The Saga of Miles Forrest

As Charlie Gold and Molly sat at the table Marta came over to give Charlie a hug and little kiss on the cheek.  “We have some pie left, I’ll bring you a piece,” said Marta sweetly the whirled to go to the kitchen.
    Charlie looked over at the empty chair.  “He’s been gone quite a spell,” uttered Charlie.  He then go up to get some coffee from the pot on the stove.  “No coffee!” he muttered in amazement.
    Molly shook her head.  “No, I’ll have to get you some from the kitchen.  That’s Miles’ pot; he’s the one that tends to it.”
    Marta came from the kitchen with pie and two cups in her hand.  “Don’t bother yourself, Molly.  Sit, I’ll be right back with the coffee.”
    “Miles sent a telegram,” began Molly.  “Marshal Blasco has been shot and they’re waiting for the U.S. Marshal for the New Mexico Territory to arrive.  He should be home in a few days.”
    He watched as Molly absent-mindedly fiddled with the hand on her cup.  “You’re worried.”
    A small smile came from Molly as she shook her head.  “No, I’ve learned to trust in the Lord and not to worry.”  She took a small sip.  “That’s not to say I’m not a little concerned.”
    Marta was just coming to sit down with them as there was no one in the restaurant when the door opened.  “That’s him,” whispered Molly.
    Charlie looked him over carefully as the man took a chair at a table closer to the kitchen.


    I had been explaining to Jens about the Pale Rider.  For some reason the Lord had allowed me to have this vision, or illusion of him, though the Pale Rider was Death itself.  “I don’t know how to explain it Jens.  I’ve seen or heard him a couple of dozen times.  He always comes with a threat, and when he does appear to me someone always dies.”
    Blasco rubbed down on his leg and took a deep sigh.  “It doesn’t concern you, that spirit or whatever dogging your trail?”
    “It used to until I realized that he can’t do nothin’ that the good Lord don’t allow.  I put my faith in Him and when it’s time for me to go I know it won’t be the Pale Rider comin’ for me, but the Lord Himself,” I said pausing to watch his face.  “After all, he’s doggin’ us all for death will eventually happen, that’s one thing we can be sure of.”
    I could see that Blasco was thinking on what I’d been telling him.  “You stay in that chair!” I ordered.  “I’m goin’ to check if I can get some information on that shooter, and check on the doc.”
    Turning to leave, Jens stopped me.  “Check with the telegraph operator.  Maybe the train’s been delayed.”
    As I stepped out on the boardwalk I saw the waitress sitting alone at the cantina so I walked toward her.  Approaching the table I looked around the bar for Ramon, and not seeing him I sat down and when I did she started to get up.  
    “Wait!” I admonished.  “What is goin’ on with this town?”
    Her stare, I thought, was going to penetrate my head.  It was piercing and hard.  There was no hatred for me, but I could feel the bitterness.  “Senor, you and your friend should leave.”
    “Do you have a name?” I asked softly.  “It’s always nice to know who you’re talkin’ with.”
    That seemed to soften her a little that I was interested enough to want to know her name.  She looked around, then answered, “Cora.”
    “Cora, who was the man that was shot?” I asked.  “Tell me, please.”
    “What good will it do you?  He’s dead,” she snapped then turn to rush away.  For some reason she stopped, took a couple of steps back toward me.  “He work for Abrams…sometimes.  His name Les, I do not know his last name.”  She then hurried away.
    She was right, it did him no good, but now I was sure Abrams set him up to kill Jens.  It was time to talk with Fitzer at the telegraph office.  When I walked in, he paled.  I laid the Greener down a little harder than normal the barrels pointing in his direction.
    “Tell me about the train!”
    “It’s late,” he stuttered, then wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.
    “That’s a good start, now continue,” I commanded.
    “Uh, well, uh,” I moved the Greener and his eyes went to it.  “It’s late because there was an accident, an explosion.”
    I didn’t say anything, just stared, but I think it was the two dark eyes from the shotgun that kept his attention.  “Uh, someone detonated the rails, the train went off the track.  It’ll be at least a week, maybe longer.”
    I put my thumb on one of the hammers, “Continue,” I implored him.
    He wiped his forehead, swallowed hard, the his eyes brightened.  “There’s a telegram for Marshal Blasco.  I almost forgot.”
    Handing me the paper, he wiped his forehead again, then touched his upper lip.  “Blasco, delayed STOP be there in a day or so, Martin.”
    “Now, I’m only goin’ to ask once,” I informed Fitzer and pulled back the hammer.  The sound was loud in the little room.  “Who did you tell that Marshal Martin was comin’?”
    “Uh, uh, only…”