It was still light when we rode into Raton. I didn’t care for the town; I’d seen many like them down in Texas. It was very much segregated; to the south lived and shopped the Mexicans, to the north were the whites. Neither side was kept up much, there was trash laying all around, whiskey bottles strewn in the alleyways. Not only that, there seemed to be a feeling, one I recognized all too often–that of the Pale Rider. He walked often through this town, his stench, the smell of death, lingered.
We stopped in front of the saloon where Jens dismounted. “Here, take my horse down to the livery. Talk with the folk down there, I’ll check out the saloon and I’ll meet you,” he stopped to point, “over there at the cantina.”
I took his reins and rode on down to the livery. Saloons and livery stables are places where strangers might be known, or at least if they passed through. There was a young Mexican boy wearing a heavy wool serape rather than a coat who greeted me. Dismounting I handed the reins to the boy. “Here son, two for the night. Rub them down and feed them.”
He looked me over as if my appearance and the clothes I were wearing would be the cost of the board and stall. Looking up to my face he took off his hat, wiped his forehead, and gave a toothy smile. “Uno, dollar, senor.”
I unbuttoned my coat, and reached inside my vest pocket for my coin pouch. Bringing it out I began to search through it. Winking at the boy, I gave him two dollars. That brought back the big smile.
He started to walk the horses back to the stalls. “Son, any other strangers been in town, maybe a group of five or six?”
Stopping he looked inside the livery then back to me. “I do not recall that many. Some come through, maybe three or so,” he said, then nodded his head toward the stable. “Check with el jefe.”
I entered the livery and to the right side was a large door open with a forge in front of it. There was a man, possibly the leanest blacksmith I’d ever seen, working on something.
“Howdy there,” I sang out to get his attention.
He didn’t look up from his work, just replied, “Give me a minute an’ I’ll be right with you.”
Looking at him work, the thought came to mind, so much talent. Here is a man making something out of a piece of iron. He’s taking something hard, using the fire and a hammer, doing some twisting and more hammering, making something ornate. It just amazes me the talent that the Lord has given some folk.
He picked up the rod iron, now twisted and shaped, and thrust it into a bucket of water for a few seconds, then pulled it out, laying it on the anvil. “Now, what can I do for you, mister?”
“What are you makin’? I asked.
For that I received a frown. “Is that what you interrupted my work for, just asking what I was making? But for your inquisitiveness, I’m making a rod iron gate for the widow lady Ferrell. Now, again, what do you want?”
I reckoned I’d just come out with it. “Do you know Frank Reston?”
“Heard of him, can’t say that I know him,” he said with a slight smile.
Was he playing a game with me. “Let me ask you this, has Reston been through here?”
He grinned again. “Who’s asking?”
“Deputy United States Marshal Miles Forrest.”
“Can’t say that he has,” the smile disappeared, and he touched the iron bar then picked it up, turning away from me to the forge.
“Thanks for all the information,” I snapped at him.
Barely turning his head my way, the smile appearing again. “Sure, sure, any time.”
Leaving the livery I started back down the street to the cantina. On the way I had to pass the Mercado to get to the cantina. There were probably half a dozen or so people shopping, gathering up the things they were need for supper that evening. One thing about being cool is that the flies weren’t so bothersome. I’d been to some markets where the flies completely owned the place; meat all covered with them.
Looking in the cantina I didn’t see Blasco. I stepped to my right to get out of the light and to let my eyes adjust to the dark room. The bar was in front of me with several tables between.
“Senor, something to drink?” inquired the barkeeper, a rotund, little man. He wore a white shirt, was clean shaven with his dark hair slicked back.
“Comida.” My Spanish was limited, but being a Texas Ranger and now living in Trinidad I’d picked up a word or two.
“Si,” then he pointed to tables toward the back of the room.
I ambled over and sat making sure I could see all the entrances to the room. There was little light; I hoped they didn’t keep it that way to hide what was in the food.
It didn’t take long for him to come out with a plate of enchiladas, frijoles and a stack of tortillas. “You will like,” he stated as he set the food in front of me. “Water here is good, I’ll bring you some.”
The fork was heading toward my mouth when in through the door walked…
Month: February 2020
The Saga of Miles Forrest
I didn’t care much for the horse I was riding. Of course, Hawk had spoiled me for mountain riding. I guess that’s what you get when the government is paying the rent and you didn’t get a chance to pick it out yourself. At least the road was well-worn.
