Durango survived the 4th of July activities with little breakage in the town. Fireworks were shot off, cowboys came in from the ranches firing their six-shooters in the air, only one major incident was when a firecracker almost went off in Bobby Windridge’s hand, and some yellowjackets chased Flori Littleton who had drippings from a syrupy cinnamon roll all over her. Now, it was back to reality. Mateo, Charlie, and Miles were ready to head back to Silverton and the corruption that would face them. Go back with me now to those exciting days of yesteryear in the Saga of Miles Forrest.
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Charlie, Doc Jones, and I had finished breakfast. Marta, Molly, had joined us, and more recently by Preacher Chapman. We had decided that Mateo would go up a couple of days early to survey the scene. We were both going up as Sheriff Gold’s deputies.
“Seat yourself down, Parson, I’ll fetch you a cup of coffee,” I told him as I moved to the counter to grab a cup to fill it. Placing it down on the table in front of the preacher, I said, “You sure did the Lord good, yesterday. That was a fine sermon.”
He smiled, took a sip, then asked with a smirk on his face, “What was it about?”
“Uh, well, uh,” I heard all of them snicker at my frustration. “It was about stirrin’ up your gift,” I finally got out proudly. It wasn’t the first time I had heard that message in recent days. I remembered the encounter on the road up to Silverton.
I looked at each of them, their smart-alek grins hanging on their faces. “And if’n you don’t stir it up, the good Lord might do the stirrin’ for you,” I blurted.
A puzzled look appeared on the face of Rev. Chapman. “I don’t recall saying that in my message.”
“No, you didn’t, but it’s true. Somethin’ all of you who are grinnin’ ought to think about,” I stated. That quieted them down for a minute or two.
The train didn’t pull out for another two hours; Charlie and I went through what plans we had again, but when we were joined by our friends and family, well it was time to put plans aside for a while. A person never knows when it might be the last time they might see them.
“Charlie,” asked Doc, interrupting the quiet, “Do you have any grounds to arrest that marshal and his crew?”
“Not really, unless the merchants step forward.”
“What about the attack on Morgan Appleby?” I almost hollered.
“We can’t pin that on Johnson. I can arrest the person who beat him up, and it probably was on the orders of Johnson, but unless the deputy, whoever it was, confesses that Johnson gave him the order, there’s little I can do.”
I nodded with resignation. “What happened to Devlin would most likely happen to him.” I fingered the pocket on my vest where I had stuck the telegram from Wells Fargo. I pretty much said that I was to take care of the situation. I hadn’t told anyone about the telegram, figured I would tell Charlie when the time was right.
Looking over at the clock on the wall, it showed we had an hour before the train would leave. I sat for a moment, and looked each person over. It was good to sit at the table, breaking bread, or in this case cutting a piece of pie, with friends. There had been laughter, solemnity, and the sober reality that we could be walking into a real hornet’s nest. The Preacher got up and came behind Charlie and me, placing his hands on our shoulders. He prayed for wisdom, discernment, courage, and safety. He prayed that justice would be done, that evil would be brought to its knees.
He nodded at us, then marched on out of the diner. Doc scratched the side of his head, then the back of his neck. He stared at both of us, “You two, along with Mateo, do what needs to be done, but be careful.” He got up to follow the Parson out of the diner.
Molly and I had been through this more than a few times, so we got up leaving Marta and Charlie alone. They had been struggling since the birth of little Charles Lorenzo Gold. She was more protective of him, actually almost suffocating him. I know she was scared that something might happen. Why, a man could get run over by a runaway wagon and killed, or hit by lightning. I knew, Molly knew, and I think Charlie knew that we were in the hands of the Lord. Molly had been working on Marta’s faith.
Two hours later we were moving up the canyon. Charlie, in addition to his sidearm, carried a .44-40 1873Winchester, and I had my Greener. Hopefully we wouldn’t have to use them. I don’t think it was a lack of faith, but I had reason to believe that we would. We were to meet with Mateo at the Wells Fargo office just before it closed for the day. I glanced at Charlie who had grim features etched on his face. Sighing, I settled down figuring that it was time for a nap…