Miles has recently had a run in with the marshal of Silverton, a man he did not know. Silverton had a reputation of not being able to keep marshals. Miles was doing the rounds of the county that Sheriff Gold normally did. There is something strange going on, and Miles can feel it, but nothing tangible has come his way as of yet. Let’s go back to Silverton, and the Saga of Miles Forrest in those thrilling days of yesteryear.
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Before I left Hawk with Giles to take care of I asked him how many deputies Marshal Johnson had and was told that all told there were five. Walking from the livery down Greene street toward the Wells Fargo office, I thought about that number. For a town like Silverton, that was not an overabundance of deputies, but at the same time it was a little unusual.
It had been my custom that whenever I was in Silverton that I’d stop in at the Wells Fargo office. In years past I had worked from that office, and wanted to see who was there now, and to pass the time. When I walked in there was a young man sitting at a desk behind the counter in front, but I didn’t see anyone else. Perhaps they were out of the office.
“Can I help you?” came the voice.
“I’m lookin’ for Tom Shuman or Morgan Appleby,” I replied. “I’m Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest.”
He jumped to his feet, eyes wide open, rushing to the counter. “What’s happened?” he cried.
I was taken a little back not expecting this reaction. “Whoa, there son, as far as I know nothin’s happened,” I countered, then asked again. “Is Shuman or Appleby around?”
“I don’t know a Shuman,” came his reply. “Mr. Appleby is in the office with Dale Courtney. He’s a new agent, came on when I did.”
Giving him one of my grand smiles, I inquired, “And who might you be?”
“Ron Barnes,” he said, reaching out his hand, his demeanor now calmed.
“Do you think he’ll be long?”
He hesitated in answering causing me to think that there may be something wrong. He looked back at the closed door, then to me, rubbing his chin. It looked as if he was trying to figure out what to say.
I stepped to the edge of the counter then moved on toward the door. “Hey, you’re not allowed behind the counter!” he hollered moving toward me.
Ignoring him I pushed him aside, knocked hard on the door then went in. Morgan was lying on a sofa, his face bruised and battered. The other man was holding a cup of coffee. Morgan saw me through eyes barely able to open. “Miles, is that you?” He asked, then groaned as he tried to sit up.
Pulling a chair up, I sat down in it next to Morgan. “Looks like one of those mules from up at the mines gave you a good kick.”
“Hmpf,” he muttered, then looked at the man standing next to him. “You can go now, Dale. I want to talk with Marshal Forrest.”
He looked at Morgan, then nodded at me. After he set the mug on the desk, he took his leave.
“So, tell me, who worked you over?”
He sighed as he turned his attention to me. “The marshal has his methods of running the town; hires thugs to extort money. I told him that Wells Fargo would not play their game,” he paused, touching the corner of his lips as he tried to smile. “A couple of them grabbed me, worked me over, and left me outside the office where I lay most of the night until Courtney and Barnes found me this morning.”
I was a mite concerned. “Seen a doctor?”
“Left about an hour ago. He thought I might have a broken rib, but wasn’t sure. Mostly he cleaned off my face, told me to lie down and rest.”
“I’ve met the marshal,” I told him. “I was not impressed.”
“You go easy, Miles. He’s not one to be taken lightly.”
I told him why I was in Silverton, about Charlie Gold’s new baby and the problems that Marta had. We had a nice time chatting, though I know it hurt him some to speak. I told him that I’d be back around to see him, but I needed to go up to some of the mines to check on them.
“We haven’t had any problems since you helped work out that problem with the workers,” he paused, then said. “I guess you’ll find out when you visit them tomorrow.”
I wanted to ask him more, but I could tell he was worn out. He told me that Barnes and Courtney would help him get home. Patting him on the shoulder, I took my leave. “Take care of him, I’ll be by tomorrow to check,” I told the two in the outer office.
Walking out of the office, I noticed across the street down toward the station a deputy leaning against the side of the building. I walked back up the street toward the cafe where I normally eat when in town. I had just sat myself down, when…