The weather had turned out cold as we climbed toward the summit of the pass. From time-to-time there were flakes of snow blowing. I hated to put out the money on another sheepskin coat, but I’m glad I did now.
Blasco kept us moving. We stopped only once on the way up to give the horses a breather. “I don’t want to stop at Wooten’s, just pay our toll and keep moving,” he told me.
“I’ve heard a lot about ‘Uncle Dick Wooten,” but just what type of person is he?” I asked as I dismounted to tighten my cinch.
“Guess it depends on who you talk to,” replied Blasco. “He can be right cantankerous. For sure, he knows how to play the edge of the law. He won’t go out of his way to break it, but he might skirt around it some. If Reston is helping him in some fashion I don’t want to dilly-dally around so he could get word to him before we reach Raton.”
I mounted then pulled the collar up around my neck. The wind was picking up and it was cold. I could also begin to feel the tingling in my toes. I’d put on a pair of wool socks; tried to get on two pair, but couldn’t get my boots on.
“The railroad will put him out of business, but he’ll work out some way to get sweet on the deal. Right now, he’s fighting the State ’cause they say he has to give up this toll way. But he’s getting old; he’s one of the true old-timers that hung around,” Blasco continued to inform me. He nodded, I returned it and he commanded, “Let’s go!”
In a couple of hours we reached the summit. We knew we were getting close as the wagons began to stack up in line waiting to pass through the toll area. We skirted around them, Jens said we had priority status. As we approached I could see an old man arguing with a teamster.
“Pull yur wagon over to the side!” hollered Wooten waving a shotgun. “Do it, or I’ll kill yur two lead mules!”
“You wouldn’t!” barked the man in return.
There was a smile that came across the old man’s face. He walked to the first mule, placed the shotgun alongside the mule’s head. Quickly he raised it just over the mule’s head and fired. The team jumped, the mule reared up as if shot.
“Next one goes in its brain,” stated Wooten. “Move yur wagon, yur holdin’ up business!”
The teamster moved to check his mule. “Move it now! It’s only deaf!”
“Hello, Dick,” said Blasco in a friendly manner. “Having some trouble?”
The old man looked up, fire in his eyes. He looked wild with gray hair coming from under his hat, he had a gruffly, tangled beard that bore the stains of tobacco, coffee, and whiskey.
“Why if it ain’t Marshal Jens Blasco,” he said lowering his shotgun after he had reloaded the one barrel. “Nah, nothin’ I can’t handle. The louse of a man wouldn’t show me his manifest so I could properly assess his fee.” He pointed with the shotgun to the wagons backed up on both sides. “Slowed up traffic,” he stopped to look at me. “This fellow with you?”
“Sorry, Dick, this is one of my deputies, Miles Forrest.”
He walked up to me, smiled when he saw I had the Greener in my hands. “He a good un?” he asked Blasco.
“Seems to me I’ve heard that name, Forrest, Forrest, hmmm. Well, youngster yuh seem ready.”
It sort of stunned me to be called “youngster”, but I guess compared to him I was just a schoolboy. “Well, Mr. Wooten, I try to travel with the Lord and keep my guns handy,” I responded to which he grunted and gave a little chuckle.
Wooten went back to Blasco. “Let’s see, two men, two horses…no pack animal–that’s a dollar and a half a piece.”
Jens leaned down looking at Wooten. “Oh, yes, minus the government discount. That’ll be a dollar for each of yuh.”
“Pay the man,” he hollered at me then turned his horse on down the road.
That brought a good laugh from Wooten. “That’s why I’m only the deputy,” I said handing the man two silver coins. That brought another good laugh.
I gave the horse a slight kick to follow Blasco to Raton and to who knows what…
Echoes From the Campfire
Old age is our reward for our tryin’ to live right and work hard.”
–Lou Bradshaw (Double Trouble)
“I will be the same until your old age, and I will bear you up when you turn gray. I have made you, and I will carry you; I will bear and save you.”
–Isaiah 46:4 (HCSB)
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I have often been asked what my favorite Scripture is, or my favorite book of the Bible. That is a hard question to answer. I know there are some who have what they call a “life-verse.” Something that they have for themselves. It would be similar to what I wrote about recently in having a verse be a missions statement. There is nothing wrong with that, in fact having a life-verse helps to keep a person on the right track.
