The Saga of Miles Forrest

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on

It is better to be criticized by a wise person than to be praised by a fool!”  –Ecclesiastes 7:5 (NLT)
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     It’s amazing what a difference a week makes.  Most of the snow is gone except the snow banks and in the shadows.  But my, oh my, the roads are a mess.  Muck, slush, horse droppings, mud; Leon Castillo and his boys have been busy cleaning up the best they can.  Mateo convinced the city fathers to hire them to clean up the streets.  Normally they would do it every other day, however they have been at it steady for the last couple days.  I think I’ll drop by to see Parker and Newsome urging them to give them a bonus.  They are working hard for the Lord only knows when the next snow will come.  It’s only the first of February and there’ll be plenty more before the season is up.
     The diner has been exceptionally busy for some reason.  Molly has been coming in to work every morning to make pies and work the morning rush allowing Marta to stay home with the baby until around ten.  Lola has been working full time and has been joined by Mateo’s niece, Mona.  Emelda is the main cook with Molly only helping with pies and other baked goods.  She has refrained from making anything else to sell not wanting to start a rivalry with the Williamson’s bakery.  Theresa Williamson is the owner, a widow woman with two girls who help her.  I want to say that she makes some delicious cream puffs.  I stop in whenever I visit Floyd’s barbershop.  Old Floyd DePoy has been cutting hair and shaving men since I’ve been in Durango.
     The Feeneys have been working well and staying in the jail at night.  They’ve been helping Norm Street bring in wood , cutting it, and helping to deliver it to folks in town.  There’s talk of bringing in coal.  That will save on cutting down the timber; folks need to remember that it takes some time to replenish what has been cut.  The mountains up around Silverton and Telluride are bare, the timber being cut for buildings and for use in the mines.  

     Mateo and Lucas would switch out duties every four days.  The two men could barely cover the town by themselves anymore and Lucas was just now coming on as full time deputy.  Charlie was gone over half the time with his duties as sheriff; in fact, he was out of town now riding to Mancos.  The road to Telluride was still closed, but as soon as it was open he would be traveling there.  The telegraph was still open and he was sent notifications by the justice of the peace that several eviction notices were ready for him to serve.  Knowing Charlie, he might be dragging his feet there a bit waiting until the hard winter was over before serving those notices.
     Lucas was working the night shift.  He would come on at ten and work a twelve hour shift.  I had worked it out with Mateo to make the rounds with Lucas at night, then first thing in the morning.  Help him out, sort of guide him.  He was good, a quick learner, and after I left Molly at the diner I went to meet him at the jail.  He was taking a final sip of coffee when I entered the office.
     “One thing about being cold, Senor Marshal, it keeps the rats from coming out of their el pozo,” he said with a laugh.  “Course there is old Muggins who would start something just so he could have a warm jail to sleep in at night and some biscuits and gravy for breakfast.”
     I smiled, I knew that Mateo and Charlie both let Theodore Muggins sleep in the jail.  He was a broken down, once successful miner, who had gone to the dogs.  Wife died and daughter died in a fire that Muggins thought was his fault.  He’s slowly drinking himself to death, and I reckon one of these cold winter mornings we’ll find him in some alley frozen stiff.
     While Lucas was putting on his coat I glanced back in the cell room.  The Feeney brothers were sleeping soundly.  They had made quite a change in their demeanor, especially Mort.  “Lord, protect us,” I prayed as we went out the door.
     “Do you always pray, Senor, when we walk the town?” asked Lucas sincerely.
     “Always,” I responded, “if not audibly at least in my mind.”
     “It is good that you do.  El Dios is excellente, and it is good to have Him walk with us.”
     We had just come back from checking the cantina and small market in the barrio.  Looked in to see a light on in Moss Vexler’s livery.  He would be heating the forge up for Vinnie Scarbo the blacksmith who didn’t come in until eight.  We had crossed the street from the livery.  I stopped a moment to kick some slush off my boot when a shot chipped the corner of the building sending a splinter into my arm.  Lucas stepped up against the building, I fell to the ground in the muck and slush.  Lucas had his pistol out, while I was pointing the Greener up the street from where the shot came.
