Silver Star

By James Dedman

In 1876, the Wild West is now somewhat tamed, and Colorado is about to enter Statehood. In the quiet mountain town of Georgetown, Marshall Morgan Mallory lives a relatively calm life, lacking only the comforts of a good marriage. Nothing stays the same for long in Georgetown, and the arrival of investor Marcus Winslow from the east brings with him new opportunities-- and his daughter Marion. Morgan's life is now filled with keeping law and order and finding new love, with a few murders to solve here and there. The adventures of a frontier lawman can be fraught with peril...and did we mention his jilted ex-girlfriend?

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Dedman
• Release date: Mar 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463273739

James Dedman

James C. Dedman lives in a rural community in the Midwest, forgotten by the modern world, presiding over an empire of various barnyard critters. An avid Civil War Reenactor and Historian, he enjoys researching genealogy, visiting historical locales, and raising chickens. An author of over 20 novels, he has also directed several independent films, a documentary and even a few plays. A Woman of Consequence marks his ebook debut, with more to follow. A practicing attorney at-law in order to fund his research, in his off time he gathers material for his books by making frequent trips to the West. He is the proud father of three girls, all of whom can sit a horse and fire a gun. He must always defer to his wife of over thirty years, however, as she is the one who feeds his horse.

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Chapter 1

A Well-Ordered Sunday

May 7, 1876

Morgan Mallory

The sun was nowhere close to topping the large mountains over to the east of town this morning, yet a new day had begun. Griffith, Alpine and Saxon Mountains were still blocking the sun from eastern side of the valley where the village of Georgetown lay. The sun’s light, however, could be seen far up on the slopes of Democrat Mountain just to the west of the alpine village; so there was enough light to see by and to dispel the darkness in the valley between these mountains. But actually seeing the sun crest the mountains in the east and appear overhead was at least an hour away for this little town in the Clear Creek Valley of the Colorado Territory.

Here Morgan Mallory was the city marshal of Georgetown, a large (by western standards) mountain city within the Territory. Georgetown was then and is now a beautiful mountain town at above 7000 feet in the Rockies. It sits at the end of a valley surrounded by mountains on three sides. Two raging mountain streams join in the middle of the town, one coming from a high valley called the Argentine and the other down from Loveland Pass, both streams rushing from the west and the Continental Divide. There were silver mines all about the little town, which was once the third largest city in the territory based upon those silver mines.

In the spring of 1876, Georgetown was still a prosperous community having recovered slightly from the economic panic of ’73 and was even enjoying a new spurt of building again. The silver mines were again in full production and commerce thrived throughout the city. There was a narrow gauge railroad to the east from Golden near Denver that followed Clear Creek from that city and promised to connect Georgetown with the territorial capital presently, but no certain date was promised. The Panic of ’73 had caused railroad construction west to be halted at the foot of Floyd Hill just outside and to the east of Idaho Springs, the other large town in Clear Creek County. Georgetown was a wonderful place to live and work in the year of the national centennial. Colorado was about to become a state and prosperity had finally returned to the land.

The town marshal of this community, Morgan Mallory, lived a very ordered and organized life here. Morgan was a tall man of thirty-three in the spring of 1876. Unlike many other gentlemen in the Colorado Territory, he was clean-shaven. During the Civil War, in which he had played a very minor role by his own reckoning, he had not been so and had even worn a beard. But upon mustering out in 1865 he shaved off his beard and liked to stay that way since. He took a great deal of pride in how he looked.

Morgan arose rather late for him on Sunday and washed his face in the bowl provided in his room. He had a permanent guest room in the Barton House: Georgetown’s largest hotel located on high ground on the east side of Taos Street. He put on his blue shirt and wool pants, slid into his boots and with his black Stetson hat atop his head he walked two blocks north then half a block east in the chill morning air down the hill to the Delmonico Bakery-- located on the south side of Alpine Street over on the east side of town. Though he could not see the sun yet he had no problem walking with the strange morning light all about him.