I could probably point to several verses that I have used throughout my life. For me, it has been better to have a verse to fit the season of life, or the circumstances of life. I would have to point to Colossians 3:17,23. However, since the summer of 2010, a verse that has meant much to me is Proverbs 4:18. I used it in my books, I use it often when signing a letter or note to someone.
“But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn,
That shines brighter and brighter until the full day.” (NASB)
Now as to a favorite book. I really like 1 John. Nehemiah, Joshua, and of course, the Psalms are favorites. One of the books that I have studied, taught, and enjoyed is the Book of Ecclesiastes. (One of my “life-verses” is 12:13). I like Ecclesiastes because it is real; it speaks of life and how we must face it. It also reminds us of the frailty of life and that death is coming for all.
As I am entering a new phase of life–those elder years, I see Ecclesiastes in a different light. When man dies, what is left? In the eons of eternity, the debacle we see today in Congress, will it matter? What is the old saying, “I never saw a hearse with a trailer hitch.”?
When the last clods are thrown on the coffin, what is there? The millionaire will leave his millions. The architect will leave his buildings, but one day they too, will crumble. Jesus tells us that it will be the pure in heart that will see God.
If we do not live our lives for the Lord in all aspects, it is for sure–vanity. Vanity can be translated “hopelessness.” Without Christ, all is hopeless! Without heaven for your eternal home this life has been nothing but one without hope.
“So, remove grief and anger from your heart and put away pain from your body, because childhood and the prime of life are fleeting.”
–Ecclesiastes 11:10(NASB)
Echoes From the Campfire
Ours was a hard land, and it took hard men to ride it and live it, and the rules had to be laid down so all could read, and the lines drawn.”
–Louis L’Amour (Killoe)
“Fulfill my joy by thinking the same way, having the same love, sharing the same feelings, focusing on one goal.”
–Philippians 2:2 (HCSB)
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It was Franklin Delano Roosevelt who stated, “All we have to fear is fear itself.” Fear is a crippler; it causes us to hesitate and often stop our progress. This Monday, we look at Psalm 34, a portion of Scripture that declares the Lord is our deliverer. One way to see Him working in our lives is to begin to praise. Praise Him for all of His marvelous works in the past, for His works in the present, and what He will do for you in the future. Richard Baker said, “It is far better to be delivered from all our fears than from all our troubles.”
1 – I will praise the Lord at all times; His praise will always be on my lips.
2 – I will boast in the Lord; the humble will hear and be glad.
3 – Proclaim Yahweh’s greatness with me; let us exalt His name together.
4 – I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.
5 – Those who look to Him are radiant with joy; their faces will never be ashamed.
6 – This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him and saved him from all his troubles.
7 – The Angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, and rescues them.
8 – Taste and see that the Lord is good. How happy is the man who takes refuge in Him!
9 – You who are His holy ones, fear Yahweh, for those who fear Him lack nothing.
10 – Young lions lack food and go hungry, but those who seek the Lord will not lack any good thing. (HCSB)
One thing we see here is that when we are hurt, when we are in despair, when all seems to be hopeless we are to cry out to the Lord. We need to praise Him in the good times and in the bad. Sunday mornings people will hop around and hopefully praise the Lord. But what about that day when they are in the hospital bed, will the praises go forth then?
David was in a difficult situation when he wrote the Psalm. He was pretending to be insane, mad if you will, in the presence of Achish. Have you ever felt like you were going crazy? Then praise the Lord. Have you felt the world pressing down upon you and there is no hope? Praise the Lord. And I could go on and on. In other words in every situation, praise the Lord.
The Lord is there to rescue you from all your fears–real and imagined. Listen, how can we ever praise God for deliverance if there first had not been something from which we needed rescue? When there is no solution, what should you do? Cry out to God, then praise Him.
William Barclay said, “The early church was a singing church; it had happiness that made men sing.” In the early Methodist revivals, it was said that you could walk down the street and point at the homes where the Methodist lived because of the singing coming from the house. Hmmm, is that true today? Sometimes it is hard to tell the difference between “church music” and the music of the world. What type of song comes from your lips? From your heart?
“O magnify the Lord with me; with me exalt His name;
When in distress to Him I called, He to my rescue came.
The Hosts of God encamp around the dwelling of the just;
Deliverance He affords to all who in His goodness trust.”
–Nahum Tate