     “You okay, Senor Miles?” sounded a concerned Lucas.
     Gray light was now upon us.  We stayed still for several minutes, then I muttered, “I’m going up the street for a looksee.  You follow behind me to the other side.”
     Crouching I took a step up the street, then another moving slowly.  There had been too much traffic so I couldn’t see any fresh tracks.  I was up by Vexler’s corral, and I took another step…

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
A wise person thinks much about death, while the fool thinks only about having a good time now.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:4 (NLT)
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     The weather had broken, but the temperature was still down around ten degrees so the snow was not melting.  There had been traffic on the streets, so people were out and getting around.  The boardwalks had been cleared off for the most part making huge piles of snow in front of the businesses.  I knew that in a few days when the temperature got above freezing there would be a mess in the streets, slush and mud.
     From what we knew, Merry O’Dell was the only casualty of the storm and the following cold.  Father Damian and Parson Chapman along with the Anglican minister, Horatio Geneau and Methodist preacher William Trapp were going around to all the homes seeing if there were any urgent needs.  I nodded at them as they were heading into the barrio.  This was something good coming from the storm.  I knew that Father Damian worked with the Parson, but it was the first time in my membrance that all the clergy got together.
     Marta and Emelda had the diner open and I helped Molly come down.  They seemed to be doing a flourishing business.  I guess folks didn’t want to take the time to cook.  They would run out for something and stop by the diner to eat.  Emelda kept the menu simple:  chili, enchiladas, and potato soup.  Hot meals, and the folks wanted that.  Molly made several pies, and, of course, the diner kept the coffee on, inviting anyone in to get warm and have a cup.  Times like these a little hospitality went a long way.
     Lucius and Mort Feeney, who had seemed to have gotten better, especially after the Parson prayed for him, were released to help in the community.  I had some doubts since they had threatened to kill me, but Judge Klaser said they could work off their fine with community service.  They were cutting firewood and delivering it to various homes of elderly and folks unable to get out.  Molly spoiled them by ending each day with a pie to take back to their cell.
     I had decided that I needed to talk to them about the attempt on my life.  There was still the charge of attempted murder of a federal lawman pending over which Judge Klaser had no jurisdiction.  I recalled that they said they were related to Lem Collins.  Collins was a worthless no-good who I had to shoot when arresting him.  He was now serving time in the pen.
     “Aunt Mable, that’s Lem’s mother, was upset that he was serving hard time,” opened up Lucius.  “Mort and I were very close to her as she sorta took us in after our Ma died.  We felt that we needed to do something.”
     “So killing me was the answer?” I snapped at them, perhaps a little too harshly.
     They both ducked their heads, then Mort lifted his and with a wry smile said, “Not too smart was it?”
     “You couldn’t think of a better way to help her out?  What would happen if both of you were killed?  What would happen if you had killed me and would be on the run waiting for a noose for your neck?  Think she would be happy or better off?”  I let them have it watching their reactions very carefully.
     They had no response, just shook their heads.  
     “Did she know you were coming to Durango?” I questioned then added, “By the way, where are you from?”
     Lucius looked at me replying, “Over the pass by Del Norte.  And to answer your other question, no she doesn’t know.  She’d be worryin’ herself sick.  First Lem, and now we’ve been gone for so long.”
     “Go send her a telegram,” I ordered.  “Here’s money for it.”  I handed Lucius a silver dollar, then added another to it.  “Stop by DePoy’s and get a shave and bath.”
     “Uh, Marshal, I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but it’s downright cold out there.  A bath?”
     I stared at him.  “If you don’t, I’ll make sure Molly doesn’t send you any more pies.”