As Morgan walked the quiet streets he inhaled the wonderful mountain air. He wished he had words to describe it. The cold fresh smell was a unique one that he had taken note of his first morning in Georgetown nine years ago. It was a mixture of pine, granite and something else. It was an amazing smell and he happily filled his lungs with it today as he did every day. A smile spread slowly across his face at this simple delight.

Arriving at the Delmonico Bakery the smell changed to one of warm bread and exotic pastries. Here he entered the front door and went through the dining room and into the kitchen where the proprietor, Louis Depuy, had made a selection of French pastries for Sunday morning. He had a cup of coffee waiting for Morgan along with a smile of welcome at a small table they would share in the kitchen. This was a ritual every Sunday morning for the two close friends.

Ah Monsieur, Louis greeted him happily with a warm smile. Did you sleep well? Dupuy was a tall man too, for the time, but rather round as well. He was a year younger than Mallory but with a declining hairline. Also, unlike Marshal Mallory, he had a mustache, which he groomed meticulously. Slightly smaller than the marshal (but weighing much more), his speech was gifted with a delightful French accent.

The town was quiet last night, for a Saturday, Mallory answered him. What do we have here?

Ah, Monsieur, these will delight you! Dupuy promised. He had long ago ceased trying to give the French names to Mallory, whose tongue just could not master the strange sounds. But he liked the pastries and the café as Louis called the coffee he served in small china cups when they shared this Sunday morning ritual.

In the back of the kitchen, Louis’ employee, Sophie Galley, was saying goodbye to her husband, Jean. Jean had a burro packed outside the back door and appeared to be about to leave town on a mining expedition. These two French emigrants had come to work for Louis just recently. Sophie was a young Frenchwoman, rather plain with brown hair and matching eyes. There was not much to describe her husband Jean. He was small, with a large mustache, and was of little account to Morgan. It appeared he was leaving Louis to look after his wife while he prospected for gold or silver in the hills around Georgetown. Morgan thought the Galleys had played Louis false using him to finance their transportation from France and then out to the Rockies. It was an expensive trip and Morgan thought the Galleys should work for Louis and not run off at once prospecting for a mine. But he held those thoughts to himself.

When Mallory finished his little breakfast and chat with his best friend, he went back up the hill to his room to dress in his best black suit after shaving himself. Then he walked north from the hotel to a certain boarding house over on Rose Street to pick up Miss Linda Brinkman, a schoolteacher with whom he had been keeping company for several months now. The sun was up now and Miss Linda was ready when he arrived at the door. She was very tall for a woman with blue eyes and blonde hair and looked good walking beside the tall marshal: a thin and a very proper young lady with a weak chin but good teeth. He had been keeping polite company with her since her arrival in Georgetown last fall, but he was not in love with her and was actually looking forward to her leaving town for a visit to her home in the east over the summer. She wanted to occupy much more of his time than he desired to give her.

As they walked towards the church she talked about the school term coming to its conclusion and her plans for her eastern visit. It was clear if he had suggested she spend the summer in the mountains with him she would have changed all her plans at once to stay by his side, but he did not and they arrived at the Presbyterian Church just across Taos Street from her school building built just two years ago. Both structures were impressive stone and brick buildings and each was a pride to the community.

Inside they sought out Marshal Mallory’s brother and family. Chase Mallory was an Elder of the Presbyterian Church, Morgan’s senior by four years. He had very beautiful blonde wife, Susan, and two children: Gloria Marie, a seventeen-year-old copy of her mother, and Chandler Maxwell, a chubby fifteen-year old copy of Chase. Chase was shorter than his younger brother Morgan but was clean-shaven and thin as well. The Mallorys were seated in a pew near the front of the Church where Morgan and Linda joined them for the services today.

