The Saga of Miles Forrest

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
I walked into CC’s Billiard Parlor where there were two tables with men playing.  At a small round table toward the back and against the wall I saw the stranger I was looking for.  Approaching him, “I heard you’ve been lookin’ for me?” I inquired.  He was drinking beer and looked confused when I spoke to him.
       “Sheriff Gold said you were askin’ about me,” I said again.
       Slowly he lowered the glass of beer to the table, his face turning serious and taut.  “Are you Forrest?”
       “I am,” came my curt reply.  I placed my thumbs inside my gunbelt so he could see I wasn’t a threat.  From what I could gather I didn’t think he was after me or a threat to me either.  Of course, I’ve been wrong before.  “What is it I can help you with?”
       He was appraising me, looking closely at the badge I was wearing.  “I was told you could help me locate a certain individual,” he remarked.  
       “First, tell me who you are, and what you want,” I demanded.  “Then I’ll hear your questions.”
       He frowned slightly.  “Impertinent and to the point aren’t you?  I’m Sly Malone,” he said, reaching his hand out over the table.  I stayed as I was and in a few seconds he dropped his hand.  “Not a friendly sort either,” he muttered.
       “Who said I could help you?  Help you with what?”
       “I’m getting to that.  People have said that you know most everyone in town, and I’m looking for a certain individual by the name of Clyde Hoffner,” he informed me.
       My attention was now completely focused on him since he was asking about Clyde.  “I try to get to know most folk in town.  What do you want with Clyde?”
       He smiled as he reached for his shirt pocket bringing out a folded piece of paper.  It was a wanted poster.  “He’s wanted back in Illinois for arson and attempted murder.”
       Taking the poster from his hand I perused it carefully.  I handed it back to the man.  “This is not issued by the State of Illinois,” I paused, “It appears to be a vendetta against Clyde for some reason.  Mind tellin’ me who issued the poster?”
       “Doesn’t matter who issued the poster, he’s still wanted.  It seems that Mr. Swithart chased him off as he didn’t want this Hoffner fellow seeing his daughter.  A couple of days later, his barn was burned to the ground, and his house partially burned with the family inside.  Hoffner disappeared at the same time.”
       “That’s not much evidence,” I replied.
       An insidious sneer appeared, “It’s enough for Mr. Swithart to offer a reward of $500 for him.”
       People like this, bounty hunters in general, jerk my jaws.  “It’s not a valid poster.  Besides I don’t know where he is.”
       “Do you deny that he was working for Cecil Thompson?
       “No, in fact, that’s the last place I knew where he was.  If he’s gone I don’t have an idea where, and with that bogus poster I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”
       There were several moments of tension.  He was angry, but not threatening, then he spoke, “I’ll find him.  Good day, Marshal.”
       Since I was dismissed, I turned and left waving at Casey Cameron the proprietor who was putting up pool cues.  Leaving the billiard parlor I headed on up toward the church and the Chapman residence.  Clyde was a cousin to the preacher and helped him move to town.  I wanted to see if he knew anything about this supposed fire.
       Knocking on the door, Betty Chapman answered.  I must have caught her at a bad time.  She was wearing a scarf and when she opened the door she was trying to push strands of her hair underneath it.  She was wearing an old dress with a well-worn apron over it.  “Oh, Marshal Forrest, oh, please forgive me for the way I look.  I was doing some cleaning and wasn’t expecting company.”
       I smiled, “I reckon minister’s wives sometimes have to clean the house.  I’m sorry to have caught you at an inopportune moment, but I would like to speak to the parson.”
       She smiled, still working at her hair.  “I’ll get him, and put on some coffee.  Please sit down.”  She already knew my weakness.
       Shortly thereafter, Rev. Chapman came into the room.  He had a smile for me and I stood to greet him.  “Miles, it’s always good to see you.  Betty said you had something to ask me.”
       I shook his hand and we both sat down.  The coffee must have already been made, for as we sat Betty came in with two cups.  She handed one to each of us then sat next to her husband.  I noticed that she had removed the apron.
       “Parson, there’s a man in town lookin’ for Clyde.”  His eyes narrowed and he set the cup down on the table next to the little couch.  “He has a wanted poster on Clyde.”
       “Why is that ridiculous!” exclaimed Betty.  
       Her husband put his hand on her knee to settle her.  “What does the poster say?” he inquired.
       “Arson and attempted murder.”
       He was shaking his head.  Clyde helped us move, and I don’t know of anything he would have done to bring those charges.  Did this man who had the posters say anything else?”
       I was ready to respond when the door burst open…

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
I had originally thought that Hoffner was working somewhere in the mountains searching for strays or that something out of the ordinary happened.  Perhaps he was thrown by his horse, or that his horse had stumbled and fell on him.  But now, with what Donovan had said I had a whole different view–Hoffner had left the area, or at least was hiding out.  But why?
       “Marshal, he was fidgety, actin’ strange,” recalled Donovan.  “I gave him several days of fixin’s.”
       I looked over at Thompson who gave a little shrug.  “First I’ve heard of it.  Bill didn’t say anything about Clyde leaving.”
       “Where can I find Farmer?” I asked.  “Hoffner might have said somethin’ to him.”  The way Donovan explained Hoffner’s actions I didn’t think Farmer would know, but it wouldn’t do any harm to ask.
       Thompson stroked his chin a few times before he spoke.  “I think he’s…”
       “He’s supposed to be in the south pasture looking over the herd and was to meet up with the boys,” interrupted Donovan.  
       Thompson stared at Donovan for several seconds, then turned his attention to me.  “There you have it Marshal, check the south pasture,” he responded also with a little shrug.
       Donovan had just filled up my cup so I took a sip pondering how large the south pasture was.  Donovan was smiling as if he was reading my mind.  “Just head straight south from the barn.  The boys usually camp in a small grove of cottonwoods about an hour from here.”
       “Cecil, I really don’t know what’s goin’ on.  I’ll stop back by here before headin’ back to Durango.  Thanks for your time and hospitality.”
       He stood up as I did, reaching out his hand.  “I hope he’s not in serious trouble.  Keep me informed, will you?”
       “Will do,” I said, then reached for the cup to take my last swallow.
       An hour later I saw the cottonwoods, and could make out a small fire at the campsite.  The boys must be taking it easy or Bill Farmer hasn’t found them yet.  When I rode in I waved.  Farmer was there and I recognized another one of the cowboys, the other three I didn’t know.  Thompson had a regular turnover with hands.  He paid good wages, but was a rough man.  Some said he was hard to work for, but from what I gathered, he expected a full day’s work for the wages he paid.  Lots of punchers wanted to loaf and Cecil had no trouble turning them loose.
       After dismounting I walked up to the fire.  One of the punchers already had a cup of coffee poured for me, and who was I not to accept the offer.  “What brings you way out here, Marshal?” questioned Farmer.  He looked quickly at the four men with him to see if any of them were startled at seeing a marshal approach them.
       I nodded at the crew to let them know that they were not under my scrutiