Marshal Johnson and his crooked deputies were coming down the street. Confrontation was imminent; it could become a bloodbath. Sheriff Gold, Miles, Morgan Appleby, and Ron Barnes were inside the Wells Fargo office, ready and waiting. Would there be bloodshed? Would the end of the clash find bodies on the floor no longer breathing? Let’s go back to a time when things were often decided by a gun, when it took courage and fortitude to enforce justice.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I looked around the room, Barnes was over to the far right, behind his desk, but standing. I motioned for Morgan to go to the left of Charlie and stand slightly behind him next to a table. Charlie was just to the left of me, perhaps six feet away. We stood in the middle of the room. I had the Greener in my hands.
“It’s your play, Charlie. You’re the sheriff, we’ll follow your lead,” I said, then followed, “however, if they start shootin’, I won’t wait for your word.”
“Let’s see how many of them there are, and the intentions of Johnson,” replied Charlie.
A crowd of men led by Marshal Johnson walked by the window on the right hand side of the office. They stopped momentarily and I could hear Tioga and Johnson talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Johnson sent two men through the entrance, I reckon that was to see if we were going to immediately start shooting. When no shots were fired, Johnson came in next and stood between the first two; he was followed by four more. The room was becoming quite crowded. I could see that there were at least two remaining outside the office.
Anger was etched on Johnson’s face when he bellowed, “Release my deputy immediately!”
He looked at me, and there was a show of surprise when Charlie answered. “Can’t, he’s a wanted man. I have a poster on him.”
Johnson’s eyes moved over to Charlie. “That poster is not valid in Colorado. It’s from Kansas.”
“I’ll hold him until I can extradite him,” replied Charlie, firm in his resolve, but not threatening.
It looked as if Johnson was going to explode. “You can’t hold him!”
“I can,” I said, figuring it was time to say something.
I thought I heard a growl coming from Johnson. “If you don’t release him, I will!” he barked, his hand moving slightly down toward the butt of his pistol.
“Marshal, you can take your men and leave me to my job. I really don’t want a bloodbath here and if you make one more move toward your gun that’s exactly what it’ll be,” asserted Charlie. When he said that I brought the shotgun up to bear; its ugly,deadly eyes boring straight at the Marshal.
There was silence and a ton of tension in the room. Suddenly the glass broke to my left side, I didn’t look, but everyone flinched when it happened. It was quickly followed by a shot, then two rifle shots in close succession. A man fell through the broken window.
Mateo was on the job, I raised the Greener, and Johnson quickly threw up his hands shouting, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, nobody shoot!”
I don’t know if it was a ruse or not, but to my right Barnes fired. There was a grunt and the sound of a gun falling to the floor. “Don’t shoot!” screamed Johnson.
“Marshal, why don’t you take your men and depart from these premises,” commanded Charlie.
“Move back men,” ordered Johnson. The men slowly vacated the room with Marshal Johnson stopping at the doorway. “This isn’t over. I want Tioga released.”
“He’ll be released when he arrives in Kansas, not before,” I informed him.
“Forrest,” he responded with a sneer, “Tioga has friends.”
“Friends that are ready to die for him, if they interfere with the law?” I answered.
I could tell he wanted to say more, but he huffed, then turned walking out the entrance. Waiting for him was the man that Barnes wounded. It wasn’t serious, the bullet struck him in the wrist. Of course, he might lose the use of that right hand.
Morgan went over to the man lying in the window frame and pushed him back outside. I looked over at Barnes, “You did good.”
Charlie walked a few paces to me shaking his head. “Whew, that could have been bad.”
When Johnson’s men left the area, Mateo came through the door. There was concern on his face, but when he saw that the four of us were standing with a hole in nary a one of us, he smiled. “I see that the Lord kept his hand over you.”
The tension had gone, and now the intensity of the battle was leaving us. It’s hard to describe how tired one can be after a confrontation where lives are on the line.
“Miles, there’s a train leaving in thirty minutes. It might be good that you were on it,” suggested Morgan.
I grasp his shoulder, “Thanks,” then looked over at Barnes. “Will you two be all right?”
He gave a little laugh. “We might take up praying like you do, but yes, I think we’ll be all right…”