Miles finally has the injured Marshal Todd Johnson of Silverton on the train and headed down the canyon towards Durango.  At least two of Johnson’s men have boarded the train.  What awaits Miles on the trip?  Will Johnson’s men make a move with all the passengers on board to free their boss?  Miles is ready, but the rocking of the train could lull him into dozing.  Come with me to those days of yesteryear and see what happens in the furthering Saga of Miles Forrest.

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

       I could tell that Johnson was hurting.  The jostling of the train over the tracks hurt his shoulder and broken wrist.  He was in and out of sleep and I wasn’t concerned much about him trying to do anything to get away, but I was keeping my eyes on the two men that boarded and were sitting at the other end of the car.  From what I could tell they were the only two that had boarded, but someone I didn’t see or know might also be among the passengers.

       It was hard to stay awake with the rocking of the train, and I was bone tired.  I didn’t dare go to sleep with the two men aboard.  Sleep would have to wait until Johnson was safely behind bars in Durango.  I know it was all in my mind, but the trip seemed to take much longer than normal.  My eyes kept shutting until finally I stood up and leaned up against the door.  

       I must have been dozing standing up, but when the final whistle blew I came wide awake.  I moved back to the seat with Johnson and let all the passengers depart, not seeing where the two deputies of Johnson went.  I nudged Johnson with the barrel of the Greener to get up.  His face was worn, and etched in pain.  Looking away from him I saw someone standing on the platform right at the steps.  I couldn’t tell who it was, but I was going to keep Johnson between me and the newcomer.

       A big sigh of relief came from me when I recognized Mateo.  “Am I glad to see you,” I remarked, then looked around for the other two men.  They weren’t to be seen.  I informed Mateo of the men as we walked down the street toward the jail.

       Groaning, Johnson stopped, “I need a doctor.”

       “Doc Jones will be up to see you after I get you settled in a cell,” I informed him, then nudged him to continue.

       He refused to move.  “Up to you,” I charged.  “You can walk or I can drag you which I’m sure will hurt you more.”  He groaned again, then slowly started to walk again.  

       When he was settled in the cell, Mateo left to get Doc Jones.  I sat down with Lucas to inform him of the situation and the two men.  He had grown as a man in the past few months.  I knew he would do the best he could, but I also knew of the ruthlessness of Johnson’s men.

       Within the hour, Doc had splinted his wrist, but he said there wasn’t much he could do for the collarbone except to keep it in a sling.  He turned his gaze to me, “You did know that he had broken bones?”

       I pulled at my moustache before answering.  “I reckoned the wrist was broken, wasn’t sure about his shoulder,” I replied, then smiled.  “Sure kept him from causin’ any trouble.”

       Doc let out a snort and shook his head.  “I’ll be back in the morning to check on him,” he paused, giving me a stare.  “You are going to feed him, aren’t you?”

       “I’ll bring him his food, but he’ll have to feed himself,” I replied.

       It was time for me to head down to the diner.  I wanted to see Molly and tell her I was back, plus hoped that she might have a piece of pie for me.  I had settled down at the table sipping on coffee and talking with Molly.  It had probably been fifteen, maybe twenty minutes when gunfire sounded from…

Miles has arrested the corrupt marshal of Silverton and has been holding him in jail until the train departs for Durango.  During the night, the marshal’s deputies tried to break him from jail only to face the justice of Miles’ gun and their own folly.  Miles and Morgan Appleby, Wells Fargo agent, are in the process of identifying dead bodies while waiting for the doctor to appear.  It’s one hour until the train leaves the station.  Will Miles make it with his prisoner?  Join with me in another exciting tale from yesteryear.

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

       A man burst through the doorway, cursing when he saw the bodies.  I didn’t know him, I reckoned him to be the new doctor in Silverton.  After surveying the bodies on the floor he looked over at Morgan standing beside me, then his gaze went to me.  “I don’t know who you are, Mister, but Marshal Johnson will have your neck for this!”

       “He payin’ you?” I asked in a congenial manner.

       That stopped him for a moment, then he asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

       “Are you on the take?  Do you cover for Johnson and his deputies?” I replied, then added.  “I just want to know if I need to arrest you for being a part of Johnson’s crooked schemes.  Oh, and by the way, I’m Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest, and I have your marshal locked up and under arrest.”

       The doctor didn’t take well to that news.  “On what charge?”

       I pulled on my moustache, “Oh, murder, attempted murder, extortion, interfering with the duties of a federal officer, misuse of his office, and anything else I can think of before arraignin’ him in Durango.”

       He glanced out towards the street.  “You’ll play Hades getting him to Durango.”

       I gave him my best smile.  “Looks like it has already started.  Now, all I need for you is to identify these men by name.  Give them to Mr. Appleby here, then you can get on your way.  If I miss my guess, I think there are some wounded men about.”

       Morgan helped the doctor with the men lying on the floor.  The one who had been holding the dynamite was unrecognizable, but most likely was a deputy named Sawyer.  I looked up at the clock on the wall and was sort of surprised that it was still working.  I had less than an hour before the train would leave.  Time to be retrieving Johnson from his cell.

