After barging out the door I saw a body laying out in the street at the intersection.  There were a couple of men standing over it, and others were beginning to congregate.  I rushed down, wanting to get there before too many people showed up interfering with evidence there might be.
    I slowed down just before I reached the body and saw that the two men stooped down were the two that just left Foster’s store.  Quickly I pulled my pistol.  “All right, gents, slow and easy stand and keep your hands away from your guns.”
    They glanced at me in surprise, but they complied.  One of them, the one who wanted the cigars stated, “This wasn’t our doing!”
    Walking up to him, I put the barrel of my pistol just below his ear.  “Easy now, hand me your pistol.”
    He was trembling as he slowly reached and then handed me his gun.  I stepped back a couple of paces then checked the pistol over.  It hadn’t been fired.  Thrusting it in my waistband, I went to the man called “Red.”  He glared at me as if daring me to take his gun from him.
    “We can do this the easy way or I can lay you out in the street,” I warned him.  “Easy, does it.”
    Still glaring he complied.  His gun hadn’t been fired yet.  I still did not trust him, so I emptied the bullets out of his gun and handed it back, then did the same with the other gun.
    I looked at the first man.  “Did you see what happened?”
    Shaking his head, he answered.  “No, we had just turned down the street toward the seegar shop when we heard the shots.  When we turned this man was lyin’ in the street.”
    The crowd gathered closer.  Dead bodies might repulse people, but most often their curiosity takes over and they at least want a peek at the blood and gore.
    Foster and Darnelle, by that time, had walked up.  Darnelle whispered, “That looks like Mr. Winfield,” then grabbed hold of her uncle.  “She looked at me, “Why would anyone want to kill him?”
    I started to answer, when Red, asked, “Can we go now?”
    Nodding, they left and I turned back to Darnelle.  “Do you know his first name and anything else about him?”
    By this time, she had gained control of herself and released Wilson.  “I think it was Bert,” she paused lifting a hand to her mouth.  “He came in perhaps once a month.  He had a small ranch to the south, just over the ridge.”
    “Wilson, do you recognize him?” I questioned.
    “I don’t know him by name; Darnelle deals with most of the customers, but I do remember seeing him in the store.”
    Looking around, my eyes sought out two men.  “You two, carry him on down to Parkers.”  They grabbed him by the shoulders to drag him off.  “Don’t you be going through his pockets!  Tell Parker I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
    “Why, Miles?” Darnelle spoke again.  “Why would God allow this to happen?  I know he has a wife and some children.”
    Turning toward her, I took her by the arm to lead her from the scene.  “I don’t rightly know,” I replied.  “This is not of His doin’, but man has chosen to run with the devil and things like this are the results of that choice.  Why God allowed this to happen to Mr. Winfield, I don’t have an answer, but bad things happen to God-fearin’, good people.”
    I handed her over to Wilson and they started back to the store.  Since the body had been drug off the crowd was moving away going about whatever business they had before the shooting.  I started toward Parker’s place when stumbling across the street staggered Skinny Green.
    “Marshal Forrest,” he slurred.  “I saw it happen.”
    “Skinny, it’s still early and you’re already drunk!”
    He belched and gave a small smile.  “But I did see it.  A man from up the street shot him, then got on his horse and tore off to the north.”  He stumbled and fell against me.  “Honest, Marshal.”
    The word of a drunk, but he might have seen something.  Hurrying off I went to Star who I had saddled and had outside the diner.  Molly was standing outside the doorway.  I waved at her, “I’ll be back.”
    It was impossible to find a set of tracks as this road was well-traveled with horses and wagons.  I rode hard for close to thirty minutes.  I was hoping I might have caught up with the man, if there was one.  Slowing  Star to a trot, I looked at the hills to my left, when I heard a shot.  I was falling off…

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.”