The more you have, the more people come to help you spend it. So what is the advantage of wealth–except perhaps to watch it run through your fingers!”
–Ecclesiastes 5:11 (NLT)
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For the first hour McGinnis sat looking out the window mumbling to himself. I heard him once, “Where is Dawson?”
Normally I don’t reply, but I reckoned he ought to know. “Dawson’s not comin’,” I told him straight out. “He’s totally incapacitated, in other words, he’s dead.” He sort of jerked when I said that. So I added, “Do you want to admit bringin’ him to Durango to kill someone?”
He looked over at me, with now empty eyes. Eyes that had no hope, eyes that took on a blank stare almost as if his soul had already left him. He barely shook his head, then bent over placing his face in his hands.
I didn’t say anything for quite a spell. I offered him one of the sandwiches that Molly made me. He did turn his head to look at it, then proceeded to stare out the window. There were a couple of hand-pies, but he refused my offer of one of them. He must be in bad shape. When the conductor came by I asked if he could perchance bring a cup of coffee when the time afforded him. He said he’d take care of it and to my surprise in a half hour a porter brought me a steaming cup.
“Don’t know how good it is, but it sure ‘nough is hot, so’s yuh be careful,” he said with a large grin, his white teeth shining brightly against his darkened skin. Reaching in my vest I pulled out a dollar to give him for his trouble, to which the grin got even wider. I didn’t bother with getting McGinnis a cup. He was in a stew.
One time during the trip he straightened up and I thought I’d try to talk to him about the Lord and the hope that He gives. But he just gave me that blank stare, then turned his face to the window. He stayed that way whenever we were traveling and in the car. Whenever we stopped, he would hold his head down, take care of business and shuffle his feet as if he were in the lowest dregs.
When I finally turned him over to the Warden, he was in no better shape. The Warden asked about him, and I gave him the short version, as he had all the proceedings in the file I gave him. He looked at McGinnis, then to me. I just shrugged.
The train was only in the station for a couple of hours, then I would be on my way to Pueblo with my meeting. I wondered as I heard the rhythm of the clickety-clack on the rails what the Lord might have for me, or even if this was a door through which I should enter. I knew Marshal Blasco was retiring, but he informed me that he could not guarantee that I would be appointed marshal, and even if I was I would then have to move to Denver.
My mind wandered back over my life. Maybe I should have gone ahead into the horse business. Years ago Lot Smith asked that I join him in a wild horse hunt. I was still with Wells Fargo at that time. Never did take him up on it. Well, doesn’t do a person well to wonder about the “what ifs” of life. We plan for tomorrow, but the Lord wants us to be living for the day. The future is in His hands, and we take it one day at a time.
Hollister McBride, of the Colorado Mounted Rangers, was supposed to meet me in Durango. I sent him a wire from Canon City after dropping off McGinnis that I would be coming in on the next train. I had met McBride once before with Blasco and several others in Governor James Grant’s office discussing the reorganization of the Rangers. With the last election there was a new governor, Benjamin Harrison Eaton. The Rangers, like a U.S. Marshal, were subject somewhat to the political game. As a deputy I wasn’t affected so much. I know that some of the governors in the past used the Rangers for their personal use and bodyguards. Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case. I would make sure that was clarified by McBride.
As the train came into the station, I saw a tall, rugged looking man. He was well-dressed in black, with a string tie, and he was sporting a black handlebar moustache. I noticed that his boots were shined, and he had a black, well-kept gunbelt with a .45 in the holster that could have ivory grips. It was Hollister McBride, better known as “Holly.”
“Well, Lord,” I breathed a prayer as I picked up the Greener and headed out for my appointment, “guide me. Lead me on the path you would want me to travel…”