I had just come out of the sheriff’s office from helping Lucas set up a room.  There was a shed attached to the jail where the door opened up to the cells.  It was large enough to place a cot.  Lucas brought his things from Marta’s house, much to her chagrin and moved into the jail.   Charlie told her that he was old enough to make his own decision about that, but then again he ought not to be going home expecting free meals either.  Marta finally agreed to a sort of compromise.

       Mateo had put a couple of drunks in cells last night and had given Lucas instructions to let them out just before the noon meal.  If they wanted to drink up their money, they could waken for breakfast or forgo eating until evening.  As I stepped out in the snow that was lightly falling I thought about going into the army when I was about the same age as Lucas.  Marta should be thanking the Lord that he wasn’t going off to fight a war.

       Looking up the street I saw Darnelle out sweeping off the boardwalk.  The saloon not far from her store had snow covering the walk and it was partly snow partly slush.  Newsome’s store was open, for which I was glad.  I hadn’t been over to talk with him since he sequestered himself after losing the election.

       I started walking down the boardwalk toward Darnelle who had finished sweeping.  She looked up toward the road that went on down to New Mexico and seeing her look up my gaze followed.  There were five riders coming our way.  From the looks of them they weren’t cowboys and for sure not miners.  They rode loose in the saddle, their hats pulled down low.  The ones to the back were looking around at the stores and one stopped to leer at Darnelle.  By that time I had reached Darnelle.  I put my hands on my hips and glared at him.  

       “Better get on down the road, or you might get lost,” I said then pointed with my head.

       He winced when I spoke, then smiled, tipping his hat to Darnelle and trotted off to catch up with his companions.

       “There’s trouble,” stated Darnelle.  She shivered, “It’s cold, I’m going back inside.”

       I touched her arm as she passed, stopping her.  “Have you talked with Mr. Newsome?”

       “No, neither he or Jewelene have said anything.  I’ve noticed they haven’t  had customers.  Miles, what’s wrong with them?  It’s not like it’s the end of the world, losing a city election,” she said shivering.

       “Go on in, Darnelle.  You’ll catch cold standin’ out here.  I’ll tell if I hear anything of importance,” I offered then started off across the street to Newsome’s Ladies’ Wear.

       Upon entering the store I saw immediately that it was void of customers.  At first I didn’t see John sitting in a darkened corner in the back of the room.  “John!” I hollered, “You got a customer.”

       I heard the chair scratch against the wooden floor as he got up.  Walking toward me I saw a disparaging smile on his face.  “Come to gloat, Forrest?”

       “John, is that really what you think?  True, we’ve had some differences of opinion in the past, but that doesn’t stop our bein’ cordial or even friendly.”

       “Bah!” he growled.  “Do you intend to purchase something, or are you just wanting to waste my time?”

       I walked up to him and pointed my finger in his face.  “Do you enjoy havin’ a pity-party for yourself, is that it?  Why not think of all the things you and Wilson did to help this town get established?  Recognize that changes come, some for the better, others, well, others might not be so good, but they’re here just the same.”

       His face was red and I saw that he had his hands clenched down by his sides.  “Go ahead, John.  Hit me if’n yuh think that’ll make you feel better.  But it won’t for you’ve let a seed of bitterness begin to grow inside you,” I wasn’t angry or mad, but I felt a real pity for him.  

       Looking around I said, “I came to purchase a scarf for Molly.  Care to show me one?”

       We both stared at each other for several seconds, then he went off toward one counter.  I really wasn’t planning on buying one, but figured I needed to do something to diffuse the situation.  

       “Do you want it for dress or for warmth?” he asked, a little more friendly.

       “Warmth,” I replied, then pointed.  “How ’bout that red and black tartan?”

       As he picked it up to stretch it out, I inquired, “Have you been up to see Wilson?  He gets lonely, I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

       I could see him swallow.  He turned away for a second as there were tears in his eyes.  “Go see him,” I continued.  “It’ll do him, and you a world of good.”

       He wiped across his face with his arm, then turned toward me, the gruffness returning.  “Thirty cents, anything else?”

       Shaking my head, I answered, “That’ll do it.”  I unbuttoned my coat, reached in my vest pocket for my pouch of change.  I placed it on the counter, “Give my best to Jewelene,” I said then started for the door.

       I heard a cough, then he stuttered, “Miles, thanks.”

