The Saga of Miles Forrest

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on

And it is a good thing to receive wealth from God and the good health to enjoy it.  To enjoy your work and accept your lot in life–that is indeed a gift from God.  People who do this rarely look with sorrow on the past, for God has given them reasons for joy.” –Ecclesiastes 5:19-20 (NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
     “I hurt somethin’ fierce, Doc,” bellowed the man now doubled over in pain.
     “You just sit there!” ordered Doc.  “I need to tend the man you were kicking to death.”
     I was standing by the man that Fenny, the barkeep called “Copper,” when I noticed Marta and Molly come through the doors.  They went immediately to Lucas who was lying there with his eyes closed.
     “What were you thinkin’ Lucas?” she chastised him, then glared at me.
     “He was kickin’ that poor man to death.  I tried to stop him,” replied Lucas with honor in his voice.  “I am a deputy, you know.”
     “Uhhhh!” she exclaimed, standing to her feet.
     “Mi tia,” cried Lucas, now sitting up and looking at Marta.  Marta was standing, her arms crossed and looking away from Lucas.  “Help me, Senora Molly, por favor?” he asked looking at Molly who stooped down to help Lucas to his feet.
     “Doc!” came a loud moan.  I was close to the man and it startled me.
     Doc stood up after caring for the beaten man.  “Fenny, get some men to carry this man to my office.  I can tend to him better there.”  He then walked to Copper who was bent over in the chair.  “Put your hand over your head and straighten up.”  
     “Can’t, hurts too much,” groaned the man.
     “Miles, help me lay him on the table.  I can see better there.  Put him right under that light.”
     Between Doc and me, we put up with Copper’s moaning and groaning and got him laid back on the table.  “Hold his hand over his head, Miles.”  As I pulled his arms over his head Doc began unbuttoning his shirt.  His undershirt had holes in it, so Doc grabbed one and using his fingers ripped it down where he could examine the man.  It was easy to see where the Greener poked him as it was red and looked swollen.
     Doc began with his examination and when he pushed against the swollen area the man yelled out in pain.  Marta was now listening to Lucas explain so Molly came over to see if she could be of help.  Doc continued to poke and prod the man’s body, and it seemed that there was only that one area that seemed to be hurting him.
     “Mister, you just lay there.  Breathe now and easy, regular breaths,” said Doc, then with a nod motioned for me to follow him.
     “What’s wrong with him, Doc,” I inquired when we were standing alone by the bar.
     “I’m not sure, Miles, not sure, but he could have a ruptured spleen.”
     “Spleen!  What does that mean?”
     “They are saying, those who write the books, that a person can live without it, but I’m not capable of operating on it.”
     “Well, what happens if it is what you think?”
     “Most likely he’ll die.”
     “Then what will it hurt to try to operate?” I countered.
     Doc gave me an angry look.  “Because…well it would have been better if you’d thumped him on the head.”
     “Doc…”

