As you enter the house of God, keep your ears open and your mouth shut! Don’t be a fool who doesn’t realize that mindless offerings to God are evil.”
–Ecclesiastes 5:1 (NLT)
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“It was a nice few days,” I reflected as I settled down in my seat, it would be close to four hours to Silverton so I tried to get comfortable. I found myself chuckling as I remembered the time it took on horseback before they built this railway. “The picnic with Molly was nice; we should do that more.”
I tried to take notice of everyone who boarded. It was mostly men going up to look for work in the mines or wanting to try prospecting on their own, a worthless task for the most part these days. The car was almost full but I was able to keep a full seat to myself. I started to place the Greener against the side of the car but for some reason I left it on the seat the barrel pointed towards the aisle.
“Pleasure or business, Marshal?” asked the conductor, knowing full well that it was business.
Cocking an eye at him, “Now Mr. Lewis, when have I ever taken a trip to Silverton for pleasure?” I chided him, then added, “Maybe I should try my hand at prospectin’. It seems like these boys are doin’ so well.”
Now that brought a brief guffaw from him. “Ticket please,” he muttered in his laughter.
Perhaps it was the picnic or the fact that I was concerned about the condition of the marshal’s office in Silverton. I thought Beavin was a tough enough man, but he had no experience as a lawdog. Well, in a few hours I’d find out, but in the meantime I found myself dozing.
After the second time we stopped for water, I was nodding off when I felt a cold piece of steel against the side of my face. “Easy,” came a voice as I jerked away from what I saw was a .45.
“Hey, now,” I said a little louder than normal so I could pull the hammer back on the shotgun.
“I don’t want to kill you, so just shut up!” came a growl from the man. “You’re McGinnis’ bargaining chip.”
I sighed, relaxed to get him off guard, looked upward at his face, then pulled the trigger. The blast blew both his legs from under him and he crashed to the floor dropping his pistol. The growl now was a fierce moan of pain. I quickly jumped up, kicking his gun under the seat, then placed my back to the door and holding the Greener up surveying the rest of the passengers.
Frank Lewis, the conductor, started pushing his way towards me moving gawkers out of the aisle. “Marshal, what in the world…” he started but left it at that when he saw the shotgun and the man writhing in the aisle.
“Mister Lewis, see if anyone has any medical experience or this man is goin’ to bleed out.”
He turned around, then stepped up on the seat to holler. “I need someone with medical know-how! Right now!” From about half-way back a man lumbered into the aisle. He sure didn’t look much like a doctor. He was a tall, thin man wearing a long duster. To be on the safe side, I pulled back the other hammer on the Greener.
My action was noticed for he stopped momentarily on his walk. “You a doctor?” I asked.
Shaking his head, “No, but I do have some knowledge of wounds.” He took off his coat, laying it over the back of the seat in front of me. He bent down to examine the man. I noticed he was wearing a gunbelt with what appeared to be a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber. Almost immediately he ordered the man standing to the seat just behind him to give him his belt. “I need a tourniquet or he’ll bleed to death…he might anyhow.
Minutes later the man was quiet and his Samaritan stood, keeping his hands out in front of him. “Mister, you sure played havoc with that man’s legs.” He then turned his attention to the conductor. “Any place along the way where he can get help. I’m not sure he’ll make it to Silverton.”
“You got a name,” I snapped a little too harshly.
“Sure I do, everyone’s has a name. I’m sure you do as well.”
Our eyes met. This was no slouch, he was a man who hired out, I knew it in my bones. “But since you asked so politely, my daddy named me Vespasian as he was a lover of the Romans. I go by Vess. Vess Dawson.” It didn’t ring a bell, but then again I didn’t know every gunman in the West. “Uh, Mister, you mind pointing that Greener somewhere’s else? I see you have the hammer cocked, and, well, I’d hate for a jolt of this train to cause it to go off.”
He was calm, I’d give him that. Uncocking the shotgun, I said, “I’m Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest,” then I added, “thank you for your assistance.”
Dawson looked down at the man briefly. “I can’t do anything more for him. I’d leave him stretched out in the aisle. Is there anything else, Marshal?”
I shook my head, thanking him again. He reached for his coat then turned to walk back to his seat.
By this time most of the passengers had taken their seats, only a few remained standing. Lewis started moving back down the aisle to assure them that everything was all right.
I stood with my back to the door watching Vess Dawson glide back to his seat. I wonder…