Tension was in the air, sparks ready to fly with flames from guns, justice was being tested. Miles Forrest was taking a prisoner back to Durango when he was faced with the local law officers consisting of five men led by Marshal Todd Johnson. Any sort of wrong movement could leave men dead. Would Miles give up his prisoner and return to Durango alone? Would he face the five men? Go back with me to those thrilling days of yesteryear with the Saga of Miles Forrest.
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Out of nowhere a shot rang out. It was not from the men facing me; a rooftop maybe. I brought the shotgun to bear, when I saw Johnson with his hands in the air and was hollering, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
His quick reaction saved his life, and most likely my own. The men with him had their hands up, making sure they were away from their guns. I glanced quickly to the rooftops and saw movement on one to my left. It was only a blur, I couldn’t tell who it was. Tom Devlin was lying in the street–lifeless. I saw Dale Courtney standing on the boardwalk at the corner and motioned with the Greener. “Check him.”
I kept my eyes on Johnson while Courtney checked to see if there was any life in Devlin. “He’s dead Marshal,” came his report. “Bullet right at the base of the throat and chest.”
The anger was rising up within me. To lose a man in my custody rankled me to no end. To me it was a mockery of justice. I cocked the hammers of the Greener back, leveled it at Johnson and ordered, “Untie him!”
“He’s your prisoner, you untie him,” he came back scornfully.
The blast from the shotgun boomed, the shot hitting the ground to the left of Johnson. I saw one of his deputies flinch. Some of the shot must have ricocheted off the ground hitting him. But it did get the attention of Johnson who motioned for another deputy to help him remove the rope and lift Devlin out of the street.
I gave Hawk a nudge with my spur. He started walking down the street while I kept the Greener pointed at Johnson. Thirty minutes later, with Hawk loaded in the stock car, I sat looking out the window of the passenger car as it headed down the canyon to Durango. I was fuming inside. When I had passed Johnson, he mumbled loud enough for me to hear, “Looks like the marshal lost his witness.” He never looked at me, but I knew it was a barb thrust at me.
It was all I could do to hold it in. I began to pray that the Lord would help me to gain control. I had several hours to think and pray about what happened, and begin to devise a plan for a return to Silverton.
When the train arrived in Durango, I took Hawk up to the cabin, brushed him down and fed him, then walked on down to the diner. It was about half-full with Mollie and Adela waiting on tables. I plodded over to my regular table not even bothering to stop and get a cup of coffee. I was weary…weary of the inner fight, the war against wickedness, and scum like Johnson preying on innocent people.
Molly must have noticed my demeanor for she came over placing her hands on my shoulders. Leaning forward, she kissed me on the cheek. “How about some pork chops covered with onion gravy with some fried potatoes?”
Placing my left hand on top of hers, “That’d be nice.” It wasn’t until she left that I realized that I still had the Greener in my right hand. Something was wrong with me, for it dawned on me that I hadn’t reloaded. I needed to wake up.
I removed the empty shell, replacing it with a new one, then set the Greener against the wall. Shaking my head, I got up, grabbed a cup and poured a cup of coffee. Ahhh, it made me relax and I heaved a deep sigh. By the time Molly brought my supper most of the crowd had left so she was able to sit beside me.
“Take your time–relax,” she comforted me. “There’s a piece of apple pie in the back. Do you want to talk about it now or later?”
“Let me finish my supper and I’ll tell you what happened over the pie.”
I had plans for Charlie and Mateo…