Just as being too busy gives you nightmares, being a fool makes you a blabbermouth.”  –Ecclesiastes 5:3 (NLT)

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

     I waited for an explanation.  “Vess Dawson, what do you know of him?”

     Osian spoke up, “Nothing really.  There was a gunfight, no one was hurt bad.  There was a little disagreement when we threw them in jail overnight to simmer them down.  One mouthed off and said something about a Dawson showing up.”

     “No other problems then?” I questioned, tucking what he said in my mind.

     “Nothing we haven’t been able to handle,” he said, then a grin came on his face.  “Exceptin’ one fact, Lucius can’t make coffee fit to drink.”

     “Hogwash!” came the reply from the other part of the room.

     “That’s what I was telling the Marshal, here.  Your coffee tastes like hogwash.”

     Lucius walked up to where we were standing.  I was holding a cup in my hand and Lucius looked in it.  “Marshal,” he barked, directing his words to Osian, “when was the last time you tasted ‘hogwash’?”  Then he gave his attention to me, waiting for me to say something.

     “Hmmm, it does have a peculiar flavor to it…” 

     He wouldn’t let me finish but grunted, “Bah,” and went back to his corner.  It was good that there was a comradery building among the men.

     Osian, to be polite, held his cup toward Lucius, “Uh, deputy, would you mind filling up my cup?”  I just had to laugh, but Lucius was dutiful and brought the pot to fill up Osian’s cup.  He then looked at me.  “What do you think about this Dawson fellow?”

     I pulled on the tip of my moustache, pondering a moment before answering.  “Just keep an eye on him.  If he’s a gunman, leave him alone unless he breaks the law, then at least two of you go after him,” I paused, then added, “with Greeners.  None of you are gunmen.  Always try to have the firepower on your side.”

     “Makes sense,” he muttered.

     “McGinnis’ trial is Monday,” I informed them.  “Have you heard any talk about breakin’ him out?”

     Marshal Beavin and the two deputies shook their heads.  I then added, “Anyone steppin’ up to take his place?”

     “None so far, in fact it’s hard to tell how many of the gang is still in town.  Bill Martin, I think you met him, has been keeping a close eye on them.”

     “They still makin’ the Glass Slipper their home base?”

     It was Deputy Greer that answered, “They still go there, but it seems that they’ve moved down to Boyd’s Billiard Hall and Casino.”

     I pulled my moustache again and then smirked, “Oh, Sparky is still around?”  His birth name was Aloysius, but because of his manner of dress he was referred to as “Sparky”.  “I might just have to pay him a visit before headin’ back to Durango for the trial.”

     “How long you staying?” asked the marshal.

     “The plan is to leave tomorrow.  I just wanted to check on you and your men.  I have to be back for the trial,” I paused to look back toward the cells.  “You still have Smith back there?”

     Osian nodded, and a smile came to my lips.  “Lucius, tell Mr. Smith, I’ll be takin’ him to Durango to stand trial.  Make something up ’bout McGinnis plea bargainin’ or something like that.”

     Now all the deputies were smiling.  Lucius went back to the cells.  Within seconds there came a roar.  “Forrest, you out there?  Marshal, you can take me…”

And don’t make rash promises to God, for he is in heaven, and you are only here on earth.  So let your words be few.”  –Ecclesiastes 5:2 (NLT)

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

     The man remained unconscious the remainder of the trip, except for a few moans that escaped him.  Because the conductor had wired ahead from the last water stop, Doctor Minton was there with some men and a wagon to take the man to his office.  We didn’t speak, I just gave him a brief nod.  The conductor had everyone leave from the other end of the train which caused a few people to curse and complain.  Guess they’re always be those around that any little thing will ruffle their feathers.  I watched Dawson step down from the car and was waiting for me.

     “They ought to make those illegal,” he growled, pointing down to my Greener.  “Or maybe just do away with those who carry them.”

     “You have a point to make?” came my reply a little sharply.