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on

Even so, I have noticed one thing, at least, that is good. It is good for people to eat, drink, and enjoy their work under the sun during the short life God has given them, and to accept their lot in life.”  –Ecclesiastes 5:18(NLT)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
     McBride’s telegram simply stated, “All set, welcome aboard.”  I was in the process of opening Blasco’s when a down-on-his-luck miner burst through the doorway.  “Marshal, come quick.  He’s killin’ them!”
     I stood up, grabbed the Greener, then asked, “Killin’ who?”  
     “A big guy up at Death’s Door was stompin’ ol’ Gus, when the deputy tried to stop him,” the man stopped looking at the floor.  “Poor guy,” he muttered.  
     Lucas, and with that thought I rushed out the door.  Running up the hill, I then cut behind some buildings as the saloon mentioned was on the back street.  Not a well-to-do place.  Mateo was out of town checking on some stock at Thompsons.  I prayed as I ran.
     The saloon loomed in front of me so I slowed to a walk so I could get my breath back.  I sure didn’t want to be going into a fight short of breath.  Stopping at the bat-wing doors I breathed deeply a couple of times then peered over the doors.  The man was right, a big man was kicking the life out of a man on the floor.  I didn’t see Lucas at first, but then spotted a leg sticking out from under a table.
     It was time to end this.  “If you kick that man one more time I’ll blow your kneecap off!” I barked, leveling the shotgun.
     He turned and snarled at me.  Whooeee, he was a big-un; made at least two of me.  “Now step back and take off that gunbelt.”
     I started toward him.  He grunted, “Big man with a shotgun.  You put that down, we’ll fight even.”
     “You just do what I say!  Now, or I might have to thump you.”
     The distance had closed between us, but I knew to keep enough space where he couldn’t grab the Greener.  He feigned to unbuckle his belt, but lunged at me instead.  I was half expecting something and instead of retreating I advanced, using the barrel of the shotgun like a bayonet.  I plunged it hard into his gut.  He groaned, giving out a muffled shriek and fell to his knees.  I was tempted to thump him on the head for spite.
     I looked around for a familiar face, but didn’t recognize anyone but the barkeep.  “Fenny, here, hold this on him.”
     Tossing him the shotgun I hurried over to Lucas lying on the floor, unconscious.  He was breathing and I didn’t see any blood on him.  I slapped him lightly on the cheek.  Nothing.
     “Marshal,” hollered Fenny, “Copper just slugged him, then kicked him.”
     By that time Doc had arrived.  He rushed to Lucas, then opened his bag.  He had a little vial that he waved under Lucas’ nose.  Lucas gave a jump, then tried to sit up.  His eyes were open, but they were groggy.  “Easy, easy there boy.  You just lie back and get your bearings.”
     Doc looked at me, “Now what did you do to that big fellow?  You didn’t thump him did you?”
     “No, he ran into the barrel of my gun.”
     Doc, stepping over to the man.  “The Greener I suppose?  Help me get him into that chair.”
     “Doc,” came a deep moan, “I feel busted up inside, I…”

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
People who live only for wealth come to the end of their lives as naked and empty-handed as on the day they were born.”  –Ecclesiastes 5:15 (NLT)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
     We had just finished a fine diner with Reverend and Betty Chapman after church services.  She prepared a wonderful fried chicken dinner along with pickled beets and baked beans.  She profusely apologized for not having any potatoes, but the season was past and they didn’t have any in their root cellar.  Molly was the pie baker, but Betty Chapman was known for her cakes and she outdid herself with a chocolate cake of which we were now partaking in the living room.  
     “Miles, I hope my coffee suits you.  I know you like it strong.  I don’t make it often as I prefer tea,” she paused to look over at Molly.  “Would you care for a cup of tea or would you prefer coffee?”
     “I don’t often make tea just for myself, so if you don’t mind I share your tea.  Oh, and I might say, that’s an exquisite tea set.”
     “You’re kind,” replied Betty.  “It belong to my mother who died just before we left St. Louis to come here.”
     Now, I don’t mind a cup of tea now and then, but I do prefer my coffee.  I could see the Parson watching me as I took my first sip.  He was grinning so I reckoned I should say something.  “Not bad, Betty, not bad at all.  I can drink this.”
     She gave a little chortle, “So you can drink it.”
     “It goes well with this delicious cake,” I quickly added.
     “Well done, well done, Miles,” enjoined the Parson.  “Now what it this I hear about a new position?”
     I quickly finished the cake, then held my cup out to be refilled which brought a smile from Betty.  I took a sip, to wash the rest of the cake down my throat.  “That’s what I want to talk with you about.  It’s with the Colorado Rangers and I would be in charge of this district.”
     “So what do you want from me?” he asked.  “It seems that a door is open.  Why are you hesitant to step through it?”
     Glancing over at Molly I answered him, “Well, it will take me away from home more often, but not as long.  As a marshal I could be away for longer periods.  This would be a circuit similar to what a sheriff does with the county.”
     Rev. Chapman looked over at Molly.  “And what do you think?”
     She sighed before answering, “I have the same concerns as Miles.  The pay is steady, but knowing him he would take it seriously,” she paused to smile at me.  “Overall, I think he would be home more.”
     Laughing, I interrupted, “I should have partnered in with Lot Smith with the wild horse business when I had the opportunity.”
     “Miles,” began the preacher, “we don’t live in the past with regrets, but look to what the Lord has for us in the future.  I hesitate to say anything for if it doesn’t work out I don’t want you saying that the Rev. Chapman told me to do this or that.”
     We all chuckled, but I told him that he had no worry regarding that.  Since he was our pastor we thought we should run the idea by him.  “One other thing, I could be called to Denver once in a while, something that I don’t relish.  For sure whenever there is an election of governor.”
     “I will say this…there is a door open and the Word of God says that the steps of a righteous man are ordered by him.  However…”

