Miles has been charged by court order to take Todd Johnson to Canon City to begin serving his thirty year sentence.  The snow is lightly falling as the stage has pulled into the last stop before arriving in Canon City.  Miles has noticed that there are additional horses tied to the corral fence.  Does Johnson have enough friends that would try to free him or is it just coincidence?  Join me in another exciting adventure from yesteryear.

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

       I waited, holding Johnson in the stage until the horses were removed and taken to the corral.  The driver walked with the hostler helping him out.  I still waited.  Perhaps it was my suspicious nature that kept me in check for my job required for me to be suspicious and it has saved my neck several times.  Perhaps it was the checking of the Holy Spirit upon me to make me wait.  Most likely it was a combination of both.

       “You still think you’re gonna get me to the pen?” smarted off Johnson from the darkness of the coach.  I didn’t want him to warn those inside, so I lifted the barrel of the Greener and gave him a sudden thunk on the noggin, rendering him unconscious. 

       Taking my hat off I turned to face the station house keeping low in the coach.  It was none too soon for three men from the station stepped out.  “Todd!  Todd you there?” hollered the man in the center.

       They didn’t venture out any further, but stood by the front of the station.  “Briles, you sure he was to be on this stage?” growled the center man.

       “He was on it,” came his return.  “Unless he got off before arriving at the station,” he paused.  “An’ that don’t seem feasible in this weather.”

       “Let’s check it out,” stated the center man and the three started toward the stage.

       I waited until they were ten yards from the coach.  “Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest–put your hands high over your head!”

       There came an oath from the one named Briles, then cursing from the man in the center.  All three of them didn’t heed my command because they went for their guns.  Shooting through the door I cut loose with both barrels of the Greener.  I know the shot hit all three men, but the center man was blown back several feet and lay there on the ground still, his blood now coloring the white snow.

       Glancing at the man to my right I saw that he was down on one knee holding his right shoulder.  Briles was limping off to my left.  Drawing my pistol I fired twice, hitting him both times stopping him in mid-limp.  The other man was still holding his gun and was trying to bring it up.  Cocking my pistol, I yelled, “Drop it!”

       Then two shots rang out from the corner of the station house.  Dummy me, I had forgotten that I saw four horses.  I snapped a shot toward the station.  Another bullet ripped through the stage and I heard a thud.  It was fired from the wounded man, so I fired twice at him this time taking him completely out of the action.  Another shot from the corner.

       Hunkering down in the stage I took out the spent cartridges and reloaded.  Johnson was still unconscious as I went past him and out the other door.  I heard hollering from the corral.  The man was racing towards his horse when the teamster and hostler were bringing up the fresh team.  I raced toward the corral as the man was stepping into his saddle.  Two more shots rang from my gun, the man falling, his foot caught in the stirrup.  The hostler ran to him to grab the horse’s reins.  If the horse would have taken off, the man wouldn’t have known anything about it–he was dead.

       Four more dead, I thought in disgust.  All because of a crooked town marshal.  I guess there is loyalty among thieves.  As the fresh team was brought up, I went to the stage to check on Johnson.  Opening the door, I noticed blood on the seat.  One of the bullets had hit him.  I pulled him out to check.  He was no longer unconscious but now in pain.  He better be alive, I thought to myself.  Coming all this way I wanted to make sure he reached the pen.  

       There was a bullet in his right calf muscle.  I looked at the splintered door of the stage and the place where I had been crouching.  How did that bullet get past me to hit him?  I looked heavenward, nodded, and sighed.

       Six days later, and one day late, the train I was on arrived in Durango.  I didn’t bother cleaning up but walked straight toward the church where the gatherings were taking place.  No one noticed me when I walked in the door so I stood to watch the crowd.  I hung my coat and hat up, placed the Greener in the corner, then slowly moved toward where Charlie, Mateo, Doc, and Molly were standing.

       “I told you something would come up!” exclaimed Doc.

       There was a laugh from Molly.  “It wouldn’t be Miles if it didn’t.”

       “I don’t want to interfere with your fun, but I sure would like a cup of coffee!” I interjected, surprising them.  

       “Miles!” exclaimed Molly coming to my arms.  

       Smiling my best smile, I greeted them all with a hearty, “Merry Christmas!”

