Author: Ira Paine

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
It had been a wonderful Thanksgiving.  I had thought at first that there would not be as many people this year since the weather had been fair and the mines hadn’t released unnecessary miners, but it didn’t happen that way.  Doc Jones told me that I had forgotten to take into account that Durango had grown last year.  However, there was plenty of chili and stew to go around though Joe Dixon’s turkey went fast.  He gave the diner six and Emelda found a way to get them all roasted.
       Over a sip of coffee and left-over pie, Parson Chapman muttered, “I wish I could get some of those folk into the church.  I don’t think I knew half of the people that showed up.”
       Reverend Chapman and his wife Betty along with Doc Jones and Edith were sitting at the table with me.  Sheriff Gold was there and for Thanksgiving he let the two brawlers in his jail come and join the feast.  They agreed if they helped clean up, the fine would be paid.  The rush was over, which gave Marta time to sit and visit.  Mateo along with Luciana was there so it seemed like Thanksgiving all over again.
       “New folks coming in all the time,” Mateo replied to the preacher’s comment.  “Take a walk up and down the streets and you’ll see new businesses springing up.”
       A snort came from Charlie, “How many will stay?  We know the miners are transient.  A new strike and off they go unless they work for one of the larger mines.”
       “Why would you say that?” questioned Molly.
       “Competition.  Too much competition,” Charlie joined in the conversation.  “How many millinery shops do we need?  Jenkins is a fine saddler, do we need another one in town?  There’s not that much need for saddles to have two saddle shops.”
       “Don’t forget eateries.  Molly, do you realize that since you opened up there have been five more restaurants open?”  Mateo stated, causing me to think that I’d not eaten in any of the others.
       “And vice!  Don’t forget that!” exclaimed Betty in disgust.
       There was a slight chuckle from those at the table.  “It’s not funny!” she exclaimed.  “Mateo, how many new saloons, dance halls and the like have opened in the last year?”
       “Not sure, but I think six new ones.  That makes fifteen in town, but only one new dance hall, and I won’t speak of the other vicios.”
       “There you go, parson,” added Doc.  “Plenty of new customers for your church.”
       Another small round of laughter went out, but Betty stood up with a scowl.  Pastor Chapman grasped her arm, and pulled her down.  “Betty, they know your feelings, and they agree with you.  Don’t be spiting them.”
       “Well, Parson, you did a good job with your preachin’,” I admonished.
       Now he seemed disgusted.  “Yeah, feed them and they’ll come, but will they listen?”
       I placed my hand on his shoulder then spoke, “Have you read the parables of Jesus?”  I knew he had, but said it anyways.  “That was one of His problems, getting people to listen.  After feeding the five thousand, they came expectin’ to be fed, and I don’t mean the spiritual food that you provide for us every Sunday.”
       “Well,” piped up Doc.  “I could use another doctor.  Especially with you gun-toting lawmen around.”
       Some more laughter and Betty was able to form a smile on her face.
       We were enjoying each other’s company when a stern-looking fellow came through the door and up to our table.  “I’m looking for Marshal Forrest.  I was told he might be in here.”  We all noticed that he had to brush snow off his coat when he entered.
       “I’m Forrest.”

 

Echoes From the Campfire

by Ira Paine, Posted on

We fought our nameless Alamos and rode to our deaths without a song of glory, nor any memory to leave behind except a hand less at the night guard and an empty saddle in the church wagon.”

                         –Louis L’Amour  (The Kiowa Trail)

       “That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death.”
                         –Philippians 3:10(NKJV)
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The Holiday Season (Thanksgiving through Christmas) is sometimes described as the loneliest time of the year.  Many live in regret, many have seen loved ones die during the year, many have seemingly no hope.  That seems to be the theme of Psalm 88, despair from the pit, or the dark night of the soul.  Lawson states, “Darkness shrouded the psalmist without and within, and he could not shake it.”