Morgan sang the songs and appeared to listen to the sermon, but really he was thinking today of a lost love: another schoolteacher who had been named Luene Lander. She had died shortly after coming to Georgetown nine years ago. They had arrived in the camp about the same time when the town was then but a wild silver strike and he had struck up a short but intense romance with the ill-fated maiden. Their love was ended when she fell in the creek that rushed through the center of the town and which ran right beside the church now. When the songs were not being sung he could hear the wicked sound of the raging water nearby. A strong powerful current had killed her before she could be rescued from its waters. Morgan had been in love with her then. Why he thought of her again today he had no idea. Perhaps it was because the creek roared with its annual spring flood noisily right outside the church and there was a bridge nearly in front of it. If there had been a proper bridge in those days then she would not have been killed trying to cross the creek on a log lower in the town and his life today might be very different.

Morgan had never been lucky in love like his brother. Susan Mallory had faithfully waited through the war for Chase to return to her. Married a couple years before the war, she had devotedly remained for her husband’s return to her. Morgan’s own love back in the states in those times had married someone else a few months after he left town for federal service. He had not quite ever gotten over that disappointment.

Suddenly the church service was over and they were standing for the final hymn and the benediction. Then Morgan escorted Linda out of the church, following the other Mallorys strolling leisurely south to the Morgan home further south of Alpine Street. This was a ritual too. Every Sunday they went to Chase and Susan’s for dinner. Susan had a fireless cooker that used hot rocks to roast the beef and potatoes waiting for them. The wonderful smell greeted them at the door as they entered the home. Politely, Linda went to the kitchen with Susan and Gloria to help finish the meal. Morgan sat with his brother Chase and his nephew, Chandler.

Chase Mallory had a large home, by Georgetown standards. There was a foyer at the front door. To the right was the large parlor. To the left were the dining room and then the kitchen behind that. There was a stair directly in front from the foyer that led to four bedrooms on the second floor. The bedrooms were small and had sloping roofs, but it was a large home by comparison to others in the community.

Susan’s younger brother, Harold McKimm, presently joined them. At Susan’s insistence, Morgan had hired the young man to be a deputy town marshal upon his arrival in Georgetown. Harold had one of the second floor bedrooms. Morgan knew Harold would have been of more use in their family Trading Post, a general store of sorts owned by the two brothers since they came to Georgetown; but Harold had declared he wanted to be a frontier marshal. Morgan had him working the least dangerous shift, which included Sunday. Harold had only a few minutes with them for his lunch, and then he was back on patrol for trouble, which thankfully never seemed to come on a Sunday. Harold looked so young and so green in his eastern suit and bowler hat that his small pistol strapped to his side looked out of place. The brass star he wore looked too large on his small chest. Morgan worried for the lad, but Susan had insisted Morgan give him a chance. Like Chase, Morgan could not deny Mrs. Mallory any request she made.

Within minutes the meal was finished and on the table. Chase gave the blessing as he always did, then they ate the feast. The potatoes and the beets had been grown locally. The beef was local too. The catsup sauce was a concoction of Susan’s own and brought out more flavor in the roast. Morgan was quick to compliment Susan on the fine dinner, which was proper as he ate the most of it. The ladies cleared the dishes away and they all sat down to an afternoon of cards. Harold wished he could join them but he returned to his duty patrolling the streets of Georgetown.

The card game they played was an amazing game invented some time ago by Gloria. She had hand painted cards for this game that she called Uncle Tusky Draw. The main card in the deck was a walrus in a black top hat from which the game drew his name. That they played this whimsical game nearly every Sunday indicated that it was a favorite with all of them. Anyone could win and today, to her delight, it was Linda.

After coffee and desert, Morgan walked Linda back to her boarding house. He lingered but a moment there before kissing her on the cheek and taking his departure. He knew she followed him with her eyes as he walked away.

The sun was moving off to the west and about to disappear, creating that long twilight before it became really dark that Morgan had grown used to for nine years. Again his mind went to Luene Lander, his dead sweetheart. Perhaps he was thinking about her today because he was lonely? Evening could bring on a melancholy feeling to him. Morgan resolved to do something about that shortly, but the resolve was hollow, as he had nothing definite in mind.

