I filled out a lengthy report and sent it to Marshal Blasco in Denver.  In it I described what happened with the robbery of the bank in Durango and the train robbery going to Silverton.  In it I mentioned that I thought that two of the robbers were the Lamb Brothers and sent them a description, also mentioning that they liked to use women for hostages.  To my knowledge they had not harmed any of the women, excepting ruffling their feathers a mite and tousling them some.  They were not close to the individuals involved in the killing of the engineer, although being part of that gang they were an accessory.
    There had been no reply as of yet.  
    The morning was bright with a few puffy clouds in the sky.  I had already eaten breakfast at the diner and walked over to the telegraph office.  I looked in at Stan Offut who greeted me warmly, but said there was no news for me.  Reckon no news is good news.  Charlie had ridden over to Mancos.  There was an argument that resulted in a shooting.  From what I heard, no one was killed, but he needed to check out the dispute.  I was sort of covering for him while he was out of town, therefore, I had an excuse to go see Wilson Foster.  
    Wilson had a nice store; he kept it well-stocked, neat and organized.  A person could buy almost anything he needed and if Foster’s store didn’t carry it, well, it just doesn’t exist–at least in my mind.  I had seen some of those mail order catalogues called Montgomery Wards; I think it was out of Chicago.  I just tried to stay clear of those wish books.
    I liked going into his store, for when you opened the door a little bell would tinkle.  Numerous times I had opened and closed it just to hear it make that tiny sound.  See, it doesn’t take a lot to keep me occupied.  Darnelle, his niece, was straightening up some shelves when I entered.  Stopping, she waved at me.  “Morning, Mr. Forrest,” she said in her sweet voice.  She was sort of a plain-looking girl, but very pleasant.  I had always wondered why no one had walked her off to the church.
    “Is Wilson in?” I asked waving back.
    “He’s in the back.  Do you want me to get him?” she asked.
    Shaking my head, I replied.  “No, I’ll just go on back.”  As I started back I heard the tinkle of the bell so turned and looked.  There were a couple of rough-looking characters that had come in so I stopped to watch them for a moment.  
    One of the men saw me watching.  He stopped and stared back for a minute while the other man was talking to Darnelle.  “We’re lookin’ for some seegars,” he said with a rough voice.  
    Darnelle, in her pleasant manner, replied, “I’m sorry Mister.  We don’t carry any tobacco products; you’ll need to visit Vendors.  It’s just down the street and around the corner.”
    He grunted, “Come on Red, let’s go.”  Then he saw that his friend, Red, was staring at me.  “What’s wrong?”
    “That fellow,” he remarked, “he looks familiar.”
    With that remark I decided I should turn around to give him a better view.  Then taking two steps toward him I asked, “Something I can help you with mister?”  
    The one called Red, shook his head.  “I thought I recognized you, but reckon I was wrong.”  He turned quickly and headed out of the store with his partner following.
    Now, he got my mind to working.  Somewhere in my noggin there was a struggle for recollection.  The more I thought on it, the more I thought I had seen him before as well.  I was scratching the back of my head when Foster walked out from the back.
    “Miles, good to see you.”
    I liked Wilson Foster; he was a good man, but a little wishy-washy with someone who might have a tendency to push.  “Mornin’, Wilson,” I greeted him.  “I want to ask you a question.  What would happen if someone, like those two that were just in here,” I paused pointing at the door, “were to come in here and rob you?  What would you do?”
    The question surprised him, and he stammered, “I’d get Sheriff Gold.”
    “But Sheriff Gold is over at Mancos working out a situation.”
    “Well, then I’d get the mar…” he stopped before finishing the word.
    “The marshal, was that what you were goin’ to say?”  I paused looking at him.  “But there ain’t one.  What’s the holdup?  The citizens of this town deserve protection.  You lost Charlie Gold and now he’s the sheriff; you had a bad experience with Billy Denton.”
    He dropped his head a little, the spoke up.  “The council can’t come to an agreement.”
    Well, I thought that was good news; at least Foster and Newsome were not letting Martin Olson bully them.  “Listen, I know that John McCall is available.  He just resigned up in Gunnison; you ought to contact him.”
    Scratching his head he was ready to reply when down the street shots were fired.  I ran out of the store…

What did the letter say?” asked Doc Jones as he sipped his coffee then forked a piece of apricot pie.
