Marshal Johnson and his crooked deputies were coming down the street.  Confrontation was imminent; it could become a bloodbath.  Sheriff Gold, Miles, Morgan Appleby, and Ron Barnes were inside the Wells Fargo office, ready and waiting.  Would there be bloodshed?  Would the end of the clash find bodies on the floor no longer breathing?  Let’s go back to a time when things were often decided by a gun, when it took courage and fortitude to enforce justice.  

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

       I looked around the room, Barnes was over to the far right, behind his desk, but standing.  I motioned for Morgan to go to the left of Charlie and stand slightly behind him next to a table.  Charlie was just to the left of me, perhaps six feet away.  We stood in the middle of the room.  I had the Greener in my hands.

       “It’s your play, Charlie.  You’re the sheriff, we’ll follow your lead,” I said, then followed, “however, if they start shootin’, I won’t wait for your word.”

       “Let’s see how many of them there are, and the intentions of Johnson,” replied Charlie.

       A crowd of men led by Marshal Johnson walked by the window on the right hand side of the office.  They stopped momentarily and I could hear Tioga and Johnson talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

       Johnson sent two men through the entrance, I reckon that was to see if we were going to immediately start shooting.  When no shots were fired, Johnson came in next and stood between the first two; he was followed by four more.  The room was becoming quite crowded.  I could see that there were at least two remaining outside the office.

       Anger was etched on Johnson’s face when he bellowed, “Release my deputy immediately!”

       He looked at me, and there was a show of surprise when Charlie answered.  “Can’t, he’s a wanted man.  I have a poster on him.”

       Johnson’s eyes moved over to Charlie.  “That poster is not valid in Colorado.  It’s from Kansas.”

       “I’ll hold him until I can extradite him,” replied Charlie, firm in his resolve, but not threatening.

       It looked as if Johnson was going to explode.  “You can’t hold him!”

       “I can,” I said, figuring it was time to say something.

       I thought I heard a growl coming from Johnson.  “If you don’t release him, I will!” he barked, his hand moving slightly down toward the butt of his pistol.

       “Marshal, you can take your men and leave me to my job.  I really don’t want a bloodbath here and if you make one more move toward your gun that’s exactly what it’ll be,” asserted Charlie.  When he said that I brought the shotgun up to bear; its ugly,deadly eyes boring straight at the Marshal.

       There was silence and a ton of tension in the room.  Suddenly the glass broke to my left side, I didn’t look, but everyone flinched when it happened.  It was quickly followed by a shot, then two rifle shots in close succession.  A man fell through the broken window.

       Mateo was on the job, I raised the Greener, and Johnson quickly threw up his hands shouting, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, nobody shoot!”

       I don’t know if it was a ruse or not, but to my right Barnes fired.  There was a grunt and the sound of a gun falling to the floor.  “Don’t shoot!” screamed Johnson.

       “Marshal, why don’t you take your men and depart from these premises,” commanded Charlie.  

       “Move back men,” ordered Johnson.  The men slowly vacated the room with Marshal Johnson stopping at the doorway.  “This isn’t over.  I want Tioga released.”

       “He’ll be released when he arrives in Kansas, not before,” I informed him.

       “Forrest,” he responded with a sneer, “Tioga has friends.”

       “Friends that are ready to die for him, if they interfere with the law?” I answered.

       I could tell he wanted to say more, but he huffed, then turned walking out the entrance.  Waiting for him was the man that Barnes wounded.  It wasn’t serious, the bullet struck him in the wrist.  Of course, he might lose the use of that right hand.

       Morgan went over to the man lying in the window frame and pushed him back outside.  I looked over at Barnes, “You did good.”

       Charlie walked a few paces to me shaking his head.  “Whew, that could have been bad.”

       When Johnson’s men left the area, Mateo came through the door.  There was concern on his face, but when he saw that the four of us were standing with a hole in nary a one of us, he smiled.  “I see that the Lord kept his hand over you.”

       The tension had gone, and now the intensity of the battle was leaving us.  It’s hard to describe how tired one can be after a confrontation where lives are on the line.