His next stop was the City Marshal’s office. He had two deputies: Otis Rand Taylor and Harold McKimm. Harold had duty on Sunday and during the morning hours during the week. The other deputy, Otis, was more than capable. He was just a little shorter than Morgan with a fashionable mustache and goatee. More importantly, he was deadly with the .45 Colt he carried strapped to his waist. He did not work Sunday, but worked all the evenings the rest of the week. There was a jailor who lived in the office and he reported everything to be quiet this evening. The miners were getting ready to return to the hills for their work on Monday-- some had left already and the town was peaceful.

Happily, this meant Morgan could go to see the woman he did love. Her name was Elmira Weston. She was the most beautiful woman Morgan had ever seen in his life. She had blonde hair and deep, loving blue eyes. The only problem was that she was fifteen years older than he was and she could not be persuaded to marry him no matter how hard he tried to convince her. There was another problem too: she ran a saloon.

But Morgan did not care at all about that. He loved her completely and hurried to her establishment, called the Red Ram, located on the west end of Alpine Street on the north side in the Fish block. It was in fact more than just a saloon-- she had a roulette wheel. There was also a restaurant in the very back with a separate entrance on Rose Street run by a German cook. The business was in the Fish block with the future site for Fish’s planned bank on the corner. The saloon was just to the west and the restaurant entrance to the north on the side street. In the bar she had three saloon girls who drank with the customers and performed other services as directed.

Sunday was their special evening together and he expected her to drive all dark shadows of the past from his mind. Elmira was waiting for him and wanted to hear all about the events of the day. He recited all of his rather boring doings that day at her direction. Elmira wanted to know more about Linda and pressed him for details on their supposed romance.

Why aren’t you more interested in marriage with her? Elmira moaned.

I can be as stubborn as you, he replied. I don’t know why you insist I see her.

I want you to find someone to marry. Someone your own age, she declared as she always did.

I have found someone to marry. You.

I am too old for you, Elmira replied as she always did to his proposals. Someday you will want children like your brother. I am way past that.

I only want you, he persisted.

Her smile softened. I understand. Still, maybe the right girl will come along for you.

She has, he replied, kissing her. They had been lovers for nearly six years, ever since she had opened her saloon. He had persisted in his courtship shortly after she opened her doors for business and found his way into her bed eventually. Though he had continued in his offers of marriage, she steadfastly refused him.

Sunday night was a special time for them. She saw he wanted her now and left the management of the nearly empty bar to her bartender, Sam. Taking Morgan by the hand, she led him upstairs to her bedroom where she locked the door after they entered.

Here he found complete bliss making love to her and his Sunday ended, as it should, in very proper order with all things in place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Death in the Afternoon

Monday, May 8, 1876

Morgan Mallory

Morgan Mallory rose very early on Monday from the bed of Elmira Weston. Elmira looked like a perfect angel with her long blonde hair carelessly tossed over her pillow as she slept quietly. Morgan slipped from her room and down the back stairs of the saloon on the north side of the building. It could be sometime before Elmira stirred from her bed, but Morgan had some real work to do this morning.

Outside it was cold. He could again smell the fresh mountain air and he filled his lungs with it. He could never go back to living in the Midwest after breathing this amazing air-- the Mallorys had come west from Bloomington, Illinois in 1867. The air out here in Colorado was so grand, so fresh. There was absolutely no humidity in it at all. He never could have gone back to live in Central Illinois-- it was a swamp by comparison. The morning smell was as grand today as it had been his first day in Georgetown. The sky was already filled with clouds, which told him there would be rain today, probably in the afternoon. But that, too, was typical of a summer afternoon.

As Morgan walked south on Taos Street he noted a faint red to the east where Mount Griffith and Mount Saxon conspired to block the sun. That was always the way in Georgetown. There would be a gradual lightening all around before the sun ever peeked over that tall mountain to the east. High up on the west mountain, Democrat, you could see the sunlight touching the heights and watch its progress moving down the mountain slowly until it would rush all at once across the entire valley to illuminate all of Georgetown.