          1 — O LORD, God of my salvation, I have cried out day and night before You.
          2 — Let my prayer come before You; incline Your ear to my cry.
          3 — For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to the grave.
          4 — I am counted with those who go down to the pit; I am like a man who has no strength,
          5 — Adrift among the dead, like the slain who lie in the grave, whom You remember no more, and who are cut off from Your hand.
          6 — You have laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the depths.
          7 — Your wrath lies heavy upon me, and You have afflicted me with all Your waves.     Selah
          8 — You have put away my acquaintances far from me; You have made me an abomination to them; I am shut up, and I cannot get out;
          9 — My eye wastes away because of affliction.  LORD, I have called daily upon You; I have stretched out my hands to You.
        10 — Will You work wonders for the dead?  Shall the dead arise and praise You?     Selah     (NKJV)

       Some have called this the “saddest psalm of the entire Psalter.”  This person has done things right by crying out to the Lord, but nothing seems to have been done.  God has not answered; God is quiet when he pleads.  He recognizes that God is the one who saves, but there is the impression that God was not or had not listened to him.  The question is why?  Where are you God?
       Perhaps you are in this situation, or have been in this situation.  “Answer me God!  Help me, Lord!” is your heart’s cry.  Where is God?  Where are the angels to minister to me?  What has happened to my friends?  Woe is me–this is a psalm of despair.  “The darkness of the pit closes in on you, and the only bright hope in the whole psalm lies in its opening two verses–you are still talking to God.”  (George O. Wood)
       Think of Jesus, in Gethsemane.  This may be a psalm He prayed in those dark hours before the Cross.  This is the worst, and Jesus asks His disciples why they couldn’t even watch with Him for one hour.  No answers, no guidance–sometimes that is life.  In that case what do we do?  We continue to trust in Him, we continue to hope in His Word, and endure.  C. T. Studd said that, “A man is not known by his effervescence but by the amount of real suffering he can stand.”  Hang on, and keep on crying out to the Lord!

               “Christian brothers, shout and sing,
               Death has lost its ancient sting!
               Christ, the crucified before,
               Is alive forever more!
              Grave, where is thy vict’ry now?
              See the light upon His brow,
              Empty, see, the stony bed;
              Christ is risen from the dead!”
                     –Thomas O. Chisholm

 

Echoes From the Campfire

by Ira Paine, Posted on

Keep on thankin’ and fightin’.”
                    –Zane Grey  (Nevada)

       “For all things are for your sakes, that grace, having spread through the many, may cause thanksgiving to abound to the glory of God.”

                    –2 Corinthians 4:15 (NKJV)
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       One of the things I have never understood are how some Christians walk around with their lower lip so low that they step on it.  There is very little brightness in their life, their is very little hope and their life is one that is mostly humdrum.  Complaining Christians cannot be joyful Christians.  Unthankful Christians cannot be contented Christians.  It may be an indication of their relationship with God.  Gary Inrig said, “An attitude of overflowing thankfulness is one of the prime indicators of our relationship with God.”  We are to be thankful in the small things as well as the grand things that come our way–in short, we are to be thankful in everything.  Inrig continues, “The state of our relationship with God is clearly revealed by our gratitude towards Him.”
       Christians will say that it is all about a relationship.  Hmmm, but what kind of a relationship I ask?  A nominal one?  A casual one?  Our relationship can be seen by our thankfulness.  Paul writes, “…continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.” (Colossians 2:6-7, NIV)  Notice those last three words, OVERFLOWING WITH THANKFULNESS.
       Are you a rejoicing Christian?  Or maybe the one with the fat-lip from stepping on it because of your woes.  One of the early church fathers, Leo I, puts the unthankful person in the category of the foolish.  “Foolish people too often dare to complain against their Creator, not only when they lack something, but also when they have plenty.  When something isn’t given to them, they complain.  And when they have certain things in abundance, they are ungrateful….  Let us rejoice in whatever gifts He gives.”
       Again I ask, what is your relationship with the Lord?  Grateful or ungrateful?  Hateful or thankful?  Bitter or rejoicing?  Moaning your fate or overflowing with thankfulness?  I need not remind you, but I will the words of Paul to the church at Thessalonica, “give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18, NIV)  Not only are we to give thanks in all circumstances we are to be “always giving thanks to God the Father for everything…” (Ephesians 5:20, NIV)  In all circumstances and for everything–when you can do that we have a truly dynamic and real relationship.  G.K. Chesterton gives this admonition, “When it comes to life the critical thing is, whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.”
       Thanksgiving gives the call for us to be thankful.  Heed the call, listen to the truth, and be thankful in and for all things.

