was now alone.  Without hesitation he turned to hurry to catch up with Martin, slipping and falling to a knee before starting off again.  Martin didn’t pay him any mind but just walked the faster.

       When he left, Charlie came down to where the four of us were standing.  “Well, that was fun for a cold morning,” he stated to no one in particular.

       Turning to the parson I asked, “Would you mind explainin’ what is goin’ on?”

       It was Father Cisneros that spoke up.  “Javier and Agatha have been seeing each other whenever the opportunity arises for the past couple of years.  When they reached the legal age they asked if they could get married.  Javier is a good lad, and works hard.”

       “However,” interrupted Rev. Chapman, “Agatha said that she would not marry him with only a Catholic priest available.  She also informed him that I had to give permission for them to marry since her father opposed it.”

       “I take it you did,” I said, staring at the parson.  

       “Not necessarily my permission, but I agreed to marry them,” he informed me.  “Agatha has asked her father on more than one occasion and he even went so far as to strike her once.”

       “And he beat up Javier.  I went to talk with Martin about that; Javier did not want to press charges,” declared Mateo.  

       “Amos definitely has a problem,” offered the parson.

       “Hatred,” I muttered, then added, “hatred mostly of himself and he spews it out on everyone else, especially those who he thinks of as his lessers.”

       “What about the newly weds?” I asked.

       “Javier has a job waiting for him this spring down near Taos,” offered the priest.  “But it is too cold now to travel there, plus the job doesn’t start until the end of March.”

       I sighed, then saw Charlie shaking his head.   “Any place we can hide them for a couple of weeks?”

       I pulled on my moustache.  It was Mateo that spoke up.  “Yes, we can hide them, but Martin won’t believe they aren’t in the barrio.  He will attempt to find them.”

       “They can stay in the church,” offered the priest.

       “Or at my house, I’m sure Betty wouldn’t mind.”

       “All right we hide them, but Mateo has a good point.  It won’t stop Martin from searching, plus it puts your lives in danger.”

       I had a half-smile as I took in the gaze of the two lawmen standing with me.  As we were standing there, thinking, Parson Chapman declared, “I think it’s time we prayed…”

Upon seeing the mob, Rev. Chapman and Father Cisneros stopped abruptly, smiles disappearing from their faces.  Amos Martin, now standing eyed them intently.  The Parson came up to my right side, just a little behind me and inquired, “Miles, what’s going on here?”

       “Mr. Martin is lookin’ for his daughter.  He claims she’s been kidnapped.”

       I couldn’t see the parson’s countenance, but something in it must have triggered Martin.  He lunged for the preacher, thrusting me aside, grabbing him by the collar.  “Preacher!  Where’s Agatha?” he near screamed.  

       By this time, Mateo had come up to grasp one arm of Martin and I had been able to gain my balance and took hold of his other one and we pulled him away from the parson.  Martin has gone crazy-mad.  

       “Now, Brother Martin…” he began but was interrupted.

       “Don’t ‘Brother Martin’ me.  Do you know where she is?” he blasted, spittle coming from his mouth.

       Rev. Chapman straightened his shoulders, then looked Martin square in the eye.  “I do.”

       Martin’s eyes widened in fury as he tried to lunge for the preacher again.  This time, Mateo and I were ready and he couldn’t break our grasp.  “You have no right to hide her from me!” he exclaimed in rage.

       “From the way you’re acting, I had every right.  Agatha is of age and is now married to a fine, hard-working man,” came the calm, but firm answer from Rev. Chapman.

       “I’ll have it annulled!” he proclaimed still trying to break away from us.

       From another quarter, Sheriff Gold shouted.  “Why don’t you all go home.  This doesn’t concern you, and it’s too cold out here.  This was a legal marriage of two adults.  There is nothing you can do about it.”

       A voice from the crowd hollered out, one I didn’t recognize.  “Are you telling us that she wasn’t kidnapped?”

       “No more than you kidnapped Mary those years ago,” retorted Charlie with humor in his voice trying to lighten the mood.

       “Amos,” started in another man.  “You told us she’d been kidnapped.”

       Some of the air had been taken from Amos Martin, he seemed to have calmed down some, but I was afraid that it was burning and boiling inside ready to pop.  He sort of growled when he replied, “She was, she wouldn’t have gone of her own accord, not with one of them bean-eaters.  She wasn’t raised that way.”

       There was some mumbling and bickering in the crowd, I heard someone say that he was going home.  Most of those gathered began to move away with only a few standing with Martin.  Father Cisneros had moved up to stand beside the parson.

       Martin must have felt our grip relaxing for he burst out in wild fury striking the priest in the face knocking him down, then wrapping his meaty hands around the throat of Rev. Chapman.  I was in no position to bring the Greener to thump in on the head, but Mateo was quicker.  Lightning quick he drew his pistol and shoved his hard under the chin of Martin, hard enough that I heard his teeth clatter.  He pushed up with the barrel lifting Martin to his toes.

       “Release the preacher!” he ordered through gritted teeth.  Cocking the gun, he repeated, “Release him, I won’t say it again!”

       Martin took Mateo to heart, but gave him a stare filled with daggers as he stepped back.  Glaring at Mateo, Martin barked, “This ain’t over, bean-eater!” Then turned toward two men of the cloth.  “I’ll find them, and when I do she’ll be a widow right quick like!”  He spat toward the feet of the two men of God.  “I’ll burn out that barrio if I have to!”

       Mateo released him, then pushed him back.  “You have a gun, let’s take care of this now…”