Marshal Johnson and his deputies seem to be getting the upper hand. Their lawless deeds have moved into outright violence. The problem is that the townsfolk will not testify against them for fear of retribution. Somehow, Miles, Charlie, and Mateo must find a way to bring this corruption to justice. Join with me now as we look into the life of Miles Forrest and those wondrous days of the past.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The three law officers from Durango were sitting in the Wells Fargo office, joined by Agent Morgan Appleby who had recently been beaten close to death by an unknown group of assailants. “Tell us what you know,” Miles said nodding at Mateo.
“From what I can tell is that most of the residents and merchants, at least the ones I conversed with, look at Johnson and his office as a type of insurance policy.”
“Extortion!” exclaimed Charlie Gold, “Don’t they know the difference between insurance and extortion!”
I looked at Charlie, “Let Mateo finish.” I should keep quiet, after all this is Charlie’s jurisdiction. Theoretically, I was a deputy under him for this trip, however, if need be my badge would trump his.
“I talked to Mary Anders. She and her husband Ben own a saloon, ‘Ben and Mary’s Emporium.’ I had already been thrown out of ‘Belle’s Place’ cause I was a Mexican, but Mary didn’t seem to mind,” Mateo informed us. “I’m surprised that there aren’t more Mexicans working in the mines. Plenty of other groups, especially Irish, German, and Welsh. There’s a little Mexican camp to the east of town, that’s where I stayed each night.”
“All right, back to Anders. What did she say?” asked Charlie impatiently.
“I heard her talking with one of her bartenders about a couple of men who died last winter. I didn’t pretend I wasn’t listening, but when she said they were left handcuffed outside I questioned her. I said, ‘Senora, you mean they were left outside in the freezin’ weather? Handcuffed?”
She looked at me, not certain whether or not to continue talking, especially since I was a Mexican. “Mister, if you plan on staying around here this winter you better watch your Ps and Qs. Johnson wouldn’t care whether you froze to death or not.”
I gave her a puzzled look, “You mean he wouldn’t even put them in the calaboose? Out of the weather?”
“That brought a loud, very unlady-like snort from her. ‘Mister, they’d let you freeze solid, like they did to poor old Dixie.’ Mentioning his name brought a tear to her eye. That’s when the bartender spoke up. ‘Yeah, he was a nuisance at times, but he really was a good sot.'”
“Do you think she or the bartender would testify?” I asked.
Mateo shrugged, “Maybe.”
“But that should be part of the public record. There should be an obituary, a coroner’s report, a newspaper article–something!” stated Charlie.
I was just getting ready to respond when two men, wearing the stars of a deputy, walked into the office. “Appleby, have you given any more thought to our last discussion?” asked a fairly large man. He had longish dark hair come down from under his hat, but was otherwise clean of any facial hair.
Morgan stood to go meet him. “I already told you, and Johnson, that Wells Fargo doesn’t give in to blackmail or extortion! Now get out!”
The man grinned for a moment then it turned into a snarl. “It’s Marshal Johnson, and you can put it down in the books under, ‘Incidentals.'” Both he and the man with him laughed.
The rude man looked over at Courtney and Barnes. “It’d be sad if an accident happened to one of your agents. I mean, didn’t you fall and seriously hurt yourself a week or so ago?” Laughter again.
I stood up to stand beside Morgan. “Mister, I’d call that a threat! You got a name?”
“Who are you?” he asked, but I saw movement from the man with him. He recognized that I was the one who was delivering Devlin out of town when he was shot down.
“I’ll just call you Dummy, then! That’ll make a nice marker on your grave.”
He started for his gun, but I had moved a few steps closer and beat him to the draw, crashing the barrel of my pistol down across his head. He went down with a thud. The other man kept his hands well away from his gun. I smiled, “You want a thump as well?” I queried, then added. “You got a name?”
“Joe Foslin,” he replied.
I nodded toward the man on the floor, “And him?”
“Tioga.”
I wasn’t concerned with Foslin, so I turned my head to Charlie and Mateo. “Does Tioga ring a bell with either of you?”
“Thurman Cavendish, goes by Tioga,” recalled Mateo.
That brought a smile to my face. “See ya, Foslin. I’ll keep this here feller in cuffs. Oh, and if you want to shoot him, he’ll be cuffed to the post outside.”
Foslin stumbled out, but as soon as he hit the boardwalk he burst into a run. I turned to Charlie and Mateo, “Think they’ll get my message?”