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.

It took nearly two hours before we chugged into Silverton and I was able to get to a livery for a horse and head back to the scene of the robbery.  Since the engineer was killed the fireman was able to get the train moving with one of the brakemen acting as fireman.  I wasn’t worried about finding tracks, for a buckboard would be hard to hide, but I was concerned some about the hostages.  I wanted to be sure to find them before night came for even though it was still summer, at this altitude it could get cold at night.
    Following the tracks of the wagon wouldn’t be hard, but I figured that somewhere close they would discard it, split the money, and take off on horses and possibly have pack animals.  Then the tracking would start.  On top of that they were now charged either with murder or conspiracy to commit murder.
    The outlaws had only two ways to go.  They couldn’t follow the rails into Silverton and certainly couldn’t go south into the canyon.  They could go east, but they would have to go overland quite a distance for there were no roads, only here and there some ruts into a miner’s camp.  No, it had to be west, up toward Molas Lake and the road.  How far they would travel with the wagon I didn’t know.  It was two miles of non-road, overland travel to the lake.  However, from there they had several options.
    This was a time I surely wish I had Hawk with me.  That horse was bred and trained for mountain travel.  The horse I was riding was left in the livery by one of the inhabitants of Silverton that had a severe case of lead poisoning.  It was a fair enough horse, but couldn’t compare a lick to Hawk.  I urged him into an easy trot.
    Even with a murder now on their record, I was real fretful about what might happen to the ladies with them.  I had no clue as to their experience in the wilderness and looking up at the sky there could be a storm brewing that would hit sometime in the night.  With that in mind, I gave the horse a little kick to hurry it along.
    The tracks led gradually toward Molas Lake and it was on a continual but gradual upgrade.  As I topped the ridge I could look down upon a low area where I could see the lake.  Stopping I wanted to observe where they might have gone, and upon looking toward the north I spotted the wagon.
    If there is such a thing as hurrying slowly, I did it.  I was almost certain that none of the outlaws would stick around, but there was always that chance that a couple might be there for an ambush.  It didn’t pay to hurrying too much, especially without taking time to observe the country.
    Molas Lake is just off the road from Durango to Silverton.  The wagon stopped at the northside of the lake.  From the lake it was about six miles or so down into Silverton.  The road continued on upward toward Red Mountain Pass and into Ouray.  As I approached I could see two of the women sitting in the back of the way.  I wondered where the third woman was.
    They weren’t very alert; dozing I expected as I rode up on them.  “You ladies all right,” I yelled brining my horse to a stop at the wagon.
    Jumping to the ground, they began fixing themselves, trying to make them presentable.  One of them, a lady dressed in greenish colored dress exclaimed, “Thank the Lord someone finally showed up!”  She was making it sound like I took my lazy old time to find them.
    The other lady was dressed a little more drab and that fit her face which looked as if she had been weaned on a dill pickle.  She nigh shouted at me, “Why did you let those hoodlums kidnap us?  They could have done all manner of evil!”
    “I reckoned at the time that it was more prudent to let them take you, than it was to start shooting with you in-between me and the outlaws,” I replied, then gave her a smile.  I wanted to say more, but held myself back.  Looking around, I asked, “Where is the other lady?”
    They pointed toward the lake.  Before I left them to get her, I took my time to look around for tracks.  There were six men with two pack animals.  Then it dawned on me that they horses for the wagon weren’t there.  Now that presented another problem.  How to get the women into Silverton.
    Giving the horse a nudge I started down toward the lake and noticed a figure, the woman, walking up toward the road.  She happened to see them before I did–supply wagons coming down the road.  I now applied a slight spur to the horse to get to the road before the woman.  As the horse moved out from the lake I put it in the middle of the road hoping that the wagons would stop.  One man, a horseback they might think an ambush was planned.  
    Then a man on the second wagon shouted, “There’s a woman walking up from the lake!”
    The wagons stopped and I rode easily up to the lead wagon.  After exchanging pleasantries I informed them that I was a Deputy U.S. Marshal, and told them what had happened.
    “Do you have enough room for three ladies to ride?” I asked.
    “Well, I don’t….”
    Before he could finish I interrupted.  “If not, three of your riders will have to get off.  You are goin’ to take these ladies on down to Silverton.”
    The woman who had been walking up from the lake was slightly winded due to the altitude.  She sighed, then gave them a smile.  “I’m Constance Fremont and I’d surely appreciate a ride.”
    A man hoped down off the wagon.  “Why shore,” he said then helped her up on the seat by the driver.  “My name’s Lyle and that ol’ coot drivin’ is called ‘Rascal.'”
    The other two women down at the abandoned wagon saw what was happening and started walking up toward the road.  Within a few minutes they were perched on the seats of the other two wagons.
