People who work hard sleep well, whether they eat little or much. But the rich are always worrying and seldom get a good night’s sleep.” –Ecclesiastes 5:12 (NLT)
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As far as I knew McBride and I had never met. He might have been in that meeting with the Governor, but I couldn’t recall him. When my foot touched the station platform, he started walking towards me. He didn’t know me, but I reckoned he recognized the Greener in my hand.
He reached out his hand, “Marshal Forrest, we finally meet.”
Grasping his hand, we stood for a few seconds analyzing each other. He was a few inches taller than my five ten and he gave me a slight nod, then released my hand. Here we stood, momentarily, two warriors both filled with scars accessing each other and now we were walking side by side. I noticed that he was constantly glancing around; yep, a wary man was he. I had seen a few men like him in my lifetime: Cook, McNelly, Butler, and a few others that had that look.
I stopped before we crossed the road that ran parallel to the tracks. Thoughts from years past swept through my mind. McBride looked at me, “What’s wrong?” Then I saw that he was scanning up and down the street. I pointed to the cafe and a saloon next to it. “Ten years ago or so, I was involved in a shootout there. Banker, a couple of others and a woman…” I paused, then added, “Some dead, some in the pen.”
I nodded at him, letting him know I was ready to move on. “You hungry?” he asked. “I know a little place that serves a great steak with some chili verde. You can drop your saddlebags off at the hotel on the way.”
My eyes caught his and he smiled. “Don’t fret, the meal is on the great State of Colorado.”
He led me to the Fariss Hotel, a fine looking establishment and when I walked inside I saw that it was a little more extravagant than I was used to. We walked up to the counter. “Room for Miles Forrest,” commanded McBride holding out his hand.
The clerk was a young man, and he had a look of malnourishment. “Sign the register,” he said, then reached to the slot where there was a key located. “Room 28, right up the stairs to the right.”
McBride took the key and headed towards the stairs. He must have read my thoughts. “Consumption.”
I knew that Colorado Spring and Boulder had sanatoriums for the disease, but I hadn’t come in contact with it often. I knew that Cook’s wife suffered from it and the last I heard was up in Boulder.
Throwing my saddlebags on the bed, I walked out with McBride. “You taking that shotgun with you?” he questioned pointing at the Greener.
“Part of me, seldom go anywhere without it.”
Thirty minutes later we had almost finished our dinner, and McBride had ordered us each a slice of pie. The coffee wasn’t bad for hotel coffee, and I reckoned the pie would be quite short of Molly’s making. I will give McBride credit, he didn’t push or talk shop while we were eating. We talked mostly about family, places we’d been, and folks we knew.
“Let me tell you the region you’ll be responsible for. I reckon that’s what mostly on your mind. From what I’ve gathered in our conversation you’ve a hankering to stay home more. Well, I can’t promise you that. You’ll have the southwest section and that would include the four corners up to Grand Junction. Population is relatively sparse except for in your area around Silverton, however, the four corners has become a haven for outlaws. They find places to hide in all the ruins.”
“So I operate it similar to a sheriff with a county?”
“You operate it the way you want as long as your presence is known and felt,” he said bluntly. “As far as Denver is concerned, you’ll need to be here for special events concerning the Governor.”
“And if the Governor changes his policy regarding the Rangers, what then?”
There was a twinkle in his eyes, and a smile…