Sheriff Gold and Mateo had been able to secure Tioga in the Durango jail. He was spilling his guts telling the district attorney and Judge Klaser all about what Marshal Johnson was doing in Silverton. Miles had been able to arrest Smokey Fountain, one of Johnson’s deputies and the man who killed Miles’ prisoner. He was sitting in the Durango jail as well, barely hanging on to life because of the wound in his leg. He had lost a lot of blood and infection had set in. Come back with me to yesteryear and another thrilling Saga of Miles Forrest.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“I don’t know Miles, if that prisoner of yours is going to make it,” remarked Doc Jones, while sipping at his coffee in the diner. “I just can’t seem to get rid of the infection or bring down his fever. If I could have gotten to him sooner, well, then there might be a chance.” He set his cup on the table and began to rub his chin.
“It couldn’t be helped. I had to keep him in the baggage room of the station, and then the train ride back to Durango. It was probably twelve, maybe thirteen hours before I could get him to you,” I replied.
It was then I glanced at Molly and received one of her “looks.” The kind that meant “you were dumb to do what you did,” kind of look. “Miles, why did you even try to go back up to Blair Street?”
I chuckled, along with Charlie, while Doc just wiped his hand over his mouth. “Well, I thought I might send Marshal Johnson a little message.”
“You really did that?” piped up Doc. “Handcuffed three of his deputies to awning posts?”
“Yeah, I did. I would have tried to do a couple more, but didn’t want to push my luck. The saloons were starting to empty out, and I didn’t want to get caught.”
Charlie was shaking his head. “I would imagine that Johnson was fit to be tied when he found those deputies.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “Sorry, I’ve got to be going if I want to be in Telluride by tomorrow night. We’ll take care of them when I get back.” He took one more swig of his coffee, then headed over to give Marta a hug and kiss goodbye.
“You’re not waiting; you’re going back up there?” stated Molly and it wasn’t a question. She knew me well enough.
“Miles, you ought to wait, or at least take Mateo with you,” squaked Doc. “How many men does he have now?”
I pulled on the edge of my moustache, then tasted my coffee which had lost its heat. “He started with around a dozen,” I said, counting the men that I knew were no longer with him. “He’s short five. I should be all right.”
Molly had gotten up to retrieve the coffeepot from the stove. “I should clobber you alongside the head but you probably wouldn’t feel a thing,” she muttered as she filled my cup instead of conking me with the pot.
“She’s right, it don’t make sense you going back up there alone,” declared Doc, who put his hand over his cup so Molly wouldn’t refill it.
I tasted the hot coffee, much better. “No, right now is the time. They’re edgy and I don’t want them gettin’ set. I’ll be careful, you know I always am.”
“Oh, excuse me!” Molly had snorted at my remark as she was taking a drink and spurted coffee on her hand with some dripping off her chin. It brought a big grin to my face, but then I received that “look” again, this time in the form of a scowl.
“They won’t be expectin’ me back so soon, and without help. This way I can get into town without bein’ seen. It’ll be dark before the train arrives and I’ll slide off as it slows down upon entering town.”
At that moment in through the door walked Rev. Chapman. “I just spoke to the Sheriff. I hear you’re going out to do the Lord’s work,” he remarked then pulled out a chair. Molly immediately got up to pour him a cup of coffee to which he nodded a thank you.
“I don’t know about the Lord’s work,” huffed Doc. “Maybe a fool’s work.”
The preacher put his hand on Doc’s arm. “Surely he is. Someone has to ensure justice. Just like you Doc Jones, someone has to mend up the bones and sew up the wounds.”
“Just like Parker has to bury the dead,” scoffed Doc.
“The dead can bury the dead,” said the preacher. “That’s when my job comes into play, to comfort the broken-hearted.”
“Can’t you talk sense to him, Dale?” asked Doc.
A large smile appeared on the preacher’s face. “You think I could change his mind only knowing him a short time while the two of you know him inside and out. No, no my friends, we’ll pray and send him on his way in the hands of the Lord.”
A few hours later I was getting off the train as it slowed moving into Silverton. I’d walk the last half-mile into town and by that time it would be good and dark. “Time for…”