    Looking up at him I followed up with a question of my own.  “Snoopin’ Doc?”
    He looked surprised and a little hurt.  “Just saw the envelope sitting there.  I didn’t mean to rile your feathers.”
    I reckoned he thought I was serious.  “Just joshin’ you, Doc.  The letter is from Marshal Blasco over in Denver,” I replied reaching for my cup as I had already eaten my pie.
    Molly was coming out of the kitchen and she came over to the table and joined us.  Being the gentleman I am, I got up to get her a cup of coffee and set it down in front of her.
    “What did the letter say?” she asked.  That brought a snicker from Doc to which Molly said, “What?  Did I say something funny?  Flour in my hair, or a smudge on my cheek.  What?” she was busy now putting her fingers through her hair, and wiping at her face.
    “You’re fine, dear,” I said.  “Doc, just seconds ago asked the same question.  The letter is from Jeb Blasco.”
    She calmed herself, then asked, “Well, what did he have to say?”
    I picked up the envelope and pulled out the letter.  “He asked how we were all doin’, wished you his best.  Then he gave me some information about Sam Fooy.  He said that unless Fooy changes his method of operation we probably wouldn’t hear anything from him until next summer.  He normally makes a couple of strikes then goes quiet through the winter,” I said, then paused.  “He made quite a haul with the bank here and the payroll robbery.  Jeb says he is probably in Denver, or maybe even Kansas City or as far away as San Francisco.”
    “Then we don’t have to worry about him?” she questioned.
    “Probably not,” I said taking another swallow of coffee.  “I wonder who shot Wade?  Fooy has been careful not to kill anyone, but that changed with the robbery.”  I looked at my cup and it was empty so I got to my feet, went to the stove and poured another cup.  Turning around I saw Doc with his hand out holding his cup.  
    “Need to wash down that mighty fine pie,” he said with a smile then nodded at Molly.
    Sitting back down I took a long swallow.  “Jeb doesn’t say what the rest of his gang does.  It takes a special kind of outlaw to do what Fooy does.  Most spend their money, gamble or drink it away.  ‘Course most don’t make a haul like Fooy has just done.”
    Molly was playing with her cup with both hands, turning it one way then the other.  Looking up at me she offered, “You’re concerned about the Lamb brothers.”
    I nodded.  “They broke away from Fooy after the robbery at Silverton and were on the road toward Durango.  I just don’t see men like that holdin’ up in a cabin to sit out the winter, and Durango is the only town on the road south.”
    “Maybe just pass on through to Taos or Santa Fe,” offered Doc.
    “Maybe,” I responded, though in my mind I doubted it.  “We’ll just take one day at a time, that’s all the good Lord has given us anyway.”

    Just a few miles north, in a small cabin near the little community of Hermosa two men were arguing.  “John, it just doesn’t make sense to go back into Durango.  People there know our faces,” argued James Lamb.
    “There’s only a half dozen that got a good look at us,” he retorted.  Plus, I’ve got a real hankering to see that waitress again.”
    That brought a smile from his brother.  “She was right shapely, and firm of body.”
    A chuckle frescaped from John.  “We’ll wait a few days then ride in.”
    “No use having all this money without spending it…”

As soon as the train pulled into the station I jumped off and headed down to the telegraph office.  I needed to get a wire off to Marshal Blasco in Denver.  I knew he wouldn’t be happy with the message, but I had to let him know what happened and what the situation was.  I wasn’t even sure if it was Sam Fooy’s gang.  I saw the faces of two men, but had no names to put on them.
    I was tempted to go to Charlie Gold’s office, but thought I should let Molly know I was back.  It was past supper time, but not time for the diner to close.  Upon entering I saw a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Bert Crenshaw, owner of a carpentry shop.  Nodding at them I went back to my table.  I was surprised that neither Molly or Marta wasn’t in the room.  I grabbed a cup from the shelf and poured a cup of coffee then pulled out a chair and sat down.
    The coffee was hot and strong, it had been sitting a while, but it would do.  I was bringing the cup up for a second sip when Molly walked out of the kitchen.  I had to smile as she had flour all over the side of her dress and apron.  Even though she wore an apron she tended to get flour on her backside from wiping her hands.  She still hadn’t seen me.