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us.” –Ecclesiastes 7:3 (NLT)
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     We were sitting in the office drinking the coffee Doc had made.  The door was open to the back cell room and when Lucius hollered out we could hear him plainly, “Doc, thanks for the coffee.  Yuh need to be teachin’ that kid how to make decent coffee.”
     I stood up moving to the doorway.  “That’s part of the price you pay for bein’ locked up.  Bad jailhouse coffee.  Fortunately for you, Doc is kind.”
     Lucas had a large grin on his face when I looked over at him, and gave me a nod.  The kid had grown up.  Yeah, he was still young, but he was gettin’ to fill out, and he was gaining experience.  
     My thoughts were jostled when the preacher came bursting back into the office.  “Doc, it’s the Widow O’Dell!  I think she’s frozen to death.”
     Doc took one long last swallow.  “Let me get my coat, and I’ll be with you.”
     “How’s Greta?” I asked stepping toward the preacher.
     Wide-eyed, he turned my direction, “Oh, she’s fine.  Plenty of firewood,” he said, then nodded toward Lucas.  “Seems that Lucas found the time to fill her kitchen full and there’s still plenty outside.”  He stopped, then added, “She thinks she might have lost some hens though.”
     I had already grabbed my coat to go with them.  As I left the office I saw that Lucas was throwing his coat on, and was coming to the front with a shovel.  Yep, the kid was going to be a good one.
     There was no need to hurry and in fact, with the deep snow we couldn’t go very fast.  If Mrs. O’Dell was dead there wouldn’t be much that could be done.  We didn’t bother knocking when we came to her house but walked right in to a room that felt like a meat-locker.  There Merry O’Dell sat, in front of a stove that was stone cold.  Looking around I saw wood in the corner, and that puzzled me.  
     Doc knelt by her to do his examination, whilst the preacher and I just looked on.  “I see wood, what do you think happened?”
     “She had been very depressed for several days,” answered the Parson.  “I wonder…”
     Doc stood up, turned to face us.  “I think she just up and died.  From what I can tell, she didn’t bother to feed the stove and fell asleep,” he stated bluntly.  “I’ll stop by Parker’s to let him know.  Since she’s frozen there’s no need to get her moved immediately.”
     “Doc, do you know if she had any family, left a will?” My mind was working.  It had been my experience to have to contact next of kin on numerous occasions.
     “I don’t know much about her family.  Dick was a prosperous man and left her well off when he died a year or so ago, but I only came around once or twice to see her,” responded Doc, scratching at his cheek.  “Shame,” he muttered, then headed toward the door.  “I’ll stop at Parker’s then go on home.  Edith will wonder what’s happened to me.”
     “Miles she has a will,” the Parson assured me.  “I’ve been ministering to her recently.  I’m not saying that this was a deliberate act, planned out, but I do think she did nothing to stop it.”
     “Convenient, huh,” I muttered.
     “You might say that.  She has been lonely since her husband died,” he stopped, to look at the woman seeming to rest peacefully in her chair.  Shaking his head, he spoke, “I don’t begin to understand.” The preacher paused, still shaking his head.  “I do know we have to trust in the Lord.  He is the righteous Judge.  Whatever He does and decides is right.” 
     “Amen to that, Parson,” I agreed.  “Where’s the will?”
     The preacher pointed to a room.  “It’s in a little desk in her bedroom.”
     “Why don’t you go get it, and then it might be a good idea if we shouldn’t check on some of the other elderly, especially those livin’ alone.”
     He nodded, then moved to the widow’s room.  In a few minutes he had returned holding a sealed envelope in his hands.  Returning to me, he stopped to look at the lady.  Reaching down he tried to adjust her hands, but she was too stiff.  With a sigh, he stood and began walking to the door.