Back at his room in the Barton House Morgan changed his underwear and shirt then made his way slowly over to the Hard Rock Café in the middle of a block on Alpine Street. Already there were people inside eating breakfast as the town slowly came to life. The smell of bacon and coffee filled the inside of the café. Now he could see the sunlight high up on the slopes of Democrat Mountain, but the air was still crisp and cold below where he was.

He sat at a table with a number of men he knew. Quickly coffee was brought to him and the waiter took his order for breakfast. It was his practice to take breakfast here and listen for any news or other developments in the town as the café was a center of town gossip in the morning. All was quiet today and there was nothing of any note to any of the discussions.

The conversation among the patrons today was about the possibility of gold in the Black Hills and what that might mean for Georgetown mining. The consensus was that most of the miners in Georgetown would stay here and not chase the new Eldorado reported to the north and guarded by the savage Indian. He sipped his coffee contentedly and then ate his breakfast, listening to the chattering of the men on their way to their businesses.

Finished at the café, Morgan wandered over to the barbershop. He had to wait only a few minutes before the barber took his cup and mixed shaving cream to give him a close shave. Morgan could shave easily himself, as he had done Sunday, but he liked to hear the gossip and keep his fingers on the pulse of the town. The café and barbershop were excellent vehicles for this.

Again there was more gossip to hear, but nothing of any importance. The barbershop talk was also about how the Black Hills were on Indian land and any mining claims there would not be legal. Some local men had gone to the Black Hills but there was no word back from them yet. The sunlight was moving quickly down the mountain on the west when he left the barbershop and had just peeked over the eastern mountain, Griffith, as he reached his office. Now the air around Georgetown would begin to warm.

Grumpy, the turnkey in his office and lockup, had no news either. Harold reported for duty.

After lunch we are going up on Union Pass to practice with that peashooter you call a pistol, Morgan informed him. Tell the livery to have my horse ready at one and another for you.

Yes, sir, Harold acknowledged and scurried off to comply with his directives.

Morgan took a long walk about Alpine Street and made a slow circle of the several businesses. He stopped in on some of the businesses opening and got the same message every time: all was quiet and peaceful. That was just how he expected a Monday morning to be and he was very happy with the quiet town.

He noted school children heading north on Taos Street as the school bell was ringing and he drifted that way. The brick school was an impressive structure standing two stories high with a bell tower on its top. The children were gathering in the yard preparing to enter its halls as their school term wound down. They seemed excited to see school about to end for the summer. Presently he caught sight of Linda Brinkman. She moved over to greet him with a warm smile in the schoolyard. He stood patiently until she joined him. She seemed very happy to see him and he felt a pang of remorse again at not being in love with her. She was pretty and bright with many admirable qualities but Linda could not capture his affections as Elmira did.

Linda chattered at him for a while until the final bell called the students and Linda inside. She looked back over her shoulder longingly before disappearing inside and he waved, causing her to smile again at him.

As he walked on Morgan wondered how Luene Lander had captivated him so quickly and so completely back then. He had planned on marrying her after only a very short acquaintance, but Linda was nothing like that. In his mind, Luene had been the perfect woman-- she had touched all the points he thought a woman should be. Everything about her had been perfect except her balance, and that was why she fell into the creek and drowned.

Morgan went to the post office and checked on the mail. Nothing new had arrived, which was fine as nothing was expected. He went back to his office to look over the mail he had not had time to read carefully on Saturday last. There was nothing of any real interest in any of it and there was only a little bookkeeping to catch up. That finished, he left and went to the store owned by him and his brother.

They called their business the Mallory Trading Post. It was in the Fish block on Alpine Street. They rented the building from Fish and it was the last store on the west side of the block. There was an empty store between their business and the Red Ram Saloon to the east. Both store fronts were long structures opening to the south in the front along the Georgetown boardwalk on Alpine Street and with their back doors to the north and an alley there.

When he entered the store, his brother was behind the counter making a sale and Morgan made himself comfortable near the back of the store where there was a round wooden table with some chairs.

You are a little early for lunch, Chase noted, looking at his gold pocket watch that he carried in his vest. It was their practice to eat lunch here together every Monday to discuss business matters.

