Brrr, I was cold.  We had a good, wet snow last night and the dampness had gotten into my bones.  Doc Jones laughed when I came in to huddle around the stove at the Diner.  He told me it was old age creeping in and once it did not even a stove could get rid of it.

       Lucas had shoveled off the walk in front of the jail, and I went down to Foster’s store to help Darnelle shovel in front.  I paid Connor Blackstone a dime to clean off in front of the diner, then go up and shovel in front of the Foster home.  Wilson was doing some better, but he was mostly confined to a wheelchair.  I would try to visit him once a week or so, and he would walk with a cane from the wheelchair to a rocker that sat in front of the fireplace.

       Doc and I was sitting in front of the stove; I was still trying to warm up while he was enjoying a biscuit along with a big piece of sausage.  I had already eaten as I had come to the diner early to get the stoves fired.  Molly was wanting to make several pies and Emelda would be in before six.  Marta would show up shortly after.  She hadn’t been real friendly since our discussion a few weeks back, but came and did her job without saying much.  I think she and Lucas were on the outs as he was staying at the jail.  Without a city marshal there were few in the cells.  Either Charlie or Mateo would try to be here for the weekend to keep control over the bar crowd.

       Since Masterson had taken over in Silverton Charlie hadn’t gone back to visit.  Mateo was over in Telluride and when he came back Charlie would go on up to Silverton to check things out.  He was good about letting Masterson work the town and he would hear complaints surrounding the mining camps.  With this snow some of the miners who hadn’t shown any color would pack up and go to Silverton or on down here to Durango.  Overall the past couple of weeks had been very quiet.

       I was working on my second cup of coffee.  My toes were beginning to warm and the chill from my body had now passed.  Doc was wrong, I thought when John Newsome came in the door.  I hadn’t talked to John much since Foster’s stroke.  He went to all the tables in the room greeting those sitting at them.  He was doing some politicking as next week was election time.  This was the first time he had faced an opponent–Theodore Howell was running against him.  

       Howell had come to town from Omaha and set up a hardware business.  From what I knew about him, he was hard-working and a straight-forward businessman.  On a day-to-day basis he was much more friendly than John.  His wife Sally stayed in the background as far as the store was concerned but she was always helping out when someone needed assistance.  She had become good friends with Betty Chapman and would often sing during the Sunday morning service.  That alone didn’t set well with Jewelene Newsome.  There’s talk going about allowing women to vote.  I haven’t thought through the issue yet, but one thing for certain it would certainly make elections more interesting.

       Newsome finally made it to our table and without asking set himself down.  “Doc, how are you this crisp, snowy morning?” he said enthusiastically slapping Doc on the shoulder.  “Miles, how about filling me up a cup of coffee from the stove.”

       I ignored him by asking, “What brings you out on this cold morning, John?”  

       “Oh, just thought I’d come visit the folks of this fine community.  The stores in the competent hands of Jewelene,” he said looking past me at the coffeepot on the stove.

       “Miles, he’s stumping,” related Doc.  “Election’s next week and John is out shaking hands and kissing babies.”  Doc chuckled, then added looking seriously at Newsome, “Be careful, John.  Don’t be getting the impetigo.”

       He frowned at Doc.  “What are you talking about?”

       Before Doc could answer Marta came by.  “Would you like some coffee, Senor Newsome?” she asked kindly.

       “Yes, I guess Miles didn’t hear me.  I would appreciate a cup of your fine brew.”  Doc and I looked at each other; he rolled his eyes and I ducked my head down toward the table.  John didn’t pay much attention to Marta after replying.  She gave a slight frown then went to get a cup.

       “I hear the famous Bat Masterson is the marshal up in Silverton.  I would certainly like to meet him.  Maybe he could come down this weekend and give my campaign a plug,” he said.  Marta brought him coffee and he didn’t thank her.  He took a taste and frowned.  “How about some honey!” he hollered.

       “Train’s runnin’,” I ventured.  “You could get on this afternoon and come back tomorrow.  I’m sure Mr. Masterson would love to meet you,” I said with some sarcasm.

       It was Doc’s turn, “John, you’re not running for governor.  I don’t think someone of Mr. Masterson’s reputation would want to leave his duties up in Silverton.”

