I don’t like it when Charlie has to go up to Telluride, especially at this time of year,” muttered Marta.
    It was a slow time of morning.  The rush was over at the diner with only two customers now sitting, nursing their coffee over at a corner table.
    “Marta, have you, uh, and Charlie ever thought of him resigning and becoming town marshal?” asked Molly.  Both of the ladies were sitting with me.  This was a rare occasion.  Emelda said she wasn’t able as she had to be getting food ready for the lunch crowd.  “Miles only agreed to serve as town marshal until the end of the year.”
    Marta took a sip of coffee, made an ugly face looking at me.  “I don’t think he’s thought of it; I know I haven’t.”  She dropped her gaze to her cup, then looked up again.  “But Miles, what if they still want him?”
    I pulled on my moustache a couple of times.  I had really not given much thought as to what I’d do for regular work after the first of the year.  I doubt if Foster would want me to continue in the capacity as town marshal.  It was nice not having to travel much, and I hadn’t been contacted in several months for a job in my position as Deputy U.S. Marshal.  As far as travel, that job was worse than county sheriff.  Truth is, I was becoming more of a homebody.
    “Listen, Marta, if Charlie wants that job, and the city councilmen will hire him, have him go for it.  It won’t phase me,” I assured her.
    Getting up I went grabbed the coffeepot on the little stove behind me motioning toward her.  Marta quickly covered her cup with her hand, which brought a giggle from Molly.  “Well, here’s the Parson,” I said watching him enter the diner, “he’ll have a cup with me.”
    He took off his hat as he approached the table.  “Ladies…Miles,” he greeted us with a smile.
    Molly, got up as I put the cup on the table for the preacher.  “It’s time for Marta and me to get back to work,” she explained.  “Reverend.”
    The parson and I watched as they got up and left the table.  “I didn’t mean to run them off, Miles.”  He sat down, then took a sip of coffee.  I got a grimace, but not like the one from Marta.  I pulled at my moustache again, thinking that perhaps I should clean the pot.
    Reverend Chapman had stepped right into the vacancy left by Rev. Robinson.  His wife, Betty, was not quite the social person that Lucy, the wife of Rev. Robinson was.  One thing for sure, the new Parson Chapman was around the town, checking on folks and he didn’t shy away from the Mexican section of town either.
    “Coffee’s a little stout this morning, Miles.  What did you do different?” he inquired after taking a long swallow.  He looked toward the large window in front of the diner.  “Starting to snow again,” he said taking another sip.
    There was already a little over a half foot of snow on the ground.  But again this is December at the base of the San Juans.  “I went out to see Mr. Keim yesterday,” he told me.
    Looking over the rim of my cup, I raised my eyebrows waiting for him to continue.  When he didn’t, I asked, “And?”
    “He’s moving around some,” he emptied his cup.  Lifting it he asked, “Mind if I fill it?”
    He was up heading for the pot before I could take it from him.  I hated to be a poor host, but then I thought; it couldn’t be that bad if he wanted a refill.
    Taking his seat, he countered with a question of his own.  “Think you’ll ever find Shaw?”
    This time I pulled at the other side of my moustache.  “My thinkin’ is that he’ll show up again.  He might hold up for the winter in Silverton.  It might depend on whether he has any money or not, or” I paused a moment, “if he has found any new friends.”
    I looked at the Parson, “Did Thompson say anything regardin’ Langston?”
    Shaking he head, then jerked as the door burst open, startling him to spilling his coffee.  It was Darnelle.
    “Miles!  You have to come quick, it’s Uncle Wil!” she was frantic.  “Go to the store, I’m going after the doctor!”
    The Parson and I looked at each other for a moment, then I grabbed my coat and shotgun and we both rushed out to Foster’s store.  Upon our arrival a few minutes later there was a few folks standing around with one kneeling by Foster.
    “Check on him,” I ordered, “while I move these people out of the way.”
    I was in the process of moving the little crowd to one side of the store when Doc Jones rushed in with Darnelle.  The man who was by Foster gave way to the doc who requested that he and the preacher help turn Foster on his back.  Doc first undid his collar and removed the tie, then began to exam him.
    Standing by Darnelle, I asked, “What happened?”
    She was frightened, “I don’t really know.  I was with Mrs. Yardley, helping her with some material when I heard a loud clunk, then a thud.”  I looked around to see if she was in the crowd, none of which had left.