Things are rather quiet just now, Morgan replied contentedly. This is a pleasant place to sit and wait. And I wanted to beat the rain. Outside there was a slight drizzle starting.

Business is good this morning and not so very quiet, Chase told him happily.

Don’t you need a good clerk here to mind things if you are going into the banking business? Morgan picked up an old subject with him.

I suppose you think Harold would just fill the bill as a clerk? Chase replied with a smile.

Perfectly, Morgan told him. It would be much safer for him than being a deputy town marshal.

Things are quiet in Georgetown just now, Chase argued, tossing his words back at him. Besides he has his heart set on marshaling.

Just how will Susan feel if he gets hurt? Morgan trotted out his other old argument.

Things are safe and peaceful now, Chase repeated his usual reply. Colorado is about to become a state. Georgetown is not the wild place it was when we came here nine years ago.

But it can be in a moment, Morgan reminded him. All it takes is a drunken miner and Harold being a little too aggressive or just a little too shy.

He wants to be like you and Rand Taylor, Chase replied.

Yes, I noted his feeble attempts to grow a little mustache and goatee, Morgan sighed.

Look, our lunch is early too! Chase called Morgan’s attention to the hurried arrival of Susan Mallory with a large basket, containing their lunch. She too was scurrying to beat the rain, which was just beginning to pick up outside. Share your worries on this matter with my wife if you want.

No thanks, Morgan replied as she entered. Morgan rose as his sister-in-law arrived at the table with their luncheon and had a seat again when directed by her. She had a number of beef sandwiches and some lovely pickles, too. That, with some beer, was being set out. Presently, as was the custom, Harold joined them and the four sat down to eat. Chase prayed over the food and they dug in.

After finishing lunch, Chase usually told Morgan all about the business of the previous week and what might be coming up. Most of it was just good news as to how the general store was doing now that the recession had ended and the good progress towards partnership in a bank with either Mr. Cushman or Mr. Fish. Both men were planning on banks in the town. Cushman seemed the more interested in a partnership with him and was planning to open a bank soonest. Fish was not as encouraging. Cushman had built an imposing structure on the south side of Alpine Street in the block just off to the east of their shop.

Oh, there is an important man coming to town on Wednesday, Chase informed him. His name is Marcus Winslow. Hails from Philadelphia but lately from Baton Rouge where he was in the reconstructed government of Louisiana.

What they call a carpetbagger? Morgan wondered.

Very likely. He has a lot of money and huge line of credit from the Denver bank to us. I need you to show him around and all.

Ah, Morgan saw the point. The cigar club?

Very probably, Chase admitted.

The cigar club was group of gentlemen who met twice a month on Thursday evening at the Red Ram. They shared cigars and entertainment and Chase had been one of the founders. But since his ascent into the office of Elder of the Georgetown Presbyterian Church, he had thought it best to no longer attend. In actual fact, the club had started from the church when it had been called the Thursday Night Society of Sinners in those days. But now the emphasis was more on sinning than being a sinner in need of salvation. Morgan looked forward to meeting this new man of property coming into their community. It was likely he would help them in their latest ambition: the bank.

Luncheon dispensed with, Morgan took Harold over to the stable at the end of Mary Street. The drizzle was still present but they were not getting very wet. At the livery Morgan’s horse, Lawman was saddled, as was another livery horse for Harold. Morgan checked the girth and the surcingle on his McClellan saddle before mounting. Harold was riding a high backed western saddle. Out they went, headed north for Union Pass just outside of town. This was not the sort of afternoon rain to last very long or cause him to change his plans to work on Harold’s shooting.

Lawman was a Kentucky Mountain horse. Mallory did not understand how that was different from a Tennessee walking horse, but apparently it was. Lawman had been sired over the divide in Middle Park. Mallory had paid several times the going rate on horses to get this very special mount. The horse had an ambling gait that was very comfortable and he loved to do his running walk when he moved. This forced Harold to a trot the entire distance and Harold looked very uncomfortable bouncing all over the saddle as he followed along after Morgan. They moved north along Taos Street past the church and the school. Looking at the window Morgan thought he caught a glimpse of Linda looking out at him. She waved and he tipped his hat to her as he rode by.