       I nodded then walked back out into the cold.  A ways down the street I saw the horses of the hardcases in front of Duffy’s Saloon.  Perhaps I should introduce myself…

The day after the votes were counted John Newsome closed his shop.  Theodore Howell won in a landslide.  He was a gracious winner for he went to all the saloons that had drinks on the house, then went over to Solly’s and purchased several boxes of cigars which he handed out in the barrio.  He even came over to the diner telling Molly to give free coffee to everyone who dined.  Of course, he didn’t know or care to know that coffee came with every dinner.  But he wasn’t buying votes, he purchased for those who voted for him and those against–he was just celebrating.  

         I didn’t think Tipton, Volder and their crowd was voting against Howell or for Newsome.  I think they were upset that the Mexicans were allowed to vote.  It was my job to see that every citizen had the opportunity.  Tipton was sitting in his cell when I came in.  “Lucas, let him out,” I ordered.

         “Who won?” he inquired as he stepped from the cell.  I informed him that Theodore Howell by a landslide.  He cocked his head, then shrugged his shoulders.  With a smile he said, “I tell you, marshal.  I’ve done more shopping in Howell’s shop than in Newsome’s, that’s for sure.”  I had to laugh.

         His gun and holster were hanging on a peg on the wall.  I handed it to him.  “You can go,” then paused to look at him.  I didn’t see any animosity.  “Just don’t cause me any grief.”

         Buckling the holster on, he nodded at me.  As he left he gave a little wave to Lucas.

         Lucas waved back, then asked, “Why did you release him?  He did wrong.”

         “Lucas, he did wrong and he spent a night in jail for it.  I’m not sure if he learned his lesson or not, but it would cost the country three weeks worth of meals to keep him jailed.  Judge Broomfield won’t be in for another three weeks, and this time of year he could be delayed,” I explained to him.  “It would have cost the county probably more than the fine that the Judge would impose.”

         I left the jail with the purpose of going by Newsome’s.  I wonder if he was in the store or if he stayed at home.  It was a defeat, that’s all.  But then, I thought of Jewelene.  It might actually be harder on her pride than John’s, plus the fact that he has to listen to her squabbling.  When I arrived the lights were out and door locked.  He must be at home.  If he didn’t open up tomorrow I’d go to his residence to see him.  We didn’t agree on some things about how to handle the town, but he was a good man.

         Come to think of it, I hadn’t been to Wilson’s in over a week.  I should go visit him.  He was so active with his store and being on the city council; it must be hard for him to sit at home all day and not get out.  Once in a while he would allow Elizabeth or Darnelle to wheel him down to the store so he could sit there.  Now with the weather getting cooler and snow looming at any time he didn’t get out.  I wanted to invite him and Elizabeth to the Thanksgiving get-together.  I’d find something for him to do.

        Everyday more miners were coming into town for the winter.  Maybe I should suggest to Howell that they should appoint a town marshal with the town getting so many jobless.  As soon as the passes close and the train can’t run the mines will have their big layoff.  They would keep a partial crew through the winter.  I think possibly the Silver Lake Mine had the right idea.  They keep their crew, worked them every other week, that way the miners got some pay.  They also allowed them to stay in the quarters owned by the company free of charge.

        I went to my table when I entered the diner setting the Greener behind me against the wall.  I started to the counter for a cup when Molly had already beat me to it and was bringing it to me.  Not only was the cup full of coffee, she had a smile on her face.  “Mind, if I join you, Mister?” she asked, inviting herself.

        Quickly I pulled out the chair for her.  “Don’t mind if I do, I always enjoy the pleasure of having a beautiful woman sit beside me.  To what do I owe this pleasure?”

        She didn’t say anything, just smiled then leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.

        “You know,” I said, shaking my head while watching her sip from my coffee cup.  “I’m always amazed that the good Lord gave you to me.”

        She laughed, “Yes, it is a wonder,” then drank the rest of my coffee.  “I’ll pour you another one.”

        “Did you happen to see John Newsome?  I heard he didn’t open the store today,” she probed.  “Do you think he is all right?”

        This time, before she could grab my cup I took a long draught almost burning my mouth.  “Molly, do you realize that this is the first time that the city council has no one on it left from the first council?”

        “Hmmm,” I heard her.  “It that…

That was a mighty fine breakfast,” said Rev. Chapman heartily.  “Mighty fine.  Betty and I are so grateful for friends like you and Miles.”

       Dale Chapman and his wife, Betty, had accepted our invitation for breakfast.  We don’t often get to see his wife except for church on Sunday and then we just greet her as we know other folk want to speak to her.  The preacher had come in and done a good job since taking over for Rev. Robinson.

       “Well, it’s nigh until noon,” I informed them then reached for the coffeepot sitting on the stove to refill our cups.  

       For that I received a frown from Molly.  “Miles, don’t be exaggerating.  It’s barely ten o’clock.  Besides, you know we had to wait until the rush was over so I could join you,” she said, then turned to Betty.  “It seems like I never get to chat with you, Betty.  We need to make some time every week or so to see each other.”