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
Let’s go home, Miles,” said Molly to me at supper.
       There were three other boarders sitting at the table with us, but Molly and I were the only couple.  They joined me in looking up from our gravy-laden pork chops.
       “Ma’am,” one man began.  He was a short-balding man and had always been very polite.  He worked in the assay office in town.  I knew he made good money so I wondered why he didn’t have a place of his own.  Reckon he preferred to save his money.  Life was easier this way for him.  “I trust that none of us hurried your decision.  We,” in nodded at the other two men, “have greatly enjoyed your company at the table.”
       Turning her attention to him, she replied, “You have done nothing wrong.  I just want to be on my way home.”
       “I can understand, especially after what happened to your husband this afternoon,” piped up a weak-eyed, frog-looking sort of a man who operated a carpenter shop.  
       The other man hadn’t joined in, he just started cutting his porkchop though watching with upturned eyes.  He was dressed well, and Ma Jones said that he owned a haberdashery shop.
       “Oh, do tell what happened to my husband,” she suggested looking over at me.  I gave a slight shrug of my shoulders and joined the haberdasher in eating.
       “You don’t know?  He shot, not only that, he killed three men down on Main Street.  They were ruffians; I’d seen them hanging around town.  They were the type to slug someone in an alley and take his gold.”
       “Do you know their names?” inquired Molly.
       “No, no, no one knows their names.  That’s one of the problems.  They were just ne’er-to-dos, men slumming the town.”
       I wiped my moustache off with the linen napkin then answered.  “Lard.”  They all looked at me.  “Lard, was the name of the big one.  That’s all the name I got.”
       “Everyone was saying that your husband was cornered.  He was lucky, three men, one behind him even, and he shot all three.  Yesiree, he was lucky,” said the frog-looking man.”
       “Hmpf,” snorted Molly.  “There was no luck about it if Miles shot them.  It’s called Providence, Mister Haskem.  The Lord was there to protect him.”  She paused, then added, “plus the fact that he is mighty good with a gun.  But that is another reason for us to go home.”
       Finally the third man had to have his say.  “You a gunman, then it’s good riddance to you!”
       Molly jerked her head toward the man, her eyes flinging daggers in his direction.  “Sir, my husband carries a gun to aid his profession.  A gunman–no, but a man who knows how to use one to protect those around him.”  She then got up and left the table.
       I pulled on the end of my moustache, then looked down at my plate.  At least I had finished the porkchop.  I stood then saw the piece of cake sitting there.  I looked at the three men and was not willing that anyone else should have it.  I picked it up, took a large bite from it, nodded at the men and left carrying the rest of the cake.
 
       We were about half-way home the next day.  I asked Molly if she didn’t want to shop in Denver, but she replied that she had done all her shopping already.  Fortunately we were able to make connections from Central City to Denver and now were traveling out of Pueblo.  The clickety-clack of the train over the rails didn’t hinder our talk.  I told her of the situation with the shooting, and we discussed other things.
       Putting her arm through mine, she uttered, “Thank you, for bringing me.  We don’t get much time together.”  Then she snuggled close.  I thought she might have dozed off, but she lifted her head and pulled away.  “We’ll get in on Wednesday, right?”  I nodded.  She gave me a smile, “That’ll give me time to help Marta and Emelda with the Thanksgiving dinner.  Joe Dixon said he would give us several turkeys, but I told him that only two would fit in the oven.  Mateo was taking Lucas along with him and his two boys to hunt.  The weather’s been mild, so there might not be as many out-of-work miners in town.  I look forward to doing this every year, don’t you?”  
       Before I could give an answer she snuggled back to me, and this time I knew she was asleep.