     I had noticed that his hand was on the grip of his pistol, so my thumb rested on the hammer of the shotgun.  He said something I didn’t hear then moved on down the platform while I watched them load the wounded man in the wagon.  “Doc, let me know,” I hollered, to which he gave a slight wave and drove off.

     In times past I would walk up and stop in at Wells Fargo.  I had spent many a day in that office when I worked for the company.  Drank coffee and chatted with the workers, but all the ones I knew are gone.  Either found different work or was transferred somewhere’s else.  I still couldn’t resist looking in the window as I passed by.  For good or bad that job gave me the chance to become a marshal.

     It was when I turned on Greene Street that I noticed I was being followed.  I walked a couple of blocks then turned back south on 14th Street, then quickly entered a store.  The man stopped, not seeing me on the street.  I watched from the window of the store I entered, some kind of ladies’ boutique shop.  The man was confused, looking up and down the street then looking at the signs above the shops.

     “Ahem,” came the high-toned sound.  I didn’t look from whence it came, just waved for it to be quiet.  

     “Don’t be brushing me off, Mister.  If I can be of help I would be glad to do so, if not I would kindly ask you to please leave the premises,” came a sort of squeaky-whining voice.

     The man came to the entrance and as he started to move beyond the store I stepped out behind him.  From the store, I heard, “Well, I never…”  The fellow I was behind must have heard it as well, for when he turned he saw two black holes of my Greener in his face.

     It sorta unnerved him, shotguns have that effect on people.  “Don’t say anything, just answer my questions.  If you understand, nod your head.”

     He nodded, causing me to smile.  “First of all, who are you?”

     “Jim Edwards, deputy marshal.”

     “Any proof?  Show me a badge.”

     Slowly he opened his vest where there was a badge hanging on his vest.  “Second question, why were you followin’ me?”

     “We heard there was an altercation of the train, a man shot.  Then I saw you an’ that other fellar talkin’.  So I started following you, whilst Deputy Greer followed the other man.”

     I lowered the Greener to his relief.  “Take me to Marshal Beavin.  Oh, and relax,” I said, extending my hand.  “I’m United States Deputy Marshal Miles Forrest.”

     “Marshal Forrest, I’m sure glad to see you.  Osian’s back at the jail.”

     Within minutes we arrived at the jail.  There was a deputy at the desk to the right with another back at a small table back by the cell area.  I recognized the latter, “Hiya, Lucius, see you’re still up and walkin.'”

     Beavin must have heard from his office.  “Marshal Forrest!” came his booming voice.  “Am I glad to see you.  Sit down, Martin, get the marshal some coffee.”  

     The man at the desk got up.  “Take my chair, Marshal.  Coffee’s comin’ right up.”

     He handed me the coffee and I took a sip.  It was hot and strong, but not too bad considering it had been sitting on the stove for a spell.  I took another sip looking over the rim at the four men.  “You’re all lookin’ healthy,” I said moving the cup from my mouth then wipin’ my moustache with the back of my hand.  “Any troubles?”

     “Mostly drunks and fist-fights, nothing serious,” came the quick reply from Deputy Martin.  

     I could sense there was something else.  “And?”

     “It seems that someone is trying to put McGinnis’ gang back together,” voiced the marshal.  “So far nothing to pin on them, just barroom talk.”

     “Do any of you know a Vess Dawson?”

     It became quiet, too quiet.  I took a deep swallow of the coffee, waiting.  “Uh, well, we’ve heard of him…”

As you enter the house of God, keep your ears open and your mouth shut!  Don’t be a fool who doesn’t realize that mindless offerings to God are evil.”

       –Ecclesiastes 5:1 (NLT)

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

     “It was a nice few days,” I reflected as I settled down in my seat, it would be close to four hours to Silverton so I tried to get comfortable.  I found myself chuckling as I remembered the time it took on horseback before they built this railway.  “The picnic with Molly was nice; we should do that more.”