       Marta had brought some honey and Newsome was spooning it into his coffee and stirring it.  “Hmm, I suppose you’re right.  He does have to fulfill his obligations.”

       I looked at John, the spoon banging against the cup was getting on my nerves.  “John, have you ever been to Silverton?”

       He looked at me like I was crazy, then he took a sip.  “This coffee’s cold!”

       Molly and Marta were sitting at my table along with Doc Jones and his wife Edith.  Lucas had even joined us.  Molly tried to get Emelda out of the kitchen to join us for a few minutes, but she shied away.  Her English was not very good and I think she was somewhat embarrassed to sit with a group of people, though at times she had joined when it was just Marta, Molly and myself.

       “So you think that’s all it will take–this Masterson fellow?” questioned Doc regarding the information I gave him about Bat Masterson becoming the new marshal of Silverton.

       Most folk have heard of Masterson, the truth and the myth, of his character and deeds.  He had earned some of his reputation, but some of it had been made up by those sitting around a table in a saloon, or by the lies of those wanting to make a dollar or two.

       “Doc,” I responded, “Bat will get the job done.  I know the man.”

       Well, I did know him.  I can’t say he was a personal friend, but our paths had crossed several times back in Denver.  We knew each other well enough to converse and also to respect each other.  I tried to always make myself known to ride clearly on the side of the law, while Bat sometimes lived in that gray area.

       “Hmpf,” grunted Doc.  “He’ll last ’til someone shoots him from ambush.”

       A little gasp came from Marta.  She had joined us but was sullen and hadn’t said nary a word.  Molly noticed it as well.

       “I talked with him for quite a spell until the train left the next day.  Charlie filled him in on the situation in Silverton and Bat also agreed to keep Shy Williams on as deputy,” I informed the group then I added.  “I don’t think he’ll stay around long.  In fact, I told him I was surprised he came with winter coming.  All I received was a chuckle and a smile.”

       “When will Charlie be home?” asked Marta abruptly.

       I watched Molly place her hand on Marta’s arm.  “Anytime now.  He could come in today or tomorrow.  With Bat there he won’t need to stay around as long.”

       “Good, then he can get rid of that badge!” she exclaimed, moving her arm away from Molly’s hand. 

       It was silent for quite a spell with eyes searching each other.  “You don’t mean that Marta,” said Edith.  “The county needs Charlie.  He’s a good sheriff.”

       Marta’s lip curled as she spoke.  “It’s not good for me.  I plan for us to move, maybe down toward Taos…somewhere away.  Charlie, Lucas, and I will start a new life along with our baby.”

       “I won’t be going,” stated Lucas quietly but firmly.

       His reply startled Marta.  “You must, I am your guardian,” she answered sharply.

       “I’m seventeen, I have a job.  I won’t be leaving with you,” he affirmed.

       Doc was scratching his ear and the side of his head, Edith had lowered her head seemingly ashamed at having brought up the subject.  Molly turned in her chair.  “Marta, have you been praying about this?”

       Marta wouldn’t look at her, but Molly wouldn’t let her get away.  “Marta, look at me and listen.  Charlie is good at his job.  You really need to pray about this.  It is dangerous to force a man to back away from what the Lord has provided for him,” she said then pleading she added.  “Don’t make him choose between his work and you.”

       “So I should be self-sacrificing!  Why not him?  Why not him giving up something?  Why should I be forced to worry whether or not he’ll come back from one of his trips?”

       “Marta, I know it’s hard,” said Molly softly.  “I had to work through it myself.  It took time, prayer, and trust in the Lord.”  She looked my direction.  “I had to come to the realization that Miles was in God’s hands as well as our lives.”

       I finally spoke up.  “Marta, when Charlie comes home listen to him–not with your emotions, but with your heart.”  Then I added something stupid, “I’ll look after Lucas if you decide to leave.”

       Standing up she thrust her chair back knocking it over.  When it crashed the few people left in the diner all looked in our direction.  “All this is your fault to begin with!” she yelled then tromped off toward the kitchen.  A moment later we heard the back door slam.

       Molly started to get up but I grabbed her by the arm shaking my head.  “She needs to work this out.  You know that.”