       “Why don’t you go ahead and leave, Morgan.  It’s time for me to take Johnson to the depot.”

       He wanted to help me, but I convinced him that he would only be a target.  I told him that I would leave the jailer locked up.  I wasn’t going to bother with him on this trip.

       Johnson was standing up by the bars when I walked in the cell room.  He only had one boot on, and I could see that when he moved he was in pain.  The wrist was definitely broken, and I wasn’t sure about the shoulder.

       “Where’s my boot?” he hollered.

       “You don’t need it,” I informed him.  “Just be careful of where you step.”

       “I need a doctor,” he moaned.

       “There’s a good one in Durango.  I’ll make sure he sees you.  Now let’s go.”

       We moved on through the cells out into the office which was now clear of men and only dead bodies lying on the floor.  When we came to the entrance I thrust the Greener up under his jaw.  “I see any of your men makin’ any kind of move and I pull the trigger.  Savvy?  It won’t be a pretty sight.”

       As we began to move down the boardwalk we gained quite a crowd, following and watching their town marshal limp down toward the station.  It was just in front of us when three men walked out in the street to stop our progress.  I pushed the barrel up under Johnson’s jaw.  I leaned toward him whispering, “Ever think that they might want you out of the way?”

       He tried to swallow.  I didn’t stop, but kept moving forward, the three men moved to the side two to one side and one to the other, causing me some discomfort.  I couldn’t watch them all.  They allowed us through, but now they were to my back.  I turned Johnson to the side making him walk sideways down the street.  He stumbled and almost fell causing the shotgun to dig into his throat.

       “Easy there, Marshal.  This gun almost went off.”

       We stepped onto the passenger car and entered.  I pushed Johnson down against the side of the car.  He let out a yelp, then a groan.  I wasn’t really concerned.  Looking out the window, I watched as two of the men walked to the front of the car and entered, sitting down in front.

       They had just sat when the train lurched, then proceeded to move on away from the station.  I sat down in the seat behind Johnson.  I surely hoped that the two wouldn’t start anything on the train as there were several passengers aboard–all their eyes in my direction.

       As the train started moving down the canyon, I thought to myself that this might prove to be an interesting trip, then smiled whispering a little prayer.  “Okay, Lord, You can stop stirrin’ things up now…

This series was put on hold for a couple of weeks, so let’s go back to where we left Miles.  He had just arrested the crooked city marshal of Silverton, Todd Johnson, and had placed him in his own jail.  Miles had moved off into a darkened corner away from the office desk and was waiting for the night to pass when shots were fired blasting out the windows, the glass falling on the desk where he might have been sitting.  Let’s return to the action in another exciting adventure in the Saga of Miles Forrest.

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

       I had expected something of this nature to happen, but even if one is prepared for it, shots do tend to get one’s attention.  I waited, lifting the barrel of the Greener toward the door.  It was silent, then the door crashed open.  I still waited.  One man came through, then another, and I could see a third coming.  It was time to unload both barrels.  There were screams, a thud, some yelling and two men hurried to get back outside.  I quickly pulled my pistol, fired three shots at the entrance, then quickly reloaded the shotgun and my pistol in the lull.

       Another man was down, and possibly one more hurt bad enough that he wouldn’t cause any problems.  That buckshot may have even twinged the third man in the doorway.  I had lost count of how many deputies Johnson now had, but it had to be only a handful.  They would be more careful about showing themselves or doing anything rash.

       I didn’t move for at least thirty minutes, waiting to see if they would try anything else.  I also wanted Johnson to be on edge.  He would be wondering what had happened and since the door to the cell room hadn’t opened I’d let him think the worst.  Finally I did move, but it was up to the front corner.  I would be protected from shots coming in from either window or the entrance.

       Sitting on a chair in the front corner I could see the figure of the man lying on the floor.  Shame.  Why do some men go to the bad this way?  I’ve heard all the reasons, but really none of them make sense.  The devil sure gets his claws on some of them, lying and deceiving them into thinking that evil is the best, quickest, and easiest way to get ahead, but all it really does is hasten their appearance before their Maker.

       It must have been around five o’clock when I heard someone holler.  “Marshal!”  I didn’t answer.  I didn’t want them to know my location.  Besides, were they hollering for me or their boss?  Again, I heard, “Marshal!” louder this time.

       The sounds of footsteps on broken glass caught my attention.  No matter how quiet they were trying to be, I couldn’t help but hear them, and it helped that I had moved closer to the outside wall.  “Marshal Johnson,” came the voice again, quieter this time.  Then a holler, “Hunker down!”

       Two men came in, I fired the Greener again, and heard one man holler, “No!”  It was then I saw the stick of dynamite in his hand as he was falling.  I moved toward the wall, pulling the desk that was there over on top of me.  It wasn’t light when it fell on me, but I figured that was all the chance I had.  Seconds later, the stick of dynamite exploded.  If the shotgun blast hadn’t taken care of them, that explosion certainly would have.  