    I could see Rev. Chapman praying with his hand on Foster’s shoulder, as Doc went through his preliminary exam.  “He’s breathing,” explained Doc.  “From that knot on his head, I think he must have knocked himself out as he hit the counter when he fell.  I need to get him to my office.”
    “Darnelle,” I said taking her by the arm.  “Why don’t you close up shop, go get Elizabeth and take her to Doc Jones’ office.”
    She nodded, then I turned to help shoo the onlookers out.  Two men had gone over over to help carry Foster to Doc’s office.  As they passed me, I saw Wilson open his eyes briefly, his eyes widened, then…

Where do all these people come from?”, questioned Charlie Gold as she lugged a bucket full of cups back to the kitchen.  Molly’s Thanksgiving dinner had turned into quite the occasion.  It was originally for the miners who were laid off from the big mines during the winter months, but had grown into doings for the entire town.
    Sheriff Gold has been relegated to carrying clean dishes back to the kitchen; he was joined by the new preacher in town, the reverend Chapman.  I asked him to come as a guest, but he ended up clearing the tables and going outside to pick up dishes as we didn’t have room enough to seat everyone.  It had fallen my task to be the lowly dishwasher.
    I was glad to see that Mateo and his family came.  He wasn’t quite up to walking around much so he was sitting with a pair of old boots at the doorway.  They were for donations.  Some paid, some did not, but Mateo was there to make sure that none of the sots had sticky fingers.  Molly and Marta were busy along with Emelda and Edith Jones.  I was happy to see that Mrs. Blackstone and Betty Chapman had volunteered.  She had the job of dishing out the stew or chili.  
    Molly meandered through the tables making her way to me.  “Miles, what are we going to do next year?”
    “Give them broth,” I replied along with my biggest grin.
    “Oh, you’re terrible!” she exclaimed.  “But isn’t it wonderful.”
    Nodding at her, I inquired, “How many pies did you and Emelda make?”
    “Thirty-six, and we cut them into slivers to dish out,” came her reply, then added, “I don’t know how many gallons of stew and chili we ladled out.”
    “Good thing ol’ Grizz came by with that bear and elk.  Yuh know, I think that’s my first taste of bear chili.”
    Molly noticed when my smile dropped and my face became somber.  “What’s wrong?”
    “The newly elected, or should I say re-elected councilman and leader of the humbug committee is approaching,” I stated, then did my best to reapply my smile.  “Did you get plenty to eat Wilson?”
    “I didn’t come to eat,” he gruffly replied.
    “Oh, that’s a shame, Mr. Foster, surely you want a piece of pie.  I think there’s some chocolate left,” said Molly turning on the charm.
    He brusquely turned from her, “Who’s making sure the town is safe?  Why ruffians could rob us blind!”
    “This is all the dishes I could find outside,” interrupted Rev. Chapman.  “Oh, hello Mr. Foster.”
    Foster turned beet red.  One of these days, he’s going to explode.  “Good job, Parson.  Why don’t you join your wife.  Grab a piece of pie before it’s  all gone.”
    He nodded at Foster when he turned to leave.  “Have a good day, Mr. Foster.”
    “As I was saying before being rudely interrupted by that new minister, who is protecting our town?”
    Flinging a dishcloth over my shoulder, I dropped my rag with a plop in the basin; some of the water splashed up on Foster.  That didn’t make him happy, but I did smile.  “Well, Wilson, it is Thanksgiving, and if I’m not mistaken, every store in town is closed.  The saloons agreed not to open until this evening, so I reckon most everything is safe.  Probably safer than if you were in your store.”
    “‘Cuse me, oh, I didn’t notice it was you, Mr. Foster,” uttered Charlie then looked at me.  “Finished with this bunch?”
    “Take them, Charlie.  All I have left at the moment are those the Parson brought.”  I then turned my attention to Wilson Foster who again had turned red with the new interruption.  I glared at him, “Wilson, why don’t you go home to the missus and Darnelle.”  It wasn’t a question, but a strong suggestion.  “It is Thanksgiving.  Gather them together and count your blessin’s.”
    “Bah!  How you became a marshal I’ll never know,” he steamed.
    I gave a big smile, “If I remember right, the first time it was because of your suggestion.  Oh, don’t be frettin’ so much.  I’ll be out of your hair come the first of the year.  Then we’ll see who protects Wilson’s Mercantile when Sheriff Gold is out of town.”
    “I’ll not be talked to that way!” he yelled.