       “Miles, there’s a train leaving in thirty minutes.  It might be good that you were on it,” suggested Morgan.

       I grasp his shoulder, “Thanks,” then looked over at Barnes.  “Will you two be all right?”

       He gave a little laugh.  “We might take up praying like you do, but yes, I think we’ll be all right…”

An outlaw, Thurmon Cavendish, who went by the alias Tioga, was recognized by Mateo.  Miles placed him in cuffs since he was a wanted man and sent his partner, Foslin out from the office.  They all knew that Foslin would hot-foot it to his boss, Marshal Johnson.  It was only a matter of time before they received a visit from the marshal.  The problem is, what kind of a visit?  Let’s go back to those thrilling days of yesteryear and join Miles Forrest and his friends in Silverton, Colorado.

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

       “Help me drag this cur outside and cuff him to the post.  I want to send a message to Johnson,” I said.  Charlie reached down to grab an ankle and I took hold of the other to drag him out.  Once he was secured I turned to Mateo.  “No one knows you’re here, so why don’t you move on over to the other side of the street; maybe down to the depot.”

       Mateo smiled as he looked around, but before he could go, Charlie grabbed him by the arm.  “Here, take this,” and thrust the rifle into his hands.

       Walking back into the office I looked at Courtney and Barnes.  “Now’s the time to leave if you’re gonna.”  Morgan Appleby had already declared that he was staying, not only to protect the name of Wells Fargo, but also his own.  He told the three lawmen that he wasn’t about to back down to Marshal Johnson despite the terrible beating he had received.

       “Morgan, I can’t stay!” exclaimed the frightened Dale Courtney.  “I, I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

       He started toward the door, stopped to look at Ron Barnes.  “You coming, Ron?”

       Barnes glanced over at Appleby.  “Reckon I’ll stay.  See you, Dale.”

       Morgan Appleby went to his desk, opened the drawer and pulled out an 1880 Smith and Wesson .38 revolver.  It was the first double action .38 center fire revolver produced by the company.  Setting it on his desk, he reached back in the drawer for a box of cartridges.  

       I walked over to him, with Barnes following me.  “First time I’ve ever seen one of those,” I told Morgan.  “Can you use it?”

       In reply I received a large, toothy grin.  

       “What will I use?” questioned Barnes.  “I don’t carry a gun.”

       Charlie and I glanced at each other, both with the same questions on our minds.  Charlie broke the silence.  “How do you survive in Silverton without some type of weapon?”

       “Uh, my room’s only four blocks away.  I come straight to work, and go straight home.  I seldom venture up town along Greene and never have I walked over to Blair Street.”

       My attention went back to Barnes.  “Do you know how to use a gun?” I inquired.

       “I know how to shoot,” he snapped back.  “I may not be a good shot, but I can shoot.”

       Taking two steps over to the table, I picked up Tioga’s gun.  It was a Colt .44, and when I looked to see if it was loaded, I saw four notches carved on the grip.  “Here,” I said, thrusting the gun at Barnes.  “Take this, and keep the gunbelt close to you for the additional shells.”

       “What do yuh think, Miles?” asked Charlie, as he stood by the entryway to the office.  “Will he come in force or just try to bully us?”

       “I don’t know how well he knows you Charlie, but I would think he’ll bark and bluster first, then try to take Tioga back,” I replied.

       Charlie looked back at me.  “You don’t think he’ll have the man shot like he did before?”

       “Could be,” I said solemnly, “but don’t reckon he will.  I think Tioga is too important to his organization.”

       “Meet him out on the boardwalk, or let him come in?” asked Charlie, trying to figure out some kind of strategy.

       I smiled, “Let’s make him come to us.  Plus we do have a measure of cover in here with the tables, desks, and counters.”

       Twenty minutes had gone by, Charlie hadn’t moved from his position at the doorway except to change the weight on his legs.  Another ten, then Charlie moved back into the office.  “Better say your prayers, the marshal is on his way with a slew of deputies…”

Marshal Johnson and his deputies seem to be getting the upper hand.  Their lawless deeds have moved into outright violence.  The problem is that the townsfolk will not testify against them for fear of retribution.  Somehow, Miles, Charlie, and Mateo must find a way to bring this corruption to justice.  Join with me now as we look into the life of Miles Forrest and those wondrous days of the past.