       Two left, three?  Maybe there were more, but one thing for sure was that explosion would wake the town people.  They were used to hearing dynamite going off up in the camps and around the mines, but not down on a main street.  

       I was trying to pull myself out from under the desk when I heard a voice, “My land, this place is a disaster.  Lloyd, go for the doctor, I see bodies lying about.”

       From my prone position all I could see were the legs of men coming to view the scene.  I let the man go for the doctor, then spoke up.  “Everybody hold still.  I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Miles Forrest, and any sudden move might make me jerk my finger and you’d be joinin’ those on the floor.”

       “Sure Marshal,” came the voice.  “What in the world happened?”

       “Get out of the way!” hollered a man whose voice I recognized.  “Miles, are you in there?”

       Morgan Appleby.

       “Morgan, clear those people out of the office and make way for the doctor.”

       “Where are you, Miles?”

       “I’ll show myself after the office is clear.  I have Johnson in a cell in the back.”

       Slowly the men began to move out of the office, but I knew they were hanging around on the boardwalk and in the street outside the jail.  Holding on to the back of the desk, I pulled myself up.  The concussion from the blast had made me some dizzy and there were some bruises and cuts I didn’t know I had.  I felt the hand of Morgan grasp my arm, holding me steady.

       “When the doc shows up, I need to have these men identified, and also see if Johnson has any more deputies.”  

       Morgan helped me move over to my original position to the chair in the back corner.  He looked at the office and began to shake his head, when…

We left Miles as he began his search for Marshal Johnson in the rooms above the Silver Bucket Saloon.  He was determined to bring Johnson and his deputies to justice.  Several had been killed and Miles knew there were at least eight deputies remaining, but he was making first and foremost his arrest of Johnson.  Let’s go to those days of yesteryear and another thrilling adventure in the Saga of Miles Forrest.

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

       Providence was with me because when I kicked open the door, Johnson was sitting on the edge of his bed pulling off his boots.  He glanced at me, then over to the chair where his holster was draped.  Throwing his boot at me, he lunged for the chair.  The boot hit me on the left arm, but I was already stepping forward swinging the Greener in a downward motion.  The barrel caught his wrist just before he could grab his pistol.  I heard bones crack, and a yell bellowed from the marshal.

       As he grasped his wrist I moved forward thrusting the Greener against his chest, holding it there as I reached for my handcuffs.  He started to struggle until I cocked one of the barrels which immediately got his attention and settled him down.  Putting the cuffs in the hand that held the shotgun, I reached and pulled his good arm away, then slapped the cuff on it.  I wasn’t even cruel enough to cuff his broken wrist so I pulled his arm behind him and attached the other end to his belt.

       “Up,” I said, then motioned with the shotgun.

       My, he looked a sight as we left the room, one arm behind his back and only one boot on.  At least he would not run away easily.  I could see the pain on his face as we walked out the doorway.  He tried his best to not move his right arm.

       Slowly we moved down the hallway and I had him stop at the top of the stairs.  I wanted to survey the crowd below in the saloon.  “Slow and easy,” I said, then cocked the other barrel.

       It didn’t take long for those in the bar to look our way.  I saw movement, a man walking to the other side of the room.  A deputy.  There must be at least one more on the floor and they wanted me to pass between them.  People began to move away, sort of like the sea did when Moses entered it.  

       Someone to my right fired, the bullet tugging the top of my jacket.  I jerked the Greener in his direction, fired one barrel then brought it down on the shoulder of Johnson knocking him to the floor.  Turning my attention to the other man, whose attention had gone to his partner, I fired the other barrel knocking him back and on top of one of the tables.  Quickly I held the shotgun in my left hand and drew my pistol.

       Scanning the room, I didn’t see another threat so I nudged Johnson with the Greener to get up then gave him a little shove to get him moving.  He was in a world of hurt right now, broken wrist, and possibly a broken collar bone.  With the blasts from the shotgun and me walking the marshal out of the saloon the people gave me quite a bit of leeway.

       As  I stood out on the boardwalk I looked up and down the street, then a smile crossed my face.  What better place to keep the marshal until the train left in the morning–the jail.  It was a block and a half away, and we sure received the glances as we moved down toward the jail.  Johnson was having trouble walking, partly because of only having one boot on, the other was the pain from his injuries.

       Coming to the jail, I motioned him in to find only a deputy at the desk in the front office.  With my pistol I waved for him to move back to the cells.  “Leave the gunbelt on the desk,” I ordered.  He went in one cell, and I placed Johnson on a cot in the one across from him.  

       Securing the cells I started back to the main office.  “I need a doctor!” came the cry of Johnson.

       I didn’t want to be cruel but I wasn’t about to go out into the night in search of a doctor.  “You’ll live!” I hollered back.  I knew he might be in pain, but he was in no danger of dying.

       Moving the chair from the desk over to the corner I was able to be hidden from one window, and I could see the entrance and the other window.  Now it was waiting time, until the morning.  The next major obstacle was to get Johnson down to the train depot the next morning.  When I blew out the lamp it was dark in the room.  Almost no light was coming in.

       It was almost an hour later, when a gunshot blasted the window…