Silverton! A town bursting with gold fever, as well as any vice a person could think of. One of Miles’ friends had been beaten up by a couple of deputies. He had reservations regarding Marshal Johnson, but not enough proof to take any action yet. Join us as we continue reading about the life of Miles Forrest in those thrilling days of yesteryear.
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I had just given the waitress my order and taken my first sip of coffee when the deputy came in. For sure, I knew I was purposely being followed. I didn’t give the satisfaction of acknowledging him, but finished my coffee then asked for some more while I waited for my supper.
The porterhouse steak was excellent, plus the potatoes and cabbage filled me up right nicely. I was cutting a piece of raisin pie when another deputy came in to sit next to the first one. I watched them chat, their eyes once in a while moving my direction. The pie was good, and I had one more cup of coffee before going on my way. Darkness had descended on the town, and I wanted to walk the streets to get a feel for the atmosphere.
I awoke the next morning. I was tired, due partly to the altitude and my walk last night. I moved up, in, and through almost every saloon on Blair Street and a few others besides. Boisterous, loud, each oozing with debauchery and vileness causing my stomach to sicken as I checked them out. One thing for sure, Johnson seemed to have control of that element. If a fight broke out, it didn’t take long for a deputy to arrive on the scene. As a Deputy U.S. Marshal I didn’t have to face this element very often. It was the domain of the sheriff or marshal. And somewhere during the stroll I lost track of the man assigned to follow me.
After breakfast my plan was to go up to some of the large mines, see Brewlinski, Morgan, and Hoskins. Then I’d ride out to some of the smaller camps, nose around a bit, the head back to Silverton. I was greeted by Giles when I picked up Hawk. He made the morning pleasantries and after I mounted he moved in closer. “I’d walk in the street rather than the boardwalk,” he warned, then quickly moved away, slapping Hawk on the hindquarter.
I pondered what Giles told me as I rode the short distance. I noticed a fence with a gate in front of the mine, that was new, and unusual. Approaching the gate two armed guards came out to stop me, one holding a Winchester, the other a double barrel.
“We don’t tolerate no strangers here,” barked the guard with the shotgun. “Be on your way,” he ordered, waving the shotgun around.
Now I don’t understand the weaving and waving of the barrel. I just level mine, cocked it, and pointed it at the guard. “Seems we have ourselves a standoff. All I want to do is see Jakub Brewlinski.”
The guard seemed in a quandary as to what to do. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of me, but finally turned to the other guard. “Go get the Supe. Who shall I say wants him?”
“Tell him Miles Forrest brings him greetin’s.”
I was hoping that he’d get here soon, as my arm was getting tired holding the Greener out. The guard at least had two hands on his shotgun. “You mind if I dismount? I’ll put away the Greener, and I’d appreciate it if you’d lower yours.”
Not waiting for an answer I dismounted, letting the Greener drop to my side. “You got a name?”
“What’s it to yuh?” he said with a snarl.
I don’t know why he was acting the way he was. I was a peaceable man, but he seemed to act like he’d slept in a mattress full of bedbugs and was just itching to do something. “Always like to know the name of a person I might have to put in the graveyard.”
That caused him to bristle up some. But I decided to give him a smile. It was at least fifteen minutes before the other guard came back with Brewlinski grumbling at him. He looked and saw me. “Baskins! Put away that shotgun! That’s Miles Forrest, a U.S. Marshal.”
Lowering his weapon, he remarked. “He didn’t tell me he was a U.S. Marshal.”
Walking through the gate I said, “You didn’t ask, and it’s Deputy U.S. Marshal.” I then followed Brewlinski up to his office.
Entering his tiny office, he pointed to the stove. “Coffee’s still hot if you want some. Grab a cup, then you can tell me why you’ve come for a visit.”
We talked a little about Charlie and Marta, the thinking and actions of the miners since the strike had ended. Then I asked, “Why the gate and the guards?”
“To keep Johnson and his hooligans out.” He then told me of Johnson’s attempt to get money for protection. “The owners, and I might add, I agree with them, told him to go soak his head. We don’t need protection from the likes of him,” he paused once, to get up and fill his cup. “He tried to stop a shipment once. We had it loaded in wagons headed down to the depot when his men stopped us in the middle of Greene Street. Our guards simply leveled their weapons at the marshal and his crew and they let us pass on by.”
I told him about what happened to Morgan Appleby. We were both shaking our heads. Jakub said, “I can understand him wanting to bully the local merchants, but to take on Wells Fargo, or the Lucky Dollar MIne. I know he’s an arrogant sort, but that’s just plain idiocy.”
We chatted some more, and I told him I needed to continue on my way. I was going to see Hoskins and Morgan, and ride around some. “Be careful,” he warned. “I don’t think they’d venture too far from town, but yuh never know.”
The day was long and uneventful, but I came away with an abundance of information. It wasn’t part of my jurisdiction, but I decided to write it all down and turn it over to Charlie. I wasn’t passing it off, but it was his jurisdiction and therefore his responsibility. After leaving Hawk at the livery, I remembered Giles advice and walked down the street to my room. There was a deputy standing against the wall of the Bently Hardware, and when I passed it I thought I saw movement in the alley.
Then it happened…