 I sat there, cradling my coffee cup in both hands staring into it.  “Miles, why do you have to go?”  I didn’t hear the voice until it was repeated again and I was nudged in the side by Molly’s elbow.  “Why is it you that has to go?”

       Slowly I turned my head to look at her.  “Because it’s my job.  Because Judge Klaser ordered me to,” I replied, then brought the cup to my lips to finish what was left in it.  “Charlie has to go to Silverton to check on things.  Mateo is needed in town.”

       She got up to get the coffeepot from the stove behind me to refill my cup.  “Doc, what about you?  Want some more?”

       Doc Jones shook his head and covered the cup with his hand, “No, no, that’s enough for me.”  

       He watched as Molly refilled my cup, then spoke up.  “Couldn’t the Judge bring in someone else?  Or why not wait for the Tumbleweed Wagon?”

       I took a sip before answering, it was hot!  “That’s just it, there is no one else, I’m here.  Plus the wagon from the prison will not be around until March, that’ll will put the burden on the Durango taxpayers.”

       Taking a deeper draught, I then continued.  “Besides, the Judge says that if nothing goes wrong I should be back by the end of next week…by Christmas for sure.”

       A groan escaped from Molly, “Miles, something always goes wrong.”

       I gave a little shrug.

       Todd Johnson had been convicted earlier in the week and sentenced to thirty years in the state penitentiary over in Canon City.   I would take him by train as far as Pueblo, then from there by stage.  Yes, it all seemed so simple, but I will have to say that Molly was right–something always seemed to come up.  Johnson had promised that I would never get him there, that his friends would free him.  Well, they might try, but he’d never go free.

       If he still had men out there, I had my doubts.  So many of his so-called deputies had been killed, and others had left for parts unknown to keep from getting arrested.  Sheriff Gold was heading up there today to check on things.  Knowing the city fathers, they may have already appointed another marshal.  It was known that marshals in Silverton didn’t stay around long.

       “Oh, Miles,” started in Doc as he got up from his chair.  “Come on by the office before you leave.  Collins wants to see you.”

       “How is he Doc?” inquired Molly.  

       Doc Jones shrugged his shoulders, “Not good.  I took a third of his face off, and it looks like I might have to amputate one foot.  He was in bad shape, and gangrene had already set in.  I just didn’t get it all with the first surgery.”

       “Poor man, crook as he is.”

       “He brought it on himself,” came the words from my mouth.

       “That may be so, but it is still horrible,” came her tart reply.

       As Doc was walking out the door he met Parson Chapman entering.  They greeted each other and Doc stepped out in the light snow that was falling.  The preacher came on over to our table.  Molly was already up, grabbing a cup from the counter for him.

       After greeting, he took off his coat then sat down.  “Are you excited about the Christmas program at the church?” he questioned with eagerness.  “It’s going to be a festive time celebrating the birthday of our Lord.”

       “Oh, thank you,” he said as Molly placed the coffee in front of him.  “Plenty of carols, and the display of the nativity.  Molly, you are going to make several pies for the occasion?”

       “I’ll have plenty of time to do that since Miles will be gone,” she sputtered.

       A quizzical look appeared on the Parson’s face.  “Gone?  Gone on Christmas?”

       “I’ll be back for Christmas,” I replied.  “I have to take the prisoner to Canon City.”

       We chatted for a spell, then I said that I needed to take some food up to the jail, plus go over to see what Collins wanted.  Marta had a tray waiting for me.  “Send Lucas down and I’ll have something for him,” she informed me.  I gave her a nod, and said thank you.

       Carrying the Greener and tray was no easy task, but I went over to Doc’s office.  I placed the tray on the desk and Doc motioned for me to come into the room where Collins was lying.  Upon entering I heard, “Marshal, give me your gun…”.

Miles found the desperado he had been chasing, or found what was left of him.  He was in terrible condition and Miles knew the only hope for him was to get him back to a doctor in Durango.  He also felt the pressing need of getting home to help Molly and the others in their traditional Thanksgiving feed to those down and out.

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

       The hostler, who I learned his name was Indian Joe Larkin.  He claimed to be part Ute, but I had my doubts on that, said that he had a wagon I could use.  Upon being shown the wagon I reckoned it was usable, but Hawk and Two-Bits could not pull it.  For one, they were unused to the harness, and second, the size and stride difference of the two animals.  Hmpf, talk about unequally yoked.