    She was visiting with the Crenshaws and finally when she turned she saw me.  I was expecting her to run right over and jump in my arms, but all she did was take two steps and place her hands on her hips.  It was then that she noticed there was more than a dusting of flour on her dress.  Instead of coming to me, she rushed off to the kitchen.  In a few minutes she was back out.
    I stood up as she approached and gave her a big hug.  She was still brushing at the flour.  “Maybe you should wear a pair of chaps, instead of that apron.”  Ooop, that didn’t go over too well from the look she gave me.
    Going back to the shelf I grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee for her.  She took a sip as I was getting myself situated, grimaced, “Ugh, this stuff is terrible.”  She placed the cup on the table and pushed it away from her.  
    “That’s what you serve to your customers,” I said.
    Well, that got me another look.  “‘Tis not.  We keep a fresh pot brewing in the kitchen, I’ll have you know.”
    I took another sip, looked at her and made a face.  “It’s not very good.”  She gave a hearty laugh.  I always like to hear her laugh.
    “Where’s Marta?” I asked.
    “We had a slow day, so right after the supper rush, I told her to take off.  Without a marshal in town, Charlie stays right busy with town and county work.  They don’t get to see each other much,” she replied.
    I just shook my head.  “I’ll stop by and see Foster tomorrow.  I don’t know why they drag their feet.”
    “Well,” she muttered.
    “Well, what?”
    “Well, you’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.  Is that good news or bad?” came her inquiry.
    Pulling at my moustache I gave her a big smile.  “It’s good news for you that I’m back.”  To which I received a snort.  “But it’s bad news–the train was robbed.”
    “Any clue as to who it was?” she asked.
    “Same gang that robbed the bank,” I paused to try and take another sip.  It was still bad, scorched.  “The two that were in here that used you as a hostage did the same at the train.  They had six women with them when the baggage car opened and took three with them to make their getaway.”
    “At least you know what they look like,” she stated then added.  “Hungry?”
    “Wish I had a name to go with their faces.  I’ll check Charlie’s wanted posters tomorrow, and yes, I’m quite hungry.”
    She pushed away from the table.  “I think there’s still some stew left in the back, along with the last of today’s bread.”  She turned to walk back to the kitchen.
    “By chance, any pie?” I hollered.
    Turning she looked at me and just shook her head.

    The next morning, after a good breakfast, I went over to the sheriff’s office.  Charlie was just finishing making his morning rounds, rounds that should be made by the town marshal.
    “Heard about the robbery.  Anyone hurt?” he asked as we met by the office door.
    “Engineer killed,” I disclosed.
    His eyebrows raised as we went in.  It was a nice place, new furniture.  Maybe it was a good thing that the old office was destroyed.  “That puts a different light on things,” he stated motioning for me to sit.  He went to the stove to grab the coffeepot.
    I nodded, “Murder now, not just robbery.”  I reached for the cup, took a swallow, then wiped my moustache.  “Mind if I go through your posters?”  I went to sit behind the desk.  “Let me see the one on Sam Fooy.”
    Charlie had it on top of the stack since we had already been looking for him.  I laid it to the side and began to go through them.  It was hard to believe that I had the reports of so much evil in my hand.  When I thought about it, my stomach became a little queasy.
    A picture caught my eye and I set the posters on the desk.  “This one…he’s one of them.”
    The poster read:  James Lamb (aka:  Jim Lamb, Jimmy Lamb)  Wanted for armed robbery, kidnapping, extortion.  Often seen with his brother John Lamb.
    “Do you have a poster on John?” I asked.
    “If I did, it would be in that stack,” replied Charlie.
    I stood up, poster in hand and started out.  “I’m goin’ to show this to Molly, then have some printed up and posted around town.”

It was in the late afternoon when we finally were able to get the women delivered to Silverton.  Two of the ladies thanked the teamsters for the ride, but ol’ prune face walked away in a huff.  On the trip Lyle told me that they had seen two men riding up toward Molas Pass.  They waved at each other but the two men didn’t stop to converse.
    I fully expected to have to spend the night and most of the next day in Silverton, but upon arriving I saw that the train was still in the station.  Tying the horse to the hitching rail I hurried to find the conductor.  Fortunately, he wasn’t hard to find as he was standing near the engine discussing something with the engineer.
    “Steam is built up, we’re ready to roll,” I heard the engineer say as I approached.
