Finishing is better than starting. Patience is better than pride.” –Ecclesiastes 7:8 (NLT)
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Lucius proceeded to tell me that he thought he heard someone in the office after we left. He didn’t think much of it, thinking that one of us came back for something. He then looked down at his boots. “I can tell you were thinkin’ that it was either me or my brother.”
“Well, the thought did cross my mind. I hated to think that way, but I had to follow up my investigation.”
“Marshal,” cried Mort, “haven’t we proved ourselves?”
“It’s called reputation, Mort. It takes time to live down a poor one,” I told him, then added. “It’s just my nature to be suspicious,” I smiled, “‘specially of someone who once pointed a gun at me.”
The snow continued to melt as the days warmed up. It was only the end of February so I doubted that we had seen the end of winter. There was more snow and cold weather ahead of us. I was sorta getting antsy wanting to hit the trail on my new position, but at the same time I didn’t want to get caught out in a snowstorm. Perhaps I was getting a little too comfortable in my old age.
I was down at the diner, enjoying the warmth of the stove and the taste of the coffee whilst chatting with Doc. He was being his cantankerous self and slobbering over a piece of chocolate pie. It seemed that Molly kept one for Lucas and Doc found out about it.
“I don’t know who is more spoilt–you or Lucas?” I declared, then wiped some coffee residue off my moustache.
Molly’s voice chirped up as she walked toward us. “It’s you, Miles Forrest, and don’t you be denying it,” she barked then handed me a piece of berry pie. “There’s one more jar left until next season, so you have better enjoy it.”
Lifting my fork I had just cut into the pie when Jimmy Hopkins burst through the door. He ran up to the table with his hand out holding a scrap of paper. “Telegram, Marshal. Mr. Offut said to hurry it down to you.”
I reached in my vest pocket for my coin pouch and gave him a dime. That brought a large grin to his face. Then Molly asked, “Would you like a piece of pie, Jimmy?” He hesitated then took a step to leave. “It’s the last piece of chocolate. Go ahead, sit yourself down. I’ll bring it right to you. Stanley can wait for a couple of extra minutes for you to return.”
“Well, who’s it from?” barked Doc. “Open it!”
“From McBride,” I muttered then perused the note ignoring Doc causing him some consternation, which was my intent. Molly was returning with the pie for Jimmy and tried to read over my shoulder.
“Some trouble over towards the ruins. Seems there has been several Navaho killed and McBride wants me to check it out.”
I was on the trail early the next morning. It seemed prudent to bring along a pack mule, just in case the weather turned bad. I was riding Hawk; he was a much better horse for this type of weather. I had been on the trail for a day. The trouble was just outside a little place they were calling “Cortez.” It happened about five miles outside of Mancos. The impact hit me, then I heard the shot. As I was falling off Hawk, I remember saying, “Help me, Lord,” then the ground rose up to meet me…