     Following him outside, I wondered how…

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
It is better to spend your time at funerals than at festivals.  For you are going to die, and you should think about it while there is still time.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:2 (NLT)
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     It took twenty minutes to travel the short distance to Doc’s house as virtually nobody had been on the streets.  I saw a light on in Solly’s Emporium but the walks hadn’t been cleared.  Maybe since it had stopped snowing, movement in town would begin.  I smiled as I walked by Solly’s.  I had been meaning to ask him if the new name had improved his business.
     I banged on Doc’s door, and was quickly answered by Edith.  “Miles, what in the world are you doing out in this weather?” she questioned, while at the same time opening the door and waved me in.
    After taking off my hat, and wiping my boots off on the mat by the door, I replied, “I may be an ol’ grouch, but I don’t plan on hibernatin’ for the winter.  Besides, I need Doc up at the jail.”
    There was some movement coming from the kitchen.  Doc appeared from around the corner.  “Doc, you need to come with me.  The prisoner who was wounded is throwin’ fits.”
     “Give me a minute to put on some boots and grab my coat.  Edith, will you fetch my bag from the office?”  Fifteen minutes later we were trudging back up the trail I had made.  Because of that, walking was easier and we made better time.
     Lucas was adding wood to the stove and had kept the door to the cell room open so more heat could enter there.  Lucius was no longer sitting on top of his brother who was lying on the cot very still with his eyes open.  Lucas handed me the key and I hastily opened the cell for Doc to enter.
     “Doc, uh, is he dead?” questioned his brother.  “I’ve never seen anyone sleep with their eyes open, and I checked to see if he was breathing.”
     There was no answer as Doc was busy shedding his coat, then pulling out the stethoscope from his bag.  “Hmm, good, good…”
     Lucius turned to look at me; I just shrugged.  Doc put his hand over the man’s eyes then pulled downward.  It was successful and the man’s eyes closed, and a deep sigh came from him.  
     Doc scratched his cheek then looked at us.  “Tell you the truth son, neither have I.  He is in something which is called a comatose state.  I really don’t know much about it.  There are some studies being done back East, but it seems that the injury to his head caused it.”
     “Doc, he just jumped up, then started banging his head against those bars.  I had to force him down and after getting him on the cot sat on him so’s he couldn’t get up.  I thought he was going loco.”
     “Can I be of help?” came the voice from the doorway.  It was Rev. Chapman.
     “Sure, Parson, come on in,” replied Doc.  
     The preacher nodded at Lucius, greeted us, “Miles, Doc, Lucas…”  Walking over to the man he stiffened a bit then knelt down beside him.  Placing one hand on the man’s head, the other on his chest he began to pray.  In a few minutes the man took a deep breath, then another, then turned his head to the side to look at the preacher.  A half-smile formed on his lips then he closed his eyes.
     Lucius was watching, wide-eyed.  “What did you do to my brother?”
     “Just asked the good Lord to give the man rest, peace, and comfort.  Which I think is happening.”
     Doc stooped beside the sleeping man, then nodded at us.  “He’s sound asleep.  Let’s get on out and leave him be.”
     We walked out and Lucius continued with us until I put my hand on his chest.  Shaking my head, “Your home currently is in there.  Plus you need to keep an eye on your brother.”
     “Uh, Marshal, I don’t want to be a bother, but do yuh think we could have something to eat besides beans?  I know the kid means well, but there are only so many ways you can fix beans, oh, and by the way, he don’t know how to fix coffee.”
     “I’ll see what I can do,” then walked out to join the others in the office.
     Doc was questioning the parson about him being out in the weather.  
     “I need to be checking on my parishioners, plus anybody else who might need some sort of assistance.  Some of the older folk might be needing some help.  I’m heading over now to see Sister Greta.  Then on down the road just checking on others.”
     “Lucas, why don’t you run down to Peabody’s, see if he’s open, and buy something that you can cook up here for your prisoners.  Parson, when he gets back I’ll join up with you.”
     Doc was by the stove, holding the coffeepot.  “Think I’ll stay here a while, keep a check on the patient.”  He shook the pot, “and make up some coffee.”