       When I asked Indian Joe about a team, he acquired a wide smile.  “I have two mules that’ll pull that wagon easily.  Cost you twenty dollars a piece for them.”

       I gave him a hard look, I don’t care much for being scammed.  He must have taken notice as he changed his tune quickly.  “Uh, ten dollars each?” he questioned timidly.

       Nodding I reached in my vest pocket for my little pouch and pulled out a single eagle for him.  Maybe my conscience grabbed me, for I counted out five silver dollars to give him for the use of his wagon.  “I don’t know when I’ll be able to bring it back,” I told him directly.

       “Just keep it for me somewhere.  I’m not expecting to need it anytime soon.  Hay and feed are delivered to me.”

       That was Wednesday, it’s now Friday.  Indian Joe helped me throw hay into the wagon and I went to the hotel to retrieve my burden.  I wrapped him in a couple of blankets and placed him as comfortably as I could in the wagon, not knowing if he would be alive when we arrived in Durango or not.  

       Doc Jones, who normally helps out in the feed, spent most of the day in surgery on Collins.  Edith helped him with the surgery so we lost her help for much of the time.  Fortunately Darnelle jumped in to help and Betty, the preacher’s wife worked hard.  Mateo and his family also fell into help us.  I don’t know if I was imagining, but it seemed that there were twice as many down and out miners as last year.  Men who went searching for their El Dorado, who now were living in the dregs.  It was late, so I knew the big mining companies already had their lay-off and kept their workers for the winter.

       Emelda, with Marta’s niece Lola, kept the food coming from the kitchen.  The people had their choice of either venison stew, or chili made from cows that Cecil Thompson had given for the occasion.  In fact, several of his hands helped with the preparing of the beef and stayed around to eat.  This year it seemed that others from the town joined us, some from the wrong side of town, and even a few from the barrio, not that we minded and it gave Rev. Chapman an opportunity to witness to them.

       It was dark and we were in the process of sitting down after cleaning up.  We smiled at each other, though it was a tired smile.  Marta poured coffee for the Chapmans, myself, Lola, Emelda while Molly was back in the kitchen doing something.  Mateo had taken his family home and was making his early rounds.  I could hear Molly humming as she came back to us holding a pie in her hands.  “For special people a special treat.  I kept it hidden during the day.”

       She stood over to cut it when Doc Jones came in.  Talk about someone looking tired.  The Parson jumped up to give his chair to Doc.  Marta hurried to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of chili that was still on the stove while I poured him a cup of coffee.

       “How is he, Doc?” Molly asked, beating me to my question.

       He started shaking his head.  “Bad shape…very bad.  I had to take the toes off one foot and cut back the heel on the other.  Two fingers were removed, and oh, the poor man, one side of his face was severely frozen.”

       Taking the spoon he began to eat rapidly.  After four or five spoonfuls, he looked up at us watching.  “Could you fix a bowl for Edith.  I left her over with the patient.”  

       I watched as Molly cut a big portion of the pie for Doc and Edith, then I asked, “Will he survive?”

       Doc sighed heavily.  “I don’t know, Miles.  I tried to get all the dead flesh from him, but the gangrene was already starting to set in,” he replied wearily.

       It became quiet as we watched Doc finish his chili.  Marta had a bowl to take to Edith and Molly had wrapped the pie.  When Doc stood, he just nodded at us, then he gave a smile, “I’m so very thankful that I have friends like the lot of you.”

       Rev. Chapman got up then telling us that he was going over to see the man.  He asked if I would see Betty on home.

       I knew that Marta, Lola, and Emelda would be going together so I wasn’t worried about them.  “Get me a bowl of chili, and wrap up my pie,” I said, looking at Molly.  “We can drop them off for Lucas on the way home…

Miles found Lark Collins, maybe frozen, on the floor of an old miner’s shack.  If he was breathing it was so shallow that Miles couldn’t tell, so he wrapped him in a blanket and tied him on the back of Two-Bits and was heading back to Hermosa.  The cold was bitter with the wind blowing a little harder kicking up the snow that had fallen.  Will Miles bring in a frozen corpse, or will Collins live to stand trial?  Let’s go back to those days of yesteryear.

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

       A little over an hour later I was bringing the body, dead or alive, into the little community of Hermosa.  It was only a hour or so but with the cold and wind it seemed like three.  I felt near frozen myself as I untied Collins from the back of Two-Bits and carried him inside the small hotel.  

