Jens had passed out before I could tell him more about Christ and the way to heaven. I didn’t think his wound was serious, but he did lose a lot of blood and then there was always the chance of infection.
“You need to get him off my counter!” snapped the telegraph clerk.
I was in no mood for his foolishness after the shootout and Jens wounded and passing out. The rush from the gunfight was wearing out. I already had one fool to deal with in the town marshal, so I barked at him in my reply. “How would you like a little thump alongside the head with the barrel of this Greener?”
In reaction he put his hand to the side of his head and backed away. When he was doing that the doctor, or someone who said he was a doctor appeared.
“Let me have a look at him,” he growled. He grabbed the pants and ripped them so that he could look at the wound. Hmm, so much for good bedside manners. Touching around the wound, he then dug in his bag pulling out a small pair of clamps.
“Hold his leg, I need to make sure there’s no cloth in the wound,” he ordered. I watched as he pulled the wound apart starting it to bleed again. Using the clamps he pulled out a piece of string, then some cloth the size of your little fingernail.
“Fitzer,” he barked looking at the telegraph operator, “give me that bottle of rye you keep hidden. I need to clean this so I can get a better look.”
“I don’t…” he began to say until I raised the Greener. “Just a minute.” He went to a cabinet in the corner of the room and produced a bottle of rye whiskey.
Handing it to the doctor he back off again. I turned to look at the marshal and he was standing in the doorway observing. “Sorry, but I’m going to make a mess on your counter, but it’ll clean up,” then he gave a little laugh, “most of it anyway.”
He poured the liquor into the wound. “Good thing he’s out, as this would smart some.” Then he wiped it with a towel. He pulled the wound apart, poured some more whiskey in it to wash it out. “Hand me that bandage in my bag,” he ordered. “No, not that one, the towel.” As I handed him a cloth. “Got to stop the bleeding again, then put a few stitches in it.”
“United States Marshals, huh?” he questioned upon seeing Jens’ badge. “Bet Marshal Abrams is happy you’re here,” he said with another little laugh. “Listen, I’ll finish up here, why don’t you go get him a room.”
I nodded and began to leave. “I don’t think there’s any room at the hotel,” stated Abrams as I walked by him. Try Ramon over at the cantina. He might have some rooms.”
It didn’t take long to reach the cantina. Ramon had been very courteous to me earlier, but now seemed extremely nervous. “Senor, I would like to help you, but,” he grimaced, “if I do they will come in and destroy my establishment. Por favor, please,” he paused then gave a deep sigh. “If you cannot find a place, I will help you.”
“Ramon, I think I understand. I won’t be a problem for you, but I surely want to talk with you later.”
Leaving I walked over to the two-story building that had the sign: Hotel. I didn’t for a moment believe it was full. I might have to use a little persuasion.
The clerk looked up as I entered and immediately spouted out, “We’re out of rooms!”
“Where’s your’s?” I asked and his eyes widened. “I’m commandeering it!”
I thought he was going to choke and then he began to reply…
Month: February 2020
Echoes From the Campfire
The world is a brutal thing. Full of scoundrels and made up of torment. There is a curse upon it, made by men. The race of man is small. We’re nothing better than ticks scattered in the sage. Maybe we started clean but now we’re livin’ in filth made by ourselves and we breed upon our own ignorance and vice, the smell which rises to heaven.”
–Ernest Haycox (The Wild Bunch)
“But these, like natural brute beasts made to be caught and destroyed, speak evil of the things they do not understand, and will utterly perish in their own corruption, and will receive the wages of unrighteousness, as those who count it pleasure to carouse in the daytime. They are spots and blemishes, carousing in their own deceptions while they feast with you.”
–2 Peter 2:12-13(NKJV)
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When I read Psalm 35, I am reminded of the old hymn made famous by Ira Sankey, the words written by John H. Yates. The chorus goes like this:
“Faith is the victory!
Faith is the victory!
Oh, glorious victory
That overcomes the world.”
When you seem to be fighting the world, whether it be those at work, your neighbors, or the demons that seek your soul, go to this Psalm. Someone said that this Psalm should be titled: “David’s Reflections on Human Skunks.” Look around you, people are constantly preying on other people’s lives one way or another. Human skunks, they give off an odor that is unmistakable.
1 – Oppose my opponents, Lord; fight those who fight me.
2 – Take Your shields—large and small—and come to my aid.
3 – Draw the spear and javelin against my pursuers, and assure me: “I am your deliverance.”
4 – Let those who seek to kill me be disgraced and humiliated; let those who plan to harm me be turned back and ashamed.
5 – Let them be like chaff in the wind, with the angel of the Lord driving them away.
6 – Let their way be dark and slippery, with the angel of the Lord pursuing them.
7 – They hid their net for me without cause; they dug a pit for me without cause.
8 – Let ruin come on him unexpectedly, and let the net that he hid ensnare him; let him fall into it—to his ruin.
9 – Then I will rejoice in the Lord; I will delight in His deliverance.
10 – My very bones will say, “Lord, who is like You, rescuing the poor from one too strong for him, the poor or the needy from one who robs him?”
I’ve been around my share of skunks, both human and animal. There was one time we were camping in Pennsylvania many years ago. Just as the dark overtook the gray of the evening a “herd” of skunks invaded the camp. They knew because of their delicate aroma that they were victorious upon entering. We dared not throw anything at them; we could chase them out–the camp was theirs for as long as they wanted. We went in our tent waiting for them to leave. Even after they left their smell lingers and it was upon anything they rubbed against.