       That brought a smile from Betty.  After I finished pouring the coffee I glanced around the room.  At one table sat Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher.  Bill took over the feed store after Kohlmeyer sold out.  His wife, Wanda, was a thin, fairly attractive woman with blond hair.  She worked along with Bill with her doing most of the bookwork and billing.  At another table were four, out of work miners.  They had come down early for the winter months.  I hadn’t spoke with them yet so didn’t know if they had a claim or worked for one of the large mines.

       Marta was waiting on them and seemed to ignore us.  Charlie had come back a day from Silverton saying that Masterson had everything under control.  Mateo came back from his county rounds and would be in town for the elections with Charlie.  I hadn’t been able to talk with him much about Marta, then again, it was none of my business.

       “Pastor,” began Molly interrupting my thoughts.  “Marta and I usually have a dinner for all the down-and-outs for Thanksgiving and was wondering if you and Betty would like to be involved.  We usually start around ten in the morning and serve until six in the evening.  I thought we could have some singing and maybe a short message from you sometime during the day.”

       I was watching the preacher get excited.  I knew he played the guitar.  “Great!  We would love to.  I’ll bring my guitar, and Betty can play the accordion.  Oh, and we’ll help with the serving,” he looked at me.  “What?”

       “Just smilin’,” I replied.  “It’s always a good time.  Rain, shine, or snow, we’ve done it for several years.”

       Molly had gone to the kitchen and brought out pie for each of us, that made my smile grow larger.  “Miles, aren’t you spoiled by her pies?” inquired the preacher.

       I grinned at him, “Yes, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

       Picking up my fork I cut into a piece of apple pie and was lifting it to my mouth when Lucas barged through the door.  “Senor Marshal Miles, come quickly,” he gasped out of breath from running.  “There is trouble at the voting.”

       I thrust the piece in my mouth, put on my jacket and grabbed the Greener then followed Lucas to the polling center.  Charlie was between two groups of people–a large contingent from the Mexican town and a group of the local citizens.  There was a Mexican man getting up from the ground.  I saw that Charlie had an axe handle in his hand and was reaching for his handcuffs.

       “What’s the problem?” I asked Charlie.

       Before the sheriff could answer Frankie Volder spoke up.  “These here Mexicans are trying to vote.  They ain’t got no right.”  Volder was a part-time laborer for the railroad loading and unloading supplies, along with being a general troublemaker.  “Sam was trying to stop them when the sheriff interfered.”

       “You want him, Marshal?  He committed a federal offense,” said Charlie.

       “You can’t do this, I was only exercising my rights!” hollered Sam Tipton.  “They shouldn’t be allowed to vote.”

       “Give him here Sheriff, I’ll take him over to the jail.”  I looked around at the crowd.  “Use that axe handle if you need to.  I’ll be back as soon as I lock him up.”

       I shoved Tipton in front of me.  I was only a block away from the jail.  About half-way there I heard shouting from the crowd I had left.  “Lucas, take him on up and lock him up.  Leave the cuffs on until I get there.”

       Rushing back I saw that Charlie had begun to swing the axe knocking a couple of the protesters on the ground but he was being overrun.  Lifting the Greener up I thumped the first person I came to on top of the head dropping him.  It was mayhem, so I decided I needed a little attention getter.  I fired one barrel into the air.  Everyone stopped, sudden-like.

       Seymour Clevenger was the clerk and he had a pistol out carefully guarding the votes that had been cast.  The Mexican contingent was slowly moving away back toward their section of town.  “Sheriff,” I hollered, “get them back here.”

       Turning my attention to the rest, I then leveled the shotgun on Frankie Volder.  “The rest of you go stand on the boardwalk behind you.  We’ll vote one at a time, under my supervision.  Volder, you first, then get out of town!  If I see you around after you vote I’ll arrest you for vagrancy.”

       I pointed toward the voting area with the Greener.  There was some argument coming from the Mexicans and Charlie, but I saw that he began to do the same on his side of the street.  After Volder voted I motioned for him to get and then stopped the next person who was coming forward.  I nodded at Charlie and he sent forth one of the Mexicans.  We continued that the rest of the day until it was time for the polls to close.  The tension had ceased after Volder and some of his cronies left, but I noticed that there were several of the Mexicans standing who had not voted.  Since they were in line we had to let them vote, so we allowed them to come in groups of three.  In a half hour they were finished, the poll closed, and time for Clevenger and Judge Klaser to count the votes.  Charlie and I would stay around until all votes were counted.

       An hour later, we had the victor…

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!”