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

       The three law officers from Durango were sitting in the Wells Fargo office, joined by Agent Morgan Appleby who had recently been beaten close to death by an unknown group of assailants.  “Tell us what you know,” Miles said nodding at Mateo.

       “From what I can tell is that most of the residents and merchants, at least the ones I conversed with, look at Johnson and his office as a type of insurance policy.”

       “Extortion!” exclaimed Charlie Gold,  “Don’t they know the difference between insurance and extortion!”

       I looked at Charlie, “Let Mateo finish.”  I should keep quiet, after all this is Charlie’s jurisdiction.  Theoretically, I was a deputy under him for this trip, however, if need be my badge would trump his.

       “I talked to Mary Anders.  She and her husband Ben own a saloon, ‘Ben and Mary’s Emporium.’  I had already been thrown out of ‘Belle’s Place’ cause I was a Mexican, but Mary didn’t seem to mind,” Mateo informed us.  “I’m surprised that there aren’t more Mexicans working in the mines.  Plenty of other groups, especially Irish, German, and Welsh.  There’s a little Mexican camp to the east of town, that’s where I stayed each night.”

       “All right, back to Anders.  What did she say?” asked Charlie impatiently.

       “I heard her talking with one of her bartenders about a couple of men who died last winter.  I didn’t pretend I wasn’t listening, but when she said they were left handcuffed outside I questioned her.  I said, ‘Senora, you mean they were left outside in the freezin’ weather?  Handcuffed?”

       She looked at me, not certain whether or not to continue talking, especially since I was a Mexican.  “Mister, if you plan on staying around here this winter you better watch your Ps and Qs.  Johnson wouldn’t care whether you froze to death or not.”

       I gave her a puzzled look, “You mean he wouldn’t even put them in the calaboose?  Out of the weather?”

       “That brought a loud, very unlady-like snort from her.  ‘Mister, they’d let you freeze solid, like they did to poor old Dixie.’  Mentioning his name brought a tear to her eye.  That’s when the bartender spoke up.  ‘Yeah, he was a nuisance at times, but he really was a good sot.'”

       “Do you think she or the bartender would testify?” I asked.

       Mateo shrugged, “Maybe.”

       “But that should be part of the public record.  There should be an obituary, a coroner’s report, a newspaper article–something!” stated Charlie.

       I was just getting ready to respond when two men, wearing the stars of a deputy, walked into the office.  “Appleby, have you given any more thought to our last discussion?” asked a fairly large man.  He had longish dark hair come down from under his hat, but was otherwise clean of any facial hair.

       Morgan stood to go meet him.  “I already told you, and Johnson, that Wells Fargo doesn’t give in to blackmail or extortion!  Now get out!”

       The man grinned for a moment then it turned into a snarl.  “It’s Marshal Johnson, and you can put it down in the books under, ‘Incidentals.'”  Both he and the man with him laughed.

       The rude man looked over at Courtney and Barnes.  “It’d be sad if an accident happened to one of your agents.  I mean, didn’t you fall and seriously hurt yourself a week or so ago?”  Laughter again.

       I stood up to stand beside Morgan.  “Mister, I’d call that a threat!  You got a name?”

       “Who are you?” he asked, but I saw movement from the man with him.  He recognized that I was the one who was delivering Devlin out of town when he was shot down.

       “I’ll just call you Dummy, then!  That’ll make a nice marker on your grave.”

       He started for his gun, but I had moved a few steps closer and beat him to the draw, crashing the barrel of my pistol down across his head.  He went down with a thud.  The other man kept his hands well away from his gun.  I smiled, “You want a thump as well?”  I queried, then added.  “You got a name?”

       “Joe Foslin,” he replied.

       I nodded toward the man on the floor, “And him?”

       “Tioga.”

       I wasn’t concerned with Foslin, so I turned my head to Charlie and Mateo.  “Does Tioga ring a bell with either of you?”

       “Thurman Cavendish, goes by Tioga,” recalled Mateo.