    Coming from around the washtub, I poked my finger in his face.  “You’re not worth a thump,” I said with disgust.  “Get out, I’ll not have you spoilin’ this get-together.”
    He started to huff, “Don’t, just git!” I ordered.
    A couple of hours later, the doors were shut, the place was cleaned.  The group of us: Doc and Edith, Charlie and Marta, Mateo and Luciana, Parson Chapman and his wife, even Emelda was there.  We were a tired, but satisfied group.  A thankful bunch.  We were drinking coffee…but there was no pie.  

There was already a small group of people gathered by the time I reached Dr. Webb’s place.  I went inside with some dread of what I would find.  My fears were realized when I saw the doctor, lying on the floor near the chair where I had last seen him.  It appeared that Dr. Webb killed himself with a bullet in mouth going out the back of his head; the gun was lying on the floor near his hand.
    On the desk, I noticed a notebook with pencil next to it.  My curiosity took over so I opened the little book.  Scrawled out on the page was the line, “The demons were too much!”  Suicide note?  I wondered, for some reason it all looked too tidy.
    “Get out of my way!” I heard a rough voice bark.  “Get out!  Mike, get these people out!”
    I left the book open as I turned to look at the commotion.  “Forrest, what are you doing here?” the rough voice of the town marshal, Asa Stokes, rang out.
    “Howdy, Asa,” I acknowledged him.  “I was just visitin’ with the doc this mornin’.  I’m lookin’ for a fella.”
    Marshal Stokes, stooped down to look at Dr. Webb.  “Those nightmares finally got to him.”
    Asa Stokes had been marshal in Silverton for six months now.  That’s just about the longest anyone has lasted.  The town was rough, not only with miners, but the evil that came with a rousing gold and silver camp.  Marshals were either killed, or they moved on to greener pastures, plus the fact that the winters were vicious.
    “Asa, there’s a note on the table,” I said pointing at it.  “Do you know the Doc’s writin’?”
    It seemed a growl came from him as he stood then picked up the note.  “Plain as day, don’t yuh think?”
    I shrugged.  “Your jurisdiction,” I replied, but then added, “Mind if I look around some?  I can’t be long, I have to catch the train.”

    An hour later I was on the train with Rev. Chapman sitting next to me.  I was staring out the window pondering when I felt the touch on my arm.  “Miles, Miles, are you all right?”
    “Oh, sorry, Parson, I was just thinkin’ how it just happened that I was talkin’ with the deceased doctor this mornin’ then findin’ him dead.”
    His face was grim when he answered, “Suicide is hard.  Why do you think the doctor did it?”
    I gave him a stern look then cocked my head.  “You don’t think it was suicide?” he asked shocked.  “But from what you told me…the evidence.”
    “That’s just it, the evidence.  Parson, there’s just somethin’ gnawin’ in my gut that it was too clean an’ neat.”
    We both quieted down, listening to the clickety-clack of the train moving along the rails.  Then I inquired, “Say, Parson, what was that package I saw you carryin’ up to Black?”
    He looked startled, so I gave him a grin.  “So you were watching me?”
    “Nope, just happened to see you walkin’ up the street with a package under your arm, then head into the Empty Diggin’s.  Curiosity got the best of me, so I went to the entrance and saw you walkin’ up the stairs.  Only Black lived up there.”
    “After what you told me, I thought he might want a couple of new shirts,” the reverend replied humbly.
    I nodded my head.  “Parson you’re a good man,” I stated, then thought of the coming week.  “Say, I expect to see you and your lovely wife, Betty at the fixin’s on Thursday.”
    A puzzled look showed on his face.  “Fixings?”
    “Why, Molly and I, mostly Molly, have been havin’ a feed for the town every Thanksgivin’ and Christmas.  If you’ve walked the streets you may have noticed that there are more people than normal.  Lots of down-an’-out miners and miners that have been laid off for the winter.  We always have dinner for them on those days.”
    “I didn’t know.  Yes, yes, we’ll be there.  What should we bring?”
    “Bring yourselves.  It’s not much, mostly venison or elk stew, plus plenty of pie,” I uttered.  “You’ll sit at my table.”
    He was smiling.  “It will be nice for Betty.  She hasn’t been out much since we arrived.  It would be good for her to get to know Molly, and who was the other lady?”
    “Marta, and Emelda is the cook.  Doc Jones and Edith will be there, Marta’s husband, Charlie, and I hope Mateo shows up with Luciana and the boys.”
