Reading the confession by Mark Barstow a smile crept on my face. This will get Amos Martin to trial and to prison. I found myself shaking my head, that’s the shame of it. A good man, for the most part, with a good business, and aid to the community, but because of extreme prejudice would spend much of his life in prison. What will happen to his business? His health?
I had been debating whether or not to have those affected by Martin’s schemes to go with me to arrest him. That really wasn’t their job, but it would be good to have witnesses with me in case Martin decided to do something.
“I have no animosity towards him,” remarked Father Cisneros when I spoke with him. “Truthfully, I pray daily for his soul.”
“Father, if’n yur up to makin’ it, I’d appreciate it if you’d come with me. I understand if you can’t,” I said with concern. He was still some beat up from the Feakes and Barstow. “I’d like to have some witnesses when I confront Martin.”
He acquiesced only if Rev. Chapman would be willing to go with him. I hoped the Parson would see his way to doing so, but he was still concerned about Betty and the what might have been, plus knowing that he killed a man weighed on his mind. However, within the hour I had both men of God walking with me up the street towards Martin’s Hardware.
“Miles?” questioned my pastor, “You’re not going to pronounce judgment on Martin, are you?”
Scowling at him, I replied, “Parson, my job is to arrest, hopefully peacefully, then it will be up to the people to decide guilt or innocence under the law. Unless I am protectin’ the two of you, or myself, then I’ll not harm the man.”
The preacher, bowed his head, not in prayer, but in shame for doubting my integrity. “Sorry, Miles, I know you better than to think that. Forgive me?”
“Nothin’ to forgive,” I stated, then when we stepped up on the boardwalk, I moved the Greener from my right hand to the left. Standing outside the store I looked at each man, nodded then tried to open the door. It was locked. This time of day Martin should have been open for business.
“Martin! Amos Martin! Open up, this is Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest. Open up!”
“Miles, there’s no light on in the store,” declared Rev. Chapman who had been peering through the window.
“Stand back,” I ordered, then kicked at the door, breaking it open. “Martin!” I hollered again.
“Stay behind me, in fact get down behind one of those counters, this might be an ambush,” I commanded, then began to move slowly down the long aisle of the store towards the back.
There was no one in the store. I glanced at the narrow staircase in the backroom. I knew that Martin and his now married daughter Agatha, had lived upstairs. Taking each stair softly and as quietly as possible I began to ascend. This would be a terrible place if Martin would throw open the door and start shooting. I would have no chance. But nothing…I reached the door at the top of the stairs, turned the knob and carefully opened it. I didn’t know what to expect.
It was empty…
Both the men were waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. I shrugged, and was shaking my head when I got to them. “Where do you think he went?” questioned Father Cisneros.
“I’m not sure. I’m goin’ to have a look out back, then if’n my suspicions are right, have a talk with Moses Vexler down at the livery,” I paused in frustration, then sighed. “You men can go on home. Thanks for comin’ with me.”
“Miles, let us pray for you, before we leave,” requested Parson Chapman. As was my custom I didn’t bow my head nor close my eyes as the two men of God put their hands on my shoulder and prayed with the Parson leading. I nodded my thanks and appreciation to them then walked away.
Opening the back door carefully, I peeked out then opened the door looking around before stepping down into the alley. There had been a horse there. I moved to where it had been tied, bent down to study the tracks…