       That brought a smile to my face.  “See ya, Foslin.  I’ll keep this here feller in cuffs.  Oh, and if you want to shoot him, he’ll be cuffed to the post outside.”

       Foslin stumbled out, but as soon as he hit the boardwalk he burst into a run.  I turned to Charlie and Mateo, “Think they’ll get my message?”

There is a lawless element controlling Silverton.  Miles Forrest and Charlie Gold are moving to curtail it or eliminate it completely.  One man is dead already, and another severely beaten.  How will Sheriff Gold, Miles and their fellow law officer Mateo Ramirez handle the situation, or can they?  Join in for another thrilling adventure in the days of yesteryear.

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

       Charlie and I stepped out onto the platform of the station.  Saddlebags over our shoulders, Charlie carrying a rifle, myself a shotgun, and as we started walking down the street our badges glistened in the sun.  It was hot, especially for this altitude.  Perhaps that’s what the Master meant when He told me at camp that He was going to stir things up. 

       We walked a block up to the Wells Fargo office.  Mateo was to join us there sometime this afternoon.  When we stepped into the office the first thing I noticed was that all three agents were there.  I went over to where Morgan Appleby was standing and reached out my hand.  His face was a sickening yellow color as it was beginning to heal from when he was beat up.  The last time I saw him, it was swollen, one eye completely shut, split lip, and was a mixture of indigo, black, and blue.  

       Morgan was a good man.  He had been at this office for Wells Fargo for some time now.  I worked with him in the past both as an agent for Wells Fargo and Deputy U.S. Marshal.  The other two agents seemed to be capable men:  Dale Courtney and Ron Barnes, who cared for Morgan when he was laid up in bed.

       I eyed him over, “One thing for sure, that ugly mug of yours is pretty as it changes colors.  How’re you feelin’?”

       Instead of reaching out to shake my hand he raised his fist as if to strike me.  I feigned fear, and then he laughed, grabbing my hand and giving it a good shake, then cringed.  “It still hurts when I laugh,” he half moaned, half laughed.  “Doc said I most likely had a couple of broken ribs.”

       Charlie nodded at the two agents then walked over to where Morgan and I were standing.  Charlie shook Morgan’s hand and asked, “You sure you couldn’t recognize any of them?”

       “Ha, I wish.  I might be able to recognize their boots though,” he said with another laugh.  He turned somber then, “There was a killing night before last.”

       Charlie and I looked at each other, he then encouraged Morgan to continue.  “Ron Ferguson, he and his wife, Carol, own a fabric store in town.  I really don’t know much of anything about it.”

       “Shot?” I questioned.

       Morgan shook his head.  “No, beat to death.  He’s a little man, didn’t take much.  I talked briefly to Dr. Staster.  Upon examination he said that Ferguson had a broken jaw, the bones around his eyes were broken, and a cracked skull.  At that time, he wasn’t sure if he was killed when his skull was broken or if some of the bones around his eyes penetrated his brain.”

       “Marshal’s deputies?” inquired Charlie.

       Morgan gave him a skeptical look.  “No one knows, but you figure.  Nothing was stolen, money was still in the register,” he said, then sighed.  “I guess we’ll really never know the whys and whats of it.  I just feel sorry for Carol.”

       “Marshal Forrest,” came the voice of Ron Barnes.  “I just made a fresh pot of coffee.  Want a cup?”

       “Yes, yes,” implored Morgan, “put your gear over on that table.  Sit yourselves down.  Ron, bring them a cup.”

       Now, I hadn’t replied that I wanted a cup of coffee, but then, who was I to refuse one?  “Beware of that first sip,” warned Agent Courtney.  “The water’s right from the Animas river, gold sludge and all.”

       Charlie looked over at him with a frown, all I did was smile.  But upon first taste, there was a metallic flavor.  Maybe…

       We were both on our second cup of coffee.  Morgan and his men went back to their work, and we waited for Mateo to show up.  I had just placed by cup on the desk next to me, when Mateo entered through the door.  He came over to us as soon as he entered the office.  Eyes wide, he began, “We’re sure gonna need the help of God…”.