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
There is another serious problem I have seen in the world.  Riches are sometimes hoarded to the harm of the saver, or they are put into risky investments that turn sour, and everything is lost.  In the end, there is nothing left to pass on to one’s children.”  –Ecclesiastes 5:13-14 (NLT)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
     We were all enjoying a delicious breakfast at the diner.  By “we”, I mean myself, Mateo, and Charlie Gold.  Seldom are the three of us able to get together unless it is because of some crisis.  Mateo had Emelda’s wonderful huevos rancheros of which I had an order of myself.  It is always a hard decision, the huevos rancheros or biscuits and gravy of which the Sheriff was stuffing himself with.
     “Careful, Charlie.  Yuh better slow down some or you’ll be droppin’ a glob that gravy on your new shirt.  I don’t think Marta would be pleased.  I will say, however, that’s it’s nice to see you all dressed up.”
     Mateo stopped his fork halfway to his mouth and grinned.  “It’s ’cause he’s politicking.  Election is comin’ up in a few weeks.”
     I had been out of town and had plum forgotten that it was election time.  I was just getting ready to remark on it when Doc Jones walked into the diner.  “Well, sure hope there’s no crime taking place in town as the duly appointed law officers, and one elected one,” he said pointing to Charlie, “are all stuffing their bellies with food.  And from what I’m seeing if there was a crime they would be so full that they’d have to waddle to the crime scene.”
     “Doc, sit yourself down and quit your blabbering!” snapped Charlie.  “We were listening to Miles.  He’s got quite the decision to make.”
     “Heard you were back in town,” quipped Doc, then he surveyed our plates.  Shaking his head, he waved Lola over.  “Dear, I’ll have a piece of pie–chocolate if you have any.  If not, bring me any type of cream pie.”
     “I’ll get the coffee for him, Lola.  Go ahead and find something for Doc’s disposition to sweeten it up.”
     I got a glare from him along with a grunted, “Bah.”
     Standing I grabbed a cup from the shelf and poured Doc a cup of coffee, and then filled the cups of Mateo and Charlie along with my own.  As I was setting the pot back on the stove I heard Charlie warn Doc, “If you take the last piece of chocolate, you might just be having to fix yourself up.”
     “Come on, Miles, sit down and tell me what’s happening,” commanded Doc, before taking a sip.
     “I’ve been offered a position as a Colorado Ranger,” I simply told the three of them.
     “Does that mean Denver is in your future?” inquired Doc, sipping at the hot brew.
     “No, I’ll be assigned to Section D and will travel a circuit similar to what Charlie does as sheriff.
     Mateo was staring, and I could tell he was puzzled.  “Amigo, pardon my ignorance, but I have never, ever, heard of the Colorado Mounted Rangers.”
     “And what is Section D?” blurted out Doc.
     “Ask him what Molly thinks of it,” snickered Charlie.  I looked at him, smiling.  A large chuck of gravy had fallen on his new shirt.  The whitish color of the gravy showed up quite well on his maroon shirt.
     “Hold on…”