       “Senor Miles, I’m sorry to always cause you troubles,” spoke up Lucas.  “I will go with Marta if she leaves.”

        “You’re no trouble,” I replied.  “It’s your decision, but as Molly told Marta, make it with your heart and much prayer.”

Charlie and I met with Wallace, the president of the bank, along with two of the major mine managers.  I suggested that they send out notices to hire a city marshal and a town doctor.  I didn’t think they would have much problem filling either position, but they would have to be careful with the character of the marshal.  Many mining communities have been swindled and held hostage by an unscrupulous marshal.

       The only one of the three I knew was Jakub Brewlinski.  He and I went back as far as when I worked for Wells Fargo–a good man, tough, honest, and dependable.  Chadwick Morgan was the other manager in attendance and I had never met him before.  My contact with Wallace was only casual.

       Jakub was nodding his head in agreement with me when Wallace blurted out, “I’ve already taken action to secure a marshal,” he paused, swallowing before continuing, “at least temporarily.”

       That took the four of us by surprise.  I guess it was within his right as Silverton didn’t have a city council or commission.  Things happened and changed so fast that there was hesitation on the part of many to have such a structure.  The big mine owners through their managers usually took charge.

       Wallace glanced quickly at Charlie then over to me.  “It’s not that we don’t appreciate what you two have been doing, but we know the Sheriff can’t stay here forever, and I hear that you, Forrest are leaving this week,” he spluttered.  “We need action now, so I contacted a man in Denver and he’s agreed to be marshal.”

       I turned my head slightly toward Charlie, then Jakub spoke up.  “This man have a name?”

       Wallace sort of ducked his head, but then lifted it and thrust out his chest like a rooster.  “Masterson!” he declared.

       “You mean the gunman, Bat Masterson?” inquired Morgan.

       Quickly Wallace answered, “He’s honest, he’s dependable, and he has a reputation.”

       Chuckling, I added, “And he’s not cheap.”

       I knew Masterson from the times I’d spent in Denver.  What they said about him was true, but I figured it would come with a price.  So did Jakub as he questioned, “Just how much is this going to cost the mines?”

       Wallace was shaking his head.  “Not a dime,” he declared proudly.  We’re going to have a sales tax in the city to raise funds for his, uh, regular salary.”

       “How much is that?” hollered Jakub.

       “What do you mean by ‘regular’ salary?” questioned Morgan.

       “His regular salary will come from the tax, and he’ll be subsidized by fines from the hoodlums he jails,” replied Wallace.  “I need to go get ready to meet him as he is coming in on the next train.”

       I don’t think that Wallace put much thought into his plan.  Masterson would be a good man, but the town would pay a price.  He started to leave the meeting when Morgan grabbed him by the shoulder of his jacket.  “How much?”

       For some reason sweat broke out on Wallace’s forehead.  “$200.”

       That brought a laugh from Jakub which soon Morgan joined all the time shaking his head.  “You’re going to get all the merchants to go along with a sales tax?” he paused.  “Does that include the saloons, brothels, and dance halls?”

       “Well, uh, uh, I haven’t discussed that with them, yet.  Gentlemen I really must go,” and with that Wallace left us.

       I pulled on the end of my moustache then told the men.  “Reckon I’ll go down and meet the new marshal,” and followed Wallace out the door

       The train pulled in on time as I waited on the station platform.  When Bat stepped down out of the train, one could see why he was a force to be reckoned with.  He wore a gray derby, a style he began to wear a few years back.  Gone was the buffalo hunter and scout.  Before me now stood a man who used a gun when needed, force when required, and wouldn’t take nonsense from anyone.

       Upon seeing me, he gave a slight grin as he walked up to me.  “Miles, why did they call for me, if you’re here?”

       I reached out my hand in greeting, Bat didn’t hesitate but firmly shook it.  Some who called themselves gunmen and card-sharks usually refuse to shake a man’s hand for fear of having their fingers crushed, not Masterson.

