Miles has finally reached Durango with his prisoner, Marshal Todd Johnson, formally of Silverton. With the help of city marshal Mateo Ramirez, Johnson is now sitting in jail with a broken collarbone and wrist. He is in a sour mood. Miles had spotted at least two of Johnson’s men on the train, but he lost sight of them when they departed the station. Let’s look at another exciting adventure from yesteryear in the life of Miles Forrest.
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“Kid, do yourself a favor, and let me out of here,” stressed Johnson to the jailer, young Lucas Ramos. “If not, you’re likely to end up dead on the floor. I have men out there that plan to break me out.”
Lucas snorted, “Senor, if they’re as rough and tough and ugly as you, I have no worries. He paused a moment before closing the door to the cell room. “If you don’t behave, I’ll forget to bring your supper.”
Shutting the door, Lucas looked around the room. The outer office was an easy place for a man to get shot. There was little to no cover. He went to the desk where he normally sat, pulled it in front of the cell door, then tipped it over. Thinking to himself, “This desk most likely won’t stop a bullet, but it’s better than nothing.” Getting as comfortable as he possibly could, he began to wait.
Miles and Mateo had been gone for about twenty minutes, and Doc Jones possibly ten when two men slowly entered the room. Lucas could see them looking around, surprised that no one was there. “Lark, do you think he might be in the cells or in that other office,” one of the men whispered. They had yet to see the overturned desk.
Lucas whispered a brief prayer, then called out. “No amigos, he is right here. Surrender or die.”
Both men drew and fired at the voice. One bullet hit the frame of the cell door, another clipped the top of the desk. Lucas then popped up firing. A man yelped, as both scurried to get back out the entrance. Lucas didn’t follow, but held his position in case they would return.
“Lark, that kid hit me, I’m bleedin’!’ cried the man as they left the office running up the boardwalk toward the north of town.
Miles had been sitting in the diner with Molly drinking coffee when the sound of gunfire erupted. Grabbing the Greener he ran off up the street toward the jail. He arrived just before Mateo coming up from the south whose limp didn’t seem to bother him when he ran. He was ready to barge through the door when Miles stopped him by holding out the barrel of the shotgun to bar his entrance.
“Easy, Lucas, this is Miles Forrest. Don’t shoot, I’m comin’ in.”
Lucas stood, pistol in hand pointed at the doorway. “Senor Miles, si, come on in. All is all right.”
“Two men, I think friends of the prisoner, fired at me,” he remarked. “What else could I do, I shot back.”
“You did fine,” replied Miles, then looked at the little barricade and smiled. “We’re goin’ to look for them, they couldn’t have gone far on foot.”
“Senor Miles, I’m sure that I wounded one,” said Lucas, then a disgusted look appeared on his face with a slight shake of his head. “I don’t think real bad though.”
Mateo led the way out of the jail, both men turning towards the north. He pointed to a drop of blood on the boardwalk. “Not much, but the kid was right.”
Lark Collins and the wounded man, Ben Andrews, hurried up the street where many of the city’s finer homes and more upscale residents lived. “It hurts, Lark,” whimpered Ben holding onto his lower arm.
“Hush up! We’ve got to find a place to hide, that marshal knows we’re afoot.”
Lark looked over at his companion, noticing that every once in a while a drop of blood would drop from his arm. “Listen, let’s split up. They won’t expect that.”
“But my arm, I need a doctor.”
“Then go down to the doctor. See how far you’ll get!” gritted Lark. “Go on over there to those stalls. There’ plenty of shadows. Hunker down in a dark corner, but be quiet.”
Andrews looked, then back at Lark who had started to walk the other direction. He was hurting, but if he had stopped to look at the wound he should have realized that it was not serious. Heeding the instructions he moved toward the stalls at the back of a large house.
Lark moved on up the street then saw what he was looking for. A smile forming on his face, he began to climb a trellis to a roof, then move on up higher on the roof hiding in the darkness provided by a cupelo. He looked toward the west. It would be at least two, maybe three hours before the sun went down.
Miles and Mateo worked the street together. The men couldn’t have gotten far; they were in town for sure. “We’ve got three hours, Mateo.”
Mateo stopped to gaze at a spot of blood on a rock wall. Silently, he pointed toward some sheds.
The two law officers moved slowly and quietly toward the sheds. They hesitated at one, then looked into the darkness allowing time for their eyes to adjust. Miles let Mateo take charge, who then pointed that Miles should go to the right while he went the other direction. They moved around the small shed, guns out…