The Saga of Miles Forrest

The trip to Canon City was uneventful, for which I was glad.  I watched my two prisoners while traveling on the train with them.  James had turned even more remorse than before.  If ever I had seen darkness in a face, that was James Lamb.  John, on the other hand, seemed to have a ray of hope in his countenance.  Perhaps it was the prayers of Lucas, one never knows how a prayer or a few words of encouragement might help a person.
    Upon arriving in Canon City I was surprised to see U.S. Marshal Jens Blasco waiting for me at the station.  “So, that’s the Lamb brothers?” he asked.  “Plus, you said that Glen Framm was dead and Ioway Jenks was in custody?”
    “Well, greetin’s to you too, Marshal,” I said sarcastically.  “But, yes to your questions.  The other miscreant, the one the Judge killed, was Sim Colburn.  Jenks identified him for us.”
    He continued to walk with me toward the prison.  “Any news of Fooy?” I asked on our trek.
    “No, Sam’s a smart one.  He’ll be in one of those big cities spending his money until it runs out.  They made quite a haul so who knows how long before he reappears.”
    I nodded with my head toward the Lambs.  “Others weren’t so smart.  Oh, by the way, according to Jenks, it was Teeter who shot the guard.”
    “We’ll put ‘wanted for murder’ on the next poster.  He’s running now, so he’ll begin to make mistakes.  It won’t be long before we have him,” stated Blasco.  “When you’re through with your business with the warden I want to see you.  I’ll be waiting in an office he’s provided for us.”
    With that he turned and walked toward the business area of the prison while I waited at the gate for a guard to take me to the warden.  The guard looked at my paperwork then led me to a room where we waited for the warden to appear.  
    It was all done within a few minutes.  I had the Lambs off my hands, signing them over to the warden and the Colorado State Penitentiary.  Neither of the Lambs said anything as two other guards appeared to take them away.  I did receive a goodbye sneer from James.
    A guard, standing in the hallway, directed me to the room where I would find Blasco.  He was sitting behind a table, in a little office, smoking a cigar.  For the life of me I don’t know how a man could breathe the smoke from one of those things into his lungs.  I imagined it was something like the smoke from the bottomless pit.
    “Have a seat, Forrest,” he commanded.  “I need for you to go with me to Raton.  Frank Reston and his gang have been spotted in the area.”
    It kind of took me by surprise.  I had been figuring on getting back and I told him so.  “I didn’t bring any traveling gear,” I informed him.
    “We’ll take the train to Trinidad; horses and gear will be waiting for us there.”
    I looked at him.  “How’s the pass?”
    All I received was a smile before he answered.  “Cold and some snow.  Unless a storm rolls in we’ll should be okay.  Miles, I really need your help.  Here’s our chance to nab Reston.”
    There was no way I could argue with that, plus the fact he was my boss.  Where’s Fred Martin?  I’d thought he’d meet you in Raton.”  Martin was the Deputy U.S. Marshal stationed in Santa Fe.
    “Martin’s on business down Las Cruces way, that’s why I need you.”
    “When do we leave?” I inquired.
    Blasco looked at the large clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth.  “Train pulls out in less than an hour,” he paused and stood giving me a large, toothy smile that was partially hidden by his moustache.  “Let’s go!”
    We made it to the train with time to spare and situated ourselves in the only coach car.  Blasco led us to the middle of the train to take our seats.  He motioned for me to sit, he then sat across from me, that way we could see both doors of the car, not that we were expecting anything to happen, but one never knows.
    I looked at Blasco.  I had never worked directly with him.  He was a man a little taller than me but not as broad in the shoulders.  His hair, eyebrows, and moustache were a dark brown, almost black.  With deep-set eyes he looked menacing.  
    He saw me looking over at him.  “Be sure you pick up a heavier coat when we get to Trinidad.  It’ll be cold going over the pass.”
    This time of year it was dumb of me not to be wearing my sheepskin coat.  I’d left it at home and instead was wearing a black and red plaid jacket.  I could get by with it most of the winter, but he was right, more then likely I would need a heavier coat.
    “I’m going to get some shut-eye before we reach Trinidad,” he told me then pulled his black Stetson down over his eyes and leaned back.  I happened to notice that he took the loop off the hammer of his pistol, just in case.
    I hadn’t had time to send a telegram to Molly.  I needed to make sure to do that when we reached Trinidad, otherwise…