About one mile north of town the road began to climb. There was a low point between two mountains through which the road went north then northwest to the little town of Empire. Morgan’s horse did not slacken his pace even though the climb was steep. This horse loved to move at his special gait up a mountain road. Behind him Harold bounced along at a trot as best he could to keep up. Another mile and they reached the summit of Union Pass. Here he stopped and could see the little road below him turning east to go to the small town of Lawson. Across the valley to the east was another trail that went to Silver Creek above Lawson. Looking west from the pass he could see Empire nestled on the side of a mountain alongside the trail leading to the summit of Berthoud Pass. Looking back to the south he could see all of Georgetown sprawled at the end of the valley in a box canyon. Harold backed away from the view, as at the top of the pass it was a sheer cliff down.

At the summit of the small pass were trees and here he dismounted and tied his horse. Harold did the same as he tried to catch his breath. Here was a good place to shoot a handgun and there could be seen the remains of his previous targets. As they had done before, Morgan began by showing Harold how to draw and fire. Then he had Harold perform the exercise over and over, slowly, shooting a full box of ammunition in the process despite the rain occasionally falling on them.

I wish you would get another pistol, Morgan continued. Harold had a small, .32 caliber handgun. The Colt .45 is far superior for our work. You could carry that pistol as a backup.

There is a grand idea! Harold replied. I just wish I was better with the heavier weapon.

Practice will accomplish that, Morgan insisted.

Well I am saving up to purchase the handgun, Harold declared with certainty. He was not paid a lot and to his credit, he tried to live within his means.

I am sure Susan and Chase would give you credit at the store, Morgan reminded him.

Oh, I would just hate to do that, Harold sighed. Morgan nodded. He approved highly of the way the young man did not try to take any financial advantage of his family.

One box of .32 ammunition was expended and after a few shots from Morgan’s .45, they were done. The rain picked up as they remounted and returned down the Union Pass road to the Georgetown stable on Mary Street. Here Morgan left the horses and gave the stable attendant a generous tip to wipe down and cool off the horses for him.

This stable had belonged to Charley Utter, who was now up in the Black Hills chasing gold. He had leased the stable to Alec Lawson, the well-known proprietor of Six Mile House, in Lawson. Lawson himself was looking to expand business into Georgetown from his hotel and lodge establishment six miles downstream.

Harold continued his patrol of the town by himself and Morgan wandered over toward the Delmonico Bakery. The rain had stopped for the moment but dark clouds overhead promised more soon. In the back of building by the alley he saw a burro tied near the door. It looked rather like the burro Louis Depuy had rented for Jean-Antoine Galley to go prospecting with yesterday. As he drifted along the alley he heard three distinct pops like small pistol shots from inside the Bakery. No one else would have paid much attention to this, but Morgan was always on the alert for trouble. He drew his own pistol and hurried into the bakery from the rear door. The kitchen was empty but there was some blue smoke hanging in the air over by the stairs leading to the cellar Louis had commissioned some Chinese workers to dig for him below his building.

On the stairway was a strange scene. Sprawled across the stairs to the cellar was the body of Jean-Antoine Galley, bleeding. His wife, Sophie was crouched at the top of the stairs weeping and holding a small handgun. At the bottom of the stairs was Louis, his own face flushed and registering emotions from fear, anger, relief, and disbelief. Morgan took the pistol from Sophie. It was a Colt .38 rim fire and not much of a weapon, but obviously it had been enough to kill Galley. Feeling Jean-Antoine’s throat, there was no pulse. He was quite dead.

Louis? Morgan asked his friend for an explanation.

Louis climbed up the stairs from the cellar, stepping over the body. Mon Dieu, he sighed, "this is all my fault. Yesterday we speak of Jean-Antoine going to look for a claim. It is a ruse on his part! He leaves and comes back because he suspects Sophie