An outlaw, Thurmon Cavendish, who went by the alias Tioga, was recognized by Mateo. Miles placed him in cuffs since he was a wanted man and sent his partner, Foslin out from the office. They all knew that Foslin would hot-foot it to his boss, Marshal Johnson. It was only a matter of time before they received a visit from the marshal. The problem is, what kind of a visit? Let’s go back to those thrilling days of yesteryear and join Miles Forrest and his friends in Silverton, Colorado.
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“Help me drag this cur outside and cuff him to the post. I want to send a message to Johnson,” I said. Charlie reached down to grab an ankle and I took hold of the other to drag him out. Once he was secured I turned to Mateo. “No one knows you’re here, so why don’t you move on over to the other side of the street; maybe down to the depot.”
Mateo smiled as he looked around, but before he could go, Charlie grabbed him by the arm. “Here, take this,” and thrust the rifle into his hands.
Walking back into the office I looked at Courtney and Barnes. “Now’s the time to leave if you’re gonna.” Morgan Appleby had already declared that he was staying, not only to protect the name of Wells Fargo, but also his own. He told the three lawmen that he wasn’t about to back down to Marshal Johnson despite the terrible beating he had received.
“Morgan, I can’t stay!” exclaimed the frightened Dale Courtney. “I, I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
He started toward the door, stopped to look at Ron Barnes. “You coming, Ron?”
Barnes glanced over at Appleby. “Reckon I’ll stay. See you, Dale.”
Morgan Appleby went to his desk, opened the drawer and pulled out an 1880 Smith and Wesson .38 revolver. It was the first double action .38 center fire revolver produced by the company. Setting it on his desk, he reached back in the drawer for a box of cartridges.
I walked over to him, with Barnes following me. “First time I’ve ever seen one of those,” I told Morgan. “Can you use it?”
In reply I received a large, toothy grin.
“What will I use?” questioned Barnes. “I don’t carry a gun.”
Charlie and I glanced at each other, both with the same questions on our minds. Charlie broke the silence. “How do you survive in Silverton without some type of weapon?”
“Uh, my room’s only four blocks away. I come straight to work, and go straight home. I seldom venture up town along Greene and never have I walked over to Blair Street.”
My attention went back to Barnes. “Do you know how to use a gun?” I inquired.
“I know how to shoot,” he snapped back. “I may not be a good shot, but I can shoot.”
Taking two steps over to the table, I picked up Tioga’s gun. It was a Colt .44, and when I looked to see if it was loaded, I saw four notches carved on the grip. “Here,” I said, thrusting the gun at Barnes. “Take this, and keep the gunbelt close to you for the additional shells.”
“What do yuh think, Miles?” asked Charlie, as he stood by the entryway to the office. “Will he come in force or just try to bully us?”
“I don’t know how well he knows you Charlie, but I would think he’ll bark and bluster first, then try to take Tioga back,” I replied.
Charlie looked back at me. “You don’t think he’ll have the man shot like he did before?”
“Could be,” I said solemnly, “but don’t reckon he will. I think Tioga is too important to his organization.”
“Meet him out on the boardwalk, or let him come in?” asked Charlie, trying to figure out some kind of strategy.
I smiled, “Let’s make him come to us. Plus we do have a measure of cover in here with the tables, desks, and counters.”
Twenty minutes had gone by, Charlie hadn’t moved from his position at the doorway except to change the weight on his legs. Another ten, then Charlie moved back into the office. “Better say your prayers, the marshal is on his way with a slew of deputies…”