    He leaned back in the seat.  I heard the train give a long whistle, we were coming into Rockwood.  I looked out the window, the snow was falling heavily now.  We got out of Silverton at just the right time.

It was beginning to snow as I entered the restaurant of the Grand Hotel.  Reverend Chapman was already seated, waiting for me.  I hadn’t seen Langston, but then again, we hadn’t made any plans to be with each other.  Langston went his way, I went mine.
    “I just arrived, Marshal,” said the preacher joyfully.  He seemed always to be that way, but reckon that’s the way all Christians should be, but we aren’t.
    The waiter was there before I was seated.  “You gentleman want coffee?”
    We both nodded yes, then I sat down.  “Parson, this supper’s on me.  Anything you want.”
    The menu boasted of beef steak, elk of various cuts, stews, venison, trout.  There was a variety of side dishes as it was early fall and the potatoes and other vegetables hadn’t gone bad yet.  There was a soup that I had once before when I was in Louisiana, French Onion.
    “I’m goin’ to have a porterhouse smothered with onion, fried potatoes, sweet potato, and try some of that soup,” I informed the preacher and the waiter as he was now standing beside me.  
    “Perhaps you would like some oysters?” he suggested.  “They arrived early in the week, came all the way from New Orleans.”
    Shaking my head, I muttered, “I’ll pass.  Parson what’ll you have?”
    Handing the menu to the waiter he responded, “Just give me the same as the Marshal.”
    “We have biscuits, cornbread, or I can bring a loaf of sourdough bread,” he offered.
    “Bread!” piped up the preacher, then he added, “If that’s all right with you.”
    Smiling I replied, “Bread it is,” then pointed to the empty coffee cup, “and keep the cup full, please.”
    After he left I began to tell Rev. Chapman of the situation with Dr. Webb, and then of the ordeal with Frank Black.  I did tell him that Black was indeed, Mrs. Blackstone’s husband.
    “So he’s a derelict?” inquired the Reverend.
    “Most certainly.  Shame a man get himself in that lifestyle.”
    “Marshal, man is bent to go to the devil.  That’s why it is our duty and responsibility to help as much as possible.  The liquor, shame, lack of self-respect, failure, greed, those are all reasons that despair and depression come into a man’s life.”
    I took a sip from a freshly poured cup.  “Not the best,” I uttered, “certainly not like Molly’s.”
    We had a nice time chatting over a good supper.  There was talk of Durango and what he would like to see accomplished there for the Lord.  He mentioned the need of missions work needed in Silverton.  I told him of Molly, how we met, then my job as an officer of the law.  I asked him what happened to his cousin, Clyde Hoffner and was told that he was working on a ranch over closer to Cortez.
    “Parson, I think it best that we leave tomorrow.  This time of year a snow could put us up here a few days.  Usually they can get the tracks clear, but it might be delayed a day or so this time of year.”
    “Oh, yes, I must be back before Sunday.  What do you suggest?” he asked.
    “Let’s plan on leaving on the afternoon train.  I’m goin’ to ask around in the mornin’ for Shaw’s whereabouts.  I don’t expect anyone to come forth, but it doesn’t hurt to ask, and who knows, I might come across him,” I stated.  “I’ll meet you at the station at 2:00.”
    The reverend got up to leave then the waiter brought my bill.  “Two dollars!” I exclaimed loud enough for those at nearby tables to hear me.  I’ll have to tell Molly to raise her prices.  I put two-bits on the table for a tip and I thought I heard a grumbling as I left.
    The next morning I began to check some of the boarding houses in the area.  The air was brisk and snow had accumulated a couple of inches overnight.  As I was riding up on Greene Street I saw the preacher coming out of a clothing store with a package.  I stopped Hawk so I could see where he was going for it looked as if he were on a mission.  He walked right into the Empty Diggings Saloon, so I dismounted out front and walked in.  As I went through the entrance Rev. Chapman was walking up the stairs to Black’s room.  Black opened the door and there was some discussion before the preacher went in and the door closed behind him.
    I went back out to continue my search.  It went just as I expected.  Most had not heard of an Upton Shaw, others, well, if they had they concealed it well.  Just before noon it began to snow harder.  I rode on down to the station to get tickets and for them to go ahead and load Hawk.  I decided to walk to the Wells Fargo office, chat with the boys, then grab a bite to eat before it was time to board the train.
    Just before entering, shot were fired.  That was unusual for this part of town.  I glanced toward the direction of the shots.  They were in the direction of Dr. Webb’s office.  Turning I started in that direction…