     I tried to take notice of everyone who boarded.  It was mostly men going up to look for work in the mines or wanting to try prospecting on their own, a worthless task for the most part these days.  The car was almost full but I was able to keep a full seat to myself.  I started to place the Greener against the side of the car but for some reason I left it on the seat the barrel pointed towards the aisle.

     “Pleasure or business, Marshal?” asked the conductor, knowing full well that it was business.

     Cocking an eye at him, “Now Mr. Lewis, when have I ever taken a trip to Silverton for pleasure?” I chided him, then added, “Maybe I should try my hand at prospectin’.  It seems like these boys are doin’ so well.”

     Now that brought a brief guffaw from him.  “Ticket please,” he muttered in his laughter.

     Perhaps it was the picnic or the fact that I was concerned about the condition of the marshal’s office in Silverton.  I thought Beavin was a tough enough man, but he had no experience as a lawdog.  Well, in a few hours I’d find out, but in the meantime I found myself dozing.

     After the second time we stopped for water, I was nodding off when I felt a cold piece of steel against the side of my face.  “Easy,” came a voice as I jerked away from what I saw was a .45.

     “Hey, now,” I said a little louder than normal so I could pull the hammer back on the shotgun.

     “I don’t want to kill you, so just shut up!” came a growl from the man.  “You’re McGinnis’ bargaining chip.”

     I sighed, relaxed to get him off guard, looked upward at his face, then pulled the trigger.  The blast blew both his legs from under him and he crashed to the floor dropping his pistol.  The growl now was a fierce moan of pain.  I quickly jumped up, kicking his gun under the seat, then placed my back to the door and holding the Greener up surveying the rest of the passengers.  

     Frank Lewis, the conductor, started pushing his way towards me moving gawkers out of the aisle.  “Marshal, what in the world…” he started but left it at that when he saw the shotgun and the man writhing in the aisle.

     “Mister Lewis, see if anyone has any medical experience or this man is goin’ to bleed out.”

     He turned around, then stepped up on the seat to holler.  “I need someone with medical know-how!  Right now!”  From about half-way back a man lumbered into the aisle.  He sure didn’t look much like a doctor.  He was a tall, thin man wearing a long duster.  To be on the safe side, I pulled back the other hammer on the Greener.

     My action was noticed for he stopped momentarily on his walk.  “You a doctor?” I asked.

     Shaking his head, “No, but I do have some knowledge of wounds.”  He took off his coat, laying it over the back of the seat in front of me.  He bent down to examine the man.  I noticed he was wearing a gunbelt with what appeared to be a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber.  Almost immediately he ordered the man standing to the seat just behind him to give him his belt.  “I need a tourniquet or he’ll bleed to death…he might anyhow.

     Minutes later the man was quiet and his Samaritan stood, keeping his hands out in front of him.  “Mister, you sure played havoc with that man’s legs.”  He then turned his attention to the conductor.  “Any place along the way where he can get help.  I’m not sure he’ll make it to Silverton.”

     “You got a name,” I snapped a little too harshly.

     “Sure I do, everyone’s has a name.  I’m sure you do as well.”

     Our eyes met.  This was no slouch, he was a man who hired out, I knew it in my bones.  “But since you asked so politely, my daddy named me Vespasian as he was a lover of the Romans.  I go by Vess.  Vess Dawson.”  It didn’t ring a bell, but then again I didn’t know every gunman in the West.  “Uh, Mister, you mind pointing that Greener somewhere’s else?  I see you have the hammer cocked, and, well, I’d hate for a jolt of this train to cause it to go off.” 

     He was calm, I’d give him that.  Uncocking the shotgun, I said, “I’m Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest,” then I added, “thank you for your assistance.”

     Dawson looked down at the man briefly.  “I can’t do anything more for him.  I’d leave him stretched out in the aisle.  Is there anything else, Marshal?”

     I shook my head, thanking him again.  He reached for his coat then turned to walk back to his seat.  

     By this time most of the passengers had taken their seats, only a few remained standing.  Lewis started moving back down the aisle to assure them that everything was all right.