    Rascal let out a shout, released the brake, snapped the reins and the wagons were off…

I leaned back against several bags of pintos that were being shipped up to Silverton.  It was fairly comfortable plus it gave some warmth as there was not a stove in this baggage car.  Even though it was the end of summer, it was quite cool riding up the canyon, especially when the train moved into the shadows.
    My mind was a blur of activity, if that’s possible.  I always thought of leaving Molly behind.  She was quite capable of taking care of herself, but with that last robbery and her kidnapping I was bothered, plus there was still the situation with Marta.  She said she was alright, but I still wondered.  Then I thought of Clevenger.  He must be incompetent; not knowing how much money was taken and hiding in his office during the holdup.  
    Where would be places that a holdup could occur?  There were a few places along the trip that made for a feasible spot.  The problem the robbers would have would be to find an escape route.  Ore and bullion being sent out from the mines were normally left alone for this reason.  Wagons would be needed to haul it away, but payrolls were another issue.  Some of the mines paid off with gold from the mine itself, but the larger ones paid in cash.  The banks in Silverton normally didn’t keep that much money around.
    The attack could come at Rockwood, just before entering the Animas Canyon; that would make it about sixteen miles from Durango.  There were several places where the train could be boarded on the way up, but it would either have to happen at the lower portion or just before arriving in Silverton.  If an attack came I reckoned it would happen just a few miles south of Silverton.  That would give them the option of traveling to different areas:  to the northeast toward Lake City or northwest over the pass to Telluride.
    “Lord, give me wisdom,” I prayed silently. 
    There were two baggagemen in the car with me plus two other guards.  We would be met in Silverton by guards from the mines.  I didn’t think there would be a problem after the payroll reached Silverton.  No, if there was to be an attack it would happen on the way.
    The train continued chugging up alongside the river up through the canyon, stopping every so often for water on the way.  It saved time, as it would take an extra day to ride over the passes, but I sure missed riding the wild country and through the mountains.  I needed to get Hawk out and ride up here again sometime.
    With no windows in the car I had no idea exactly where we were.  I figured we must be moving out of the canyon into the valley where Silverton was located.  I was just getting ready to stand and stretch my legs when I noticed the slowing down of the train.  “Here it comes,” I thought.  I checked the Greener, my pistol.
    “Get ready,” I ordered the guards.  “I think we’ll soon be having company.”
    The train had come to a complete stop, but nothing happened.
    “Maybe it’s just some kinda mechanical problem,” suggested a guard named Baxter.
    Fifteen minutes went by, nothing.  Then…the hammering on the door.  “Don’t shoot unless I do,” I ordered the two guards.
    I nodded to the two baggage men to open the door.  “Then stand out of the way.”
    As the door opened the sight that greeted my eyes were two women dressed in their finery.  Upon it being opened completely I counted six women held at gunpoint.  Four masked men held them hostage.  They wore only bandanas across their face, so I scrutinized everything I could about their eyes and hair color.
    One man seemed a bit startled to see me there.  “Marshal, we meet again.  I don’t suppose you have your dear lady hidden there with the baggage.”
    It was the same man in the diner who kidnapped Molly.  From my posters I didn’t think this was Fooy.  “Always hide behind women?” I asked with scorn.
    The man snorted.  “Well, it helps keep the shooting down to a minimum with no one being hurt.  Now, if you don’t mind open the vault.”
    “I don’t have the combination.  That will be those at Silverton,” I informed him.
    There was a sigh from another man as he climbed up in the car.  Reaching inside his jacket he removed a stick of dynamite placing it next to the hinges of the large safe.
    “Won’t that blow the money to smithereens?” I inquired.
    Ignoring me, he lit the fuse then jumped off the car.  Those of us in the car tried to jump out before the explosion took place.  I had no time, I fell behind the several hundred pounds of beans I had been laying on and hunkered down.  The man must have know what he was doing for when the explosion took place there was little damage done except to the safe, and the floor beneath and around it.
    The man jumped back into the car, prying open the door.  Another outlaw joined him and they began to pulled out bags of payroll money.  I could hear the sound of a wagon approaching and the men began pitching the bags into the back of the wagon while the other two men kept guard over us.  My eyes kept going back to the man who had kidnapped Molly.  
    The sound startled all of us.  Some of the women screamed, we all jumped as a shrill whistle emerged from the engine followed by a gunshot.  I started to lift the shotgun when the man hollered, “Don’t!” putting his pistol to the back of the head of a young woman who was quaking and crying in his grasp.
    There was a quickening of activity among the outlaws.  Three women were chosen to keep the men company as they left.  “Marshal, we still have a date with destiny,” assured the man.

Marta seemed to be doing better since Molly stood in for her.  She was back to her normal self, singing something in Spanish as she went through the day doing her work.  Emelda seemed to enjoy cooking and was doing a fine job so Molly agreed with Marta to let her stay on.