Such were the people after David. Such may it be in your life. Hmmm, maybe you are the skunk and can’t get rid of your own odor. Thomas a’Kempis said that verse three was the changing point in his life. He had been struggling with his sinfulness and the perplexities of life when he was assured that God is his deliverer.
Do you have weary bones? When the rains are a day away can you feel it in your bones. When someone dreadful has happened people have said they knew it because they could feel it in their bones. The literal translation of verse 10, “I know it in my bones.” Your bones will feel it, your bones will cry out–the Lord is my salvation!
Horatius Bonar wrote, what may have come from the marrow of his bones, the following:
“‘Tis everlasting peace! Sure as Jehovah’s name.
‘Tis stable as his steadfast throne forevermore the same.
I change, he changes not; for Christ can never die;
His love, not mine, the resting place; his truth, not mine, the tie.”
Coffee Percs
When I first knew him he carried a Bible and a six-shooter, He was gentle with horses, with children; his courage was never questioned… When he got up in the morning he’d be sitting there by the fire, as alone as the morning star, drinking coffee.”
–J. Frank Dobie
Get yur ol’ tired self in out of the cold! Have yurself a seat; the coffee’s comin’ right up. It’s a bit chilly out there is mornin’ but this will warm yur innards, I guarantee. Ahhh, nothin’ like a good cup of hot, strong, black coffee to get yur juices all flowin’ properly for the day.
Pard, yur teachin’ yur young’uns the right way, I’m a-hopin’. This world is a mess and yuh have to be etching the Word of the Lord into their heart. Why that feller runnin’ for the President of these United States is tryin’ to twist everythin’ in the Word. My mercy, he’s tryin’ to take away how we defend our soul, an’ on top of that how we can defend our family. Let me tell yuh, Pard, they’re out there an’ they’re tryin’ to get us.
Mmmm, that coffee sure does hit the spot this mornin’. Back to my ponderin’–the way I get it reckoned is that God means what He says and He says what He means! No doubtin’ about it. People are tryin’ to add that culture changes the Word; well, I’ve got me just one word to say about that–BAH! Listen, we don’t read things out of the Word, and we sure don’t add things to distort it.
Why ol’ Peter himself told us under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit that the holy Scriptures are not subject to our own private interpretation. No, we have to read it for itself; the Bible is its own interpreter.
Goodness gracious, if we could be deciphering the Word any which way we wanted, well, that would be like me tellin’ yuh to go ahead an’ mount yur hoss without checkin’ yur cinch!
Echoes From the Campfire
Seasons come and go…each new season has its challenges and its beauty. You can’t predict the exact dates and you can’t keep it from happenin’. I guess I’ll just take what comes and look for the good parts.”
–Stephen Bly (One Step Over the Border)
“To him who overcomes, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne, just as I overcame and sat down with My Father on His throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.”
–Revelation 3:21-22
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I enjoy looking at photos and paintings of stagecoaches. One of my favorite movie scenes is when the stage for Lordsburg goes around a curve and there in the middle of the road is the Ringo Kid (John Wayne), standing and waiting for the stage driven by Andy Devine.
Until the railroad, stagecoaches were the means of travel across country. Even after the railroad stages were used until spurs from mainlines could reach other communities. I have several books about stagecoaches in the Old West, and I was glancing through one and came across the following story. There was a holdup and the passengers were herded out of the coach where they were searched and were told to keep their hands up. Here is an account of what happened by Ben Holladay:
“‘Keep your hands up!’ was the reply, while a second robber took my watch and money. Then a search was made for the express company’s box, but the double-barrel shotgun did not move. Its muzzles were within a foot of my nose. For my life, I did not dare to stir. My nose began to itch. The stiff hairs of my mustache got up and one after the other tickled it, until the sensation was intolerable. I could stand it no longer.
‘Stranger,’ I said, ‘I must scratch my nose! It itches so bad that I’m almost crazy.’ ‘Move your hands,’ he shouted, ‘and I’ll blow a hole through your head big enough for a jack rabbit to jump through!’
I appealed to him once more. ‘Well,’ he answered, ‘Keep your hands still and I’ll scratch it for you.’ ‘Did he scratch it?’ asked one of the man’s interested listeners. ‘Sure, said the man. ‘How?’ asked the breathless listener. ‘With the muzzle of the loaded gun,’ said the great overlander. ‘He rubbed the muzzle around my mustache and raked it over the end of my nose, until I thanked him and said that it itched no longer.'”
There is much more to the story, but needless to say there could be some unique and interesting experiences along the journey.
There had to be protection and on most stages there were “shotgun messengers.” They were to sit next to the driver and look for possible danger along the route. Whenever the stage had to slow, or where there were places where ambushed could likely take place they were ready for any danger that might occur. They carried “coach guns” or “messenger guns” and were usually short-barreled 10 or 12-gauge double-barrel shotguns.
As we travel along our journey to our final destination we have a driver who knows where He is going. He has traveled the journey before; He knows the perils along the way. Alongside Him is the shotgun messenger, we’ll call Him the Holy Spirit. He is watching out for our safety. He is along with us for protection and to be ready to come to our aid in case of ambush. Because of His diligence, loyalty, and love we will make it to our final destination.