A wise person thinks much about death, while the fool thinks only about having a good time now.” –Ecclesiastes 7:4 (NLT)
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The weather had broken, but the temperature was still down around ten degrees so the snow was not melting. There had been traffic on the streets, so people were out and getting around. The boardwalks had been cleared off for the most part making huge piles of snow in front of the businesses. I knew that in a few days when the temperature got above freezing there would be a mess in the streets, slush and mud.
From what we knew, Merry O’Dell was the only casualty of the storm and the following cold. Father Damian and Parson Chapman along with the Anglican minister, Horatio Geneau and Methodist preacher William Trapp were going around to all the homes seeing if there were any urgent needs. I nodded at them as they were heading into the barrio. This was something good coming from the storm. I knew that Father Damian worked with the Parson, but it was the first time in my membrance that all the clergy got together.
Marta and Emelda had the diner open and I helped Molly come down. They seemed to be doing a flourishing business. I guess folks didn’t want to take the time to cook. They would run out for something and stop by the diner to eat. Emelda kept the menu simple: chili, enchiladas, and potato soup. Hot meals, and the folks wanted that. Molly made several pies, and, of course, the diner kept the coffee on, inviting anyone in to get warm and have a cup. Times like these a little hospitality went a long way.
Lucius and Mort Feeney, who had seemed to have gotten better, especially after the Parson prayed for him, were released to help in the community. I had some doubts since they had threatened to kill me, but Judge Klaser said they could work off their fine with community service. They were cutting firewood and delivering it to various homes of elderly and folks unable to get out. Molly spoiled them by ending each day with a pie to take back to their cell.
I had decided that I needed to talk to them about the attempt on my life. There was still the charge of attempted murder of a federal lawman pending over which Judge Klaser had no jurisdiction. I recalled that they said they were related to Lem Collins. Collins was a worthless no-good who I had to shoot when arresting him. He was now serving time in the pen.
“Aunt Mable, that’s Lem’s mother, was upset that he was serving hard time,” opened up Lucius. “Mort and I were very close to her as she sorta took us in after our Ma died. We felt that we needed to do something.”
“So killing me was the answer?” I snapped at them, perhaps a little too harshly.
They both ducked their heads, then Mort lifted his and with a wry smile said, “Not too smart was it?”
“You couldn’t think of a better way to help her out? What would happen if both of you were killed? What would happen if you had killed me and would be on the run waiting for a noose for your neck? Think she would be happy or better off?” I let them have it watching their reactions very carefully.
They had no response, just shook their heads.
“Did she know you were coming to Durango?” I questioned then added, “By the way, where are you from?”
Lucius looked at me replying, “Over the pass by Del Norte. And to answer your other question, no she doesn’t know. She’d be worryin’ herself sick. First Lem, and now we’ve been gone for so long.”
“Go send her a telegram,” I ordered. “Here’s money for it.” I handed Lucius a silver dollar, then added another to it. “Stop by DePoy’s and get a shave and bath.”
“Uh, Marshal, I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but it’s downright cold out there. A bath?”
I stared at him. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure Molly doesn’t send you any more pies.”