    I had just come in from riding Star.  He doesn’t get ridden enough and was getting fat.  We went up the canyon road for a few miles, then ran back down.  With that thoroughbred blood in him, he liked to run, in fact, he needed to run.  He was not the horse for the mountain like Hawk, but there would be few that could match him running out on the plains.
    It was mid-morning and there were no customers in the diner.  “Senor Miles,” perked up Marta.  “Come sit, I will get you some coffee.”
    Well, there was something that was hard to refuse.  I eased down in my regular spot, resting the Greener back against the wall as Marta came with a cup of coffee.
    “Sit down, Marta, join me,” I requested.  She hesitated, looked around the room and since there was nobody there she picked up a cup from the counter and joined me.
    “Where’s Molly?” I asked.
    “She back in the kitchen, making some pies for the lunch crowd.  She be out in a minute or two,” came Marta’s reply.
    “So, Marta, how are you feelin’?” I asked in concern.
    “Oh, I doing fine; I no hurt.”
    “No, I mean up here,” pointing at my head.
    There was a puzzled look for a moment, the a smile.  “Si, my head no longer hurts.  I’m okay.”
    I wiped my hand down over my moustache, then pulled on the left side.  “I mean, emotionally.  Do you still forget?”
    She held her cup with both hands and brought it up to take a sip.  Slowly she lowered it.  “No, I no forget.  I understand how important it is to remember, even the bad things of life.  El Senor,” she said looking up, “has a purpose in everything.  I am beginning to understand.”
    Well, I couldn’t argue with that.  I often pondered when I couldn’t understand something or why something was happening the thought, “His wonders to perform.”
    It was good to sit with her for a spell.  Molly had the pies out of the oven and was letting them cool.  I planned on lingering long enough to get a piece.  She came out, poured a cup of coffee and joined us.
    Marta started to get up when Molly put her hand on Marta’s arm.  “No need to get up.  Stay, that lunch crowd will be here in a little while, rest while you can.”
    We were having a nice time, chatting about this and that.  It was good to see Marta smile again.  I looked up as I heard the door open and three gentlemen walked in–the city council.  They came straight toward our table and just stood there.  I picked up my cup, took a sip and nodded at them.  
    Finally, Martin Olson, appointed councilman and saloon owner, spoke up.  “Forrest, why are you sitting here?” he snapped.
    Smiling at them I replied, “Drinkin’ coffee, and hopin’ for a piece of pie.”
    With that, Marta jumped up.  “Senors, coffee?”
    “No!” snapped Olson again.  John Newsome shook his head.
    Wilson Foster, supposedly the chairman of the council, gave Marta a smile.  “I’d be obliged.”
    “We want to talk with you!” bellowed Olson.  
    Staring at him I said, “Well, why don’t you start talkin’ and quite bellerin’?”
    “Alone!” he said, giving Molly a sneer.
    Molly started to push her chair back, when I placed my hand on her arm.  “This is her establishment, along with Marta, so they have the right to sit here.  Plus, you might as well understand this, I don’t hide things from Molly.”
    He was grumbling, but Wilson pulled out a chair and sat with Newsome following his example.  That meant if Olson was to join us he would have to retrieve a chair from an a-joining table.  He huffed some more, then turned and jerked a chair from the table behind him.
    After he plumped himself down in the chair, he started again.  “What are you doing about those bank robbers?”
    I took a sip, more to annoy him than anything.  “As I said, they haven’t broken a federal law.  Sheriff Gold should be back in today.”
    “That was Sam Fooy, and his bunch!” exclaimed Olson.
    “May I ask, how you know it was Fooy?  Do you know him?” I asked.
    He belched out a curse.  I slammed my cup down on the table.  “I will tell you this once, to refrain from using that kind of language here.  You have ladies present!”
    Olson turned to Molly and gave her a forced apology.
    “What about Marta?”
    Looking over at her, he sneered.  “She’s only a Mex…”
    The next thing he knew was the feeling of a coffee cup smashing against his jaw.  I couldn’t see that he was armed, but I stood wanting to give him a good thumping, but to his credit he turned to Marta and spoke a soft apology.  Then he stood, ready to leave.  “I’ll be writing the governor about you!” Then stormed off.
    I sat back down, and Wilson spoke up.  “Why do you antagonize him so, Miles?”
    They were in the process of standing when Molly piped up, “Gentlemen, why don’t you stay for a piece of pie?”
    “Well, I don’t think…” Newsome started to say, he was clearly agitated by what just took place.
    “Come on, Mr. Newsome,” encouraged Molly.
    Both of them slid back into their chairs and Marta hurried off to get each of them a piece of pie.
    “Don’t forget one for me,” I hollered as she ran into the kitchen.