       “Hotel’s a couple of blocks up the street.  Let’s talk…”

When the man hit the floor his gun went off, and that’s when it all went to chaos.  Standing next to me, a man drew and fired at Charlie.  Then there was a shot from the other side of the room.  I swung the barrel of the Greener at the man next to me catching him flush in the face breaking his nose and probably his cheek and he fell to the floor joining his friend.  I heard another shot, then glancing over to Charlie who I saw had his gun out and was pointing it toward the crowd.  I decided to get everyone’s attention so I cut loose with one barrel into the ceiling.  The twenty-gauge had the effect I wanted and the room quieted down.

       Three men were down.  I watched Charlie walk over to the man across the room that had shot at him.  Charlie kicked the gun out of his hand then nudged him with his boot.  A groan came from the man.  Looking at the man standing near, Charlie barked, “He have a name?”

       The man backed up a step.  Charlie turned his attention to him.  “I asked you a question,” then he looked at others nearby.  “What’s his name?”

       “Uh, Philby, I think,” the man replied then looked to others for confirmation which gathered a few nods.

       “Mister, since you know so much,” Charlie said to the man who answered, “get down and check him out.”

       In the meantime I looked at the men gathered near me and started pointing with the Greener.   “Carry these men down to the jail,” I ordered.

       One man not far away started to complain, “Ah, I’m not gonna…”  When I gave him a thump with the Greener on the head, not hard enough for him to join the two on the floor, but enough to get his attention.  

       “You were sayin’?”

       He grumbled something but reached down to pick up a leg of one of the unconscious men.  “If we aren’t there by the time you men get there, just dump them in front of the jail,” I stated, then went to join Charlie.  “You all right?” I asked.

       He checked himself, then nodded.  “Bullet missed.”

       “He’s hurt bad,” said the man checking out Philby.

       “Then you better get that bleeding stopped,” suggested Charlie.  “Use this,” he said, tossing him a towel he picked up from a nearby table.

       There became a slow murmuring and discussion among the crowd in the room.  Charlie went back to the bar grabbing a chair along the way.  I decided to walk along with him, but I continued on back and around the bar.  Charlie stood up on the chair and hollered, “This establishment is closed for the night.  Everybody out!”

       “Say, you can’t do…” came the voice of the bartender until I poked him on the ear with the Greener.

       “Can’t do what?” I inquired, then I suggested, “Why don’t you go have a seat at that table.”  I pointed with the shotgun at the table next to Charlie. 

       There was a lot of grumbling, but the crowd filed out, many of them grabbing bottles that were left laying on tables.  The men lying on the floor had been removed including the one that Charlie shot.  I went and stood by the bartender who was now seated at the table.

       “You the owner?” I asked in a normal tone now that the room was empty.

       “Yes, and you’re causing me to lose a lot of money.  You have no right to close my establishment!”

       I could tell that Charlie was in no mood for any discussion much less any griping.  He got in the man’s face.  “I have every right!  I’m Sheriff Gold, and if you don’t shut up I’ll close this place permanently.”

       Keeping the Greener between the bartender and myself I sat down in a chair next to him.  “Do you know those men?” 

       He shook his head, “Only by face, not by name.  They come in here frequently.”  

       “Any reason they’d pick out the Sheriff to kill?” I continued to question.

       After a slight shrug of the shoulders, he suggested, “I believe they just don’t care for lawmen.”

       “What about you?”

       Again came the shrug.  “I have nothing against them,” he said, pausing before continuing with disgust, “except when they close down my place of business.”

       Charlie grabbed him by the shirt, “Remember what I said about closing this place down permanently!”  He straightened up, looked over at me, then spoke to the bartender again.  “Close up, lock the doors.  You can open up tomorrow at noon unless I come by to tell you otherwise.  Miles, you ready?”

       I followed the Sheriff out the doors where before we entered the street we checked the area carefully.  Not seeing anyone we continued on to the jail and our occupants.  They were lumped there in front of the door and it took a few minutes for us to get them inside and into cells.  We put two in one cell, then put the wounded man in one by himself.  I checked his wound, noticing that the bleeding had stopped.  He needed a doctor as the bullet was in the leg and needed to come out.  Charlie said that he’d go get the vet, Davenport, who was acting as town doctor.

       When he left I went over to the desk and sat down behind it.  I started shaking my head as I looked up praying, “Lord, there is sure plenty of evil in this ol’ world.  Thank you for keepin’ Charlie and me safe tonight.”  Then I heaved a big sigh and waited.