The Saga of Miles Forrest

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
Extortion turns wise people into fools, and bribes corrupt the heart.”  –Ecclesiastes 7:7 (NLT)
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     “What about the rifles?” I asked, perhaps a little too sharply.
     “Senor Miles, I think that one of them has been moved,” he paused, then continued on a little sheepishly.  “Perhaps, even used.  I plan on checking it when I get back to the office.”
     Charlie and I had never bothered to lock up the rifles and shotguns that we kept in the rack in the office.  Perhaps it was time for us to do so, but as of yet no one had bothered them, that is, no one until possibly now.
     “Senor, after seeing it moved, I looked around the office for tracks from the outside.  I am sorry, I should have checked the guest’s boots.”
     I started pulling on my moustache.  “You saw the rifle had been moved, and I reckon he could have taken off his boots outside.  Hmmm,”
     “When I get back I will check them, they will be dry by now but perhaps there will be mud or something else on them,” he said apologetically.
     Molly was heading back to the table with a giant piece of chocolate pie.  “It was the last piece left, and I saw no need to cut it into smaller pieces.  Do you think you can handle all of it?” she asked with a grin.
     Picking up his fork, he started to cut into the pie.  The front door opened and in walked Doc who made for our table.  
     I got up, putting on my coat.  After grabbing the Greener, I leaned toward Lucas.  “Go ahead, ask him.”
    Doc was pulling out the chair then plopped down.  Lucas looked strangely up at me.  “Ask him what?”
     “Remember, the question that you were asking me?  Now is the time to ask Doc.  I’m headin’ up to the jail.”
     “What question is that?” inquired Doc, pulling at his ear. 
     Lucas was frowning, his young forehead even had a crease in it.  “Si, what question?”
     I started to walk away, then stopped.  “The one you were asking the other day, whether or not Doc had spoken with Methusaleh.”  Then I hurried on out the diner not understanding any of the epitaphs coming from Doc.
     Hurrying on up to the office, I wanted to check the rifle Lucas mentioned.  He said he did not touch it, but noticed that it was not sitting properly in the rack.  I wanted to see if it had recently been fired, then check the boots of the Feeney brothers.
     The good Lord had been watching out for me.  If it was one of the Feeneys; he probably hurried his shot then rushed back to the office.  I had trusted them and hoped I was wrong.  Both the men were in the cell lying on the cots.  Lucius swung his legs off the cot sitting up after I walked in.  
     “What’s up, Marshal?” he asked, but I didn’t reply but went directly to the gun rack.  
     I quickly saw what Lucas had mentioned.  Pulling the rifle from the rack, I smelled it then levered a bullet into the chamber.  I was surprised when a spent casing popped out.  For sure it had been fired recently.
     Placing the rifle on one of the desks, I went to the cell room.  “Let me see your boots!” I barked.
     Mort was sleeping or feigning sleep, but Lucius spoke right up.  “Our boots?  What’s the reason for that?”
     “Just place them at the cell door,” I ordered in a not so gracious manner.
     Lucius pulled his off, then reached for Mort’s that were sitting on the floor at the foot of the cot.  “What’s this all about?”
     While Lucius was grabbing his brother’s boots I checked his.  Nothing.  Then looking at Mort’s I saw mud but it was dry, probably from yesterday.  
     I could tell that Lucius was perplexed, but then he spoke up, “Marshal, I plumb forgot, but this morning when you were out…

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
Indeed, a fool’s laughter is quickly gone, like thorns crackling in a fire.  This also is meaningless.” –Ecclesiastes 7:6  (NLT)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
     Lucas was standing at the corner, touching the edge of the building that the bullet hit.  As I approached, he smiled.  “What are you grinnin’ at?” I barked, touching my arm where there was a splinter.  Good thing I was wearing my heavy coat, so it didn’t penetrate deeply, if at all.
     “Senor Miles, aren’t you glad we prayed?  Otherwise…” he let it drop but pointed to the piece of wood in my arm.
     I wanted to act grumpy, but his smile won me over and I just replied, “You got a valid point there, son.”
     “Any tracks?”
     “Too many,” I responded, “I only know which direction he went.  Listen, we’ve made the rounds.  Why don’t you go back to the office, Mateo will be there soon.  I’m goin’ on down to the diner to get some breakfast and coffee.  After Mateo relieves you, come on down and I’ll buy you breakfast.”
     He smiled, “And maybe a piece of the Senora’s pie?”
     As I entered the diner, Molly was cleaning off a table at the front.  “I take it the shot didn’t hit you?” she said knowingly.
     How did she know?  I raised my arm to show off the piece of woodwork in my arm.
     “Oh, Miles.  Better go see Doc,” she reckoned while shaking her head.
     “Nah, I don’t even think it broke the skin.  Here, let me get off this coat.”  It was then that I felt a tug on my arm and some pain.  “Hold it, grasp the sleeve whilst I pull out this splinter.”
     It wasn’t long before she was doctoring up my arm.  I was right, the splinter was barely in, just enough to make it bleed some.  While she was bandaging it up, she asked, “Did you see who did it?”
     I reached for my coffee cup while shaking my head.  “He was gone by the time I dared poke my head around the corner.  I followed him up to Moss’ corrals, then I saw which direction he went, but didn’t bother to try and follow any tracks.”
     It was then that the door opened.  In walked Lucas and when he came to the table, he smiled and pointed.
     “Why’s he smiling?” asked Molly.
     “Oh, don’t pay the smart-alek any mind.  The sight of blood makes him giggle.”
     She frowned looking at me, then back to Lucas who was now taking his seat.  “Senora Molly, the big jefe said he would buy me breakfast and, that you might have a piece of pie for me, por favor,” snickered Lucas with that big grin plastered on his face.
     That caused her to laugh.  “Any particular type of pie?” she asked, placing her hands on her hip to feign exasperation.
     He smiled again, “No, Senora, I know whatever you make it is, uh, delicious.”
     Molly turned to walk to the kitchen, when Lucas spoke up, “But I am partial to chocolate.”
     After she entered the kitchen, Lucas turned to me.  “Senor Marshal Miles, I…”
     I stopped him holding up my hand.  “Stop the ‘Senor’ stuff.  It’s Miles or Marshal.”
     He looked at me, “Oh, Senor, I cannot call you by your first name.  You are much older than me.  It wouldn’t be right.”
     I frowned, then he continued, “There is something you might want to know.  One of the rifles…”

 

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)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
     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.”