    The conductor nodded and turned, almost bumping into me.  “Excuse me, Marshal.  We’re running late and need to get this train moving on down the tracks.”
    “How long?” I asked.
    He made a gesture I believe all conductors make, he looked at his watch.  “No more than ten minutes.”
    “Hold a seat for me; I’ll be aboard!” I exclaimed as I hurried off to get the horse back to the livery.  
    I saw a straw-haired boy helping a lady with a little stool so she could climb up on the first step of the rail car.  I wondered where the porter was, then saw him coming with, what I assume, were her bags.  He moved to the baggage car while I watched the boy wait for a tip.  Poor kid, there was none coming.
    “Hey, you!” I hollered at the kid.  “You work for the railroad or are you free-lancin’?”
    Taking a few steps toward me he shouted back, “I don’t work for the railroad.  Somethin’ I can do for you, mister?”
    “You got a name?” I asked closing the gap between us.
    “Samuel Tucker, but most folks call be “Straw” cause of my hair,” he rubbed his hand through it and smiled.  “Ma’s always onto me sayin’ it looks like a bale of straw done busted open.”
    He looked worse than that, with torn breeches and a ragged, dirty shirt.  “Does your Pa know you’re down here workin’?” I questioned.
    “Look, Mister! If you need somethin’ done, jist tell me,” he said with some attitude, then quickly adjusted and apologized.  “Sorry…Pa’s broke his leg in the mine.  He’s, he’s not in good shape.”
    I looked him over again.  “You’re too much of a man for me to call you ‘Straw.’  Alright if I call you ‘Sam’?”
    He stood a little straighter.  “See that horse over there?” I asked while pointing.  “That roan with the single stockin’.”
    He nodded.  “Here’s a dollar to take him back to the livery for me.”
    “Dollar!” he exclaimed.  “Why that’s only worth a dime!” he said, then looked at the rail car where he had helped the woman.
    “It’s worth it to me,” I replied.  “Let me ask you another thing.  What’s your Ma think of you workin’ here?”
    Shuffling his feet he answered.  “She don’t like it much, but we have to eat somehow.  I’m too young an’ small to get a job in one of the mines.”
    I heard the whistle blast from the train.  I had to hurry.  Reaching in my vest pocket for my coin pouch I pulled out a silver dollar, hesitated while looking in the pouch, then pulled out a double-eagle.  “Here’s the dollar for the horse, and I want you to get a doctor to see about your Pa,” I ordered, handing him the two coins.  “Tell Doctor Winder that Marshal Forrest sent you.  Then use the rest of the money to get some food.”
    The whistle blasted again, I had to run.  “See ya, Sam, I’ve got to make that train.”
    It was just starting to move as I grabbed hold of the side rail and jumped up on the steps.  The car was packed and the only seat was across from the lady that Sam had helped.  I tipped my hat, and sat down.
    “Mister, you are a fool!” she snapped.
    “Excuse me,” I was somewhat stunned by her blunt statement.  She was not an old woman, but maybe in her thirties, not bad looking, but very much in need of a smile.
    “He’s nothing but one of those hoodlums, a piece of riff-raff, preying on the tender consciences of his betters,” she huffed.
    “Ma’am, I noticed that he helped you.”
    “Only hoping that I’d give him a dime.  No, my good man, you’ll see.  One day he’ll be one of the town drunks, waiting for that next handout,” she harped, making me irritable.
    “Ma’am, if you’ll pardon me sayin’, but I recollect that the good Lord told us to be helpin’ the down and out.  Why, even a cup of cold water given in His name is a blessin’,” I stated.
    Her face turned red; all I got from her was a hardy, “Hmpf,” then she turned her face toward the window.
    I reckoned it was going to be a long four hours down to Durango.  After she turned away from me, I took the time to stand and look over the passengers.  There had been a couple of times I had been surprised on a train and I didn’t want any suspecting characters to go unnoticed.
    Sitting back down, she glanced momentarily at me.  She must have noticed the badge under my jacket on my vest.  “You an officer of the law?” she questioned.
    “Yes ma’am, Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest,” I replied smiling.
    “Hmpf, then you should know better,” she huffed and turned back toward the window.
    I pulled at my moustache, then smiled a good thought.  Molly would be surprised that I came back a day early.  Then another thought struck me.  The two men on the road, were they heading back to Durango?  If so, I’d beat them back by a good day.