       Upon entering the clerk, snarled, hollered, “Is he dead?”

       “Get some blankets and place them by the fire,” I ordered and he hurried off to find some.  Shortly he returned then laid down two in front of the fireplace and I laid Collins on top of them.  “Stoke that fire up some,” I ordered again and he quickly went to the task while I covered Collins with two more blankets.

       “Watch him while I take care of my horses,” I said, then was up and back out the door into the cold.

       Upon arriving at the livery, I didn’t bother to see if the hostler was around, I opened the large door and led my two horses inside out of the wind.  It was some warmer, the proprietor had a small pot-bellied stove over to one side that warmed the room up some.  Immediately I began to unsaddle Two-Bits even before putting him in a stall.  Having her bridle and saddle off I led her toward the middle of the room, I didn’t want to get too close to the stove, but I wanted to warm her up as I rubbed her down.  She stood there, enjoying being out of the weather while I unsaddled Hawk, placing him in a stall.

       I worked on Two-Bits for about fifteen minutes when the hostler came in and began to complain.  I was in no mood for his nonsense and told him so.  “Get over here and grain these horses,” I commanded.  He took offense when I opened my coat and he saw my badge and pistol.  “They both need water so take care of that first, then make sure they’re fed properly.  I want this mare rubbed down some more.  She spent the night out in the cold.”

       Buttoning up my coat, I watched for a few minutes while the hostler got busy.  “I take it you found your man,” mumbled the hostler as he started to pour water in the trough from a bucket.

       “Found a stiff body, I don’t know if he’s dead or not.  I need to go back to the hotel to check on him.  You do right with those horses, you hear!” I warned him then strode outside.

       When I entered the hotel, I glanced at the clerk who gave a little shrug with his shoulders.  After taking off my coat and laying it on a chair I stooped down to check on Collins.  He still looked lifeless.  His fingers had turned black and one cheek was discolored.  Shaking my head I went back to the clerk.  “Today is Tuesday, right?” I asked to which he nodded.  “By chance could I get some coffee? I need to warm up.”

       “Uh, I don’t have any here in the lobby.  I could, maybe go next door and get you some,” he stuttered.

       Heaving a sigh, “Then why don’t you maybe go do it.  Bring a pot back.”  With that he scurried off to find a coat then rushed on out the door.  “Today is Tuesday,” I said to myself, “if I can leave tomorrow I can be back in time to help Molly and those at the diner with the Thanksgiving dinner she always prepares.”

       Looking at the body on the floor in front of the fire.  “Lord,” I whispered, “I don’t know what else to do for him.”  Then I seated myself in one of the chairs waiting for the clerk to arrive with the coffee.  Ten minutes later, he came through the door.  Very efficiently he poured a cup for me, setting it on a table then placed the pot by the fire to keep it warm. I nodded a “thanks” to him.

       I must have dozed off and saw that it was almost dark.  My stomach was reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  Getting up I went to look for the clerk who was nowhere to be found.  I didn’t want to leave the man to go next door to eat, so I checked the coffeepot and poured the rest of the brew into my cup.  I had just sat back down when I heard a faint sound.  A groan coming from the blankets.

       Moving to the lump on the floor, I knelt down next to him and thought I saw his eyelids flutter.  His lips twitched.  I got up quickly and poured a glass of water from a pitcher that was in the lobby.  Bringing it back I took my finger, wet with water to his lips.  He licked them with his tongue.  He was alive, but I wasn’t sure what shape he was in.  I wet my fingers again, moistening his lips.  His eyes opened and he jerked away.

       “You must feel sorta like some of those men you handcuffed to the hitching posts in the winter who froze to death,” I remarked.  He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were open wide now.  “Let me get you uncovered and check how much of you is frost bitten.”

       Taking the covers off, I started with his boots.  He moaned loudly as I tugged them off.  I was worried some that his toes might come off with the boot.  They were in bad shape, some of them black.  I already knew he had one hand with fingers blacked.  He needed a doctor or gangrene was going to set in.  The closest one was Doc Jones back in Durango.

       “Mister,” I spoke calmly, “if you want to live we have to travel to Durango no later than tomorrow.”  I looked down at his feet.  “I don’t think you’ll be able to sit in a saddle…