     I stood with my back to the door watching Vess Dawson glide back to his seat.  I wonder…

Such a youth could come from prison and succeed.  He might even become king though he was born in poverty…  He might become the leader of millions and be very popular.  But then the next generation grows up and rejects him!  So again, it is all meaningless, like chasing the wind.”  –Ecclesiastes 4:14,16 (NLT)

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

     It was nice to see Molly astride Two-Bits again.  That horse doesn’t get worked enough, and Molly doesn’t get out enough.  The day was cool with cotton ball clouds dispersed through the blue Colorado sky, just enough to bring shade from the June sun.  We had ridden a little over an hour from Durango where there was a place on the Animas River where we had picnicked before; a large flat boulder that jutted out into the cascading waters.  

     I pitched a blanket down and was smoothing it out while Molly brought the picnic basket to set down.  There was a slight breeze, but not enough to worry about the blanket being tossed in the wind.  The horses were picketed where they had access to a little stream that flowed into the river along with plenty of fresh grass to nibble on.  There was a spot near the rock where I began to build a fire.  You can’t have a picnic up in the San Juans without a little fire and coffee boiling.

     While I was doing that Molly pulled out the fixins.  “Come on Miles, let’s eat while the coffee’s boiling.  I’m hungry,” encouraged Molly.

     I didn’t need any more encouragement than that.  She was smiling as I sat down on the blanket.  “Go ahead and pray, Miles.  Then I’ll dip some egg salad for you.  Sorry I didn’t have any potatoes.”  She knew how much I enjoyed potato salad, but the eggs would do.  

     Smiling, I looked at the towels lying to the side where she had the bowl and a jar of pickled beets wrapped.  I let her fix my plate, putting the egg salad and beets on it, then a leg and breast from the fried chicken she brought.  “Lord, You sure are good to us.  We are so underservin’ of Your care and blessin’ and forgiveness, and are thankful that You are mindful of us.  Thanks for all You do for us, and for this food we’re about to eat.  In the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ — Amen.”

     Not waiting for her sayso I bit into the chicken.  While my teeth were still in the chicken before tearing off a piece I looked over to see her smiling at me.  With that I acted like a he-bear tearing that chicken apart and chewing on it, growling while I did so.  

     “You’re terrible,” she chided, but I noticed that she was not too delicate with her piece.

     It didn’t take us long to devour our food.  “Go check the coffee, while I see if there’s anything else in the basket.  With that encouragement, I jumped up and down to the little fire.  The coffee was boiling.  I waited a little longer as I wanted it strong enough to taste.  Sure don’t want my coffee weak.  When I came back there was a large piece of cherry pie sitting, waiting for me.  I handed Molly both cups while I sat down.

     While eating the pie, I told her, “I need to go back to Silverton tomorrow or the next day at the latest.  I need to check on the new marshal and his deputies.”

     She sipped her coffee, then asked, “When is the trial for this McGinnis fellow?”

     “Next Monday,” I replied, drinking the last of my cup.  “I’ll be back for it.”

     A wry smile appeared on her face.  “The Lord willing…” and she left it at that.

     We stayed for several hours.  On the side away from the current there was a pool of water.  Molly took off her boots and socks and waded in it for a spell, and of course she tried to splash me while I sat on the rock watching her.  I had kept the coffee going so when she finished her antics in the water, I poured her a cup.

     “It’s been good, Miles,” she said, coming over to the fire and drying off her feet with one of the towels.  I handed her a cup.  “Water’s cold.”

     “Yep, it’s been a fine day.  Don’t get many of these,” I replied.

     “Not just the day, but the life…”

     For some reason she came beside me and pulled my collar down where she could see my latest wound.  “Another scar, Miles, I declare.”

     I gave a little chuckle.  “As long as the Lord allows me to collect scars I won’t mind.  It’s that time He allows ol’ Scratch to put one straight into me.  Well, I don’t worry ’bout that…