We left Miles as he began his search for Marshal Johnson in the rooms above the Silver Bucket Saloon. He was determined to bring Johnson and his deputies to justice. Several had been killed and Miles knew there were at least eight deputies remaining, but he was making first and foremost his arrest of Johnson. Let’s go to those days of yesteryear and another thrilling adventure in the Saga of Miles Forrest.
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Providence was with me because when I kicked open the door, Johnson was sitting on the edge of his bed pulling off his boots. He glanced at me, then over to the chair where his holster was draped. Throwing his boot at me, he lunged for the chair. The boot hit me on the left arm, but I was already stepping forward swinging the Greener in a downward motion. The barrel caught his wrist just before he could grab his pistol. I heard bones crack, and a yell bellowed from the marshal.
As he grasped his wrist I moved forward thrusting the Greener against his chest, holding it there as I reached for my handcuffs. He started to struggle until I cocked one of the barrels which immediately got his attention and settled him down. Putting the cuffs in the hand that held the shotgun, I reached and pulled his good arm away, then slapped the cuff on it. I wasn’t even cruel enough to cuff his broken wrist so I pulled his arm behind him and attached the other end to his belt.
“Up,” I said, then motioned with the shotgun.
My, he looked a sight as we left the room, one arm behind his back and only one boot on. At least he would not run away easily. I could see the pain on his face as we walked out the doorway. He tried his best to not move his right arm.
Slowly we moved down the hallway and I had him stop at the top of the stairs. I wanted to survey the crowd below in the saloon. “Slow and easy,” I said, then cocked the other barrel.
It didn’t take long for those in the bar to look our way. I saw movement, a man walking to the other side of the room. A deputy. There must be at least one more on the floor and they wanted me to pass between them. People began to move away, sort of like the sea did when Moses entered it.
Someone to my right fired, the bullet tugging the top of my jacket. I jerked the Greener in his direction, fired one barrel then brought it down on the shoulder of Johnson knocking him to the floor. Turning my attention to the other man, whose attention had gone to his partner, I fired the other barrel knocking him back and on top of one of the tables. Quickly I held the shotgun in my left hand and drew my pistol.
Scanning the room, I didn’t see another threat so I nudged Johnson with the Greener to get up then gave him a little shove to get him moving. He was in a world of hurt right now, broken wrist, and possibly a broken collar bone. With the blasts from the shotgun and me walking the marshal out of the saloon the people gave me quite a bit of leeway.
As I stood out on the boardwalk I looked up and down the street, then a smile crossed my face. What better place to keep the marshal until the train left in the morning–the jail. It was a block and a half away, and we sure received the glances as we moved down toward the jail. Johnson was having trouble walking, partly because of only having one boot on, the other was the pain from his injuries.
Coming to the jail, I motioned him in to find only a deputy at the desk in the front office. With my pistol I waved for him to move back to the cells. “Leave the gunbelt on the desk,” I ordered. He went in one cell, and I placed Johnson on a cot in the one across from him.
Securing the cells I started back to the main office. “I need a doctor!” came the cry of Johnson.
I didn’t want to be cruel but I wasn’t about to go out into the night in search of a doctor. “You’ll live!” I hollered back. I knew he might be in pain, but he was in no danger of dying.
Moving the chair from the desk over to the corner I was able to be hidden from one window, and I could see the entrance and the other window. Now it was waiting time, until the morning. The next major obstacle was to get Johnson down to the train depot the next morning. When I blew out the lamp it was dark in the room. Almost no light was coming in.
It was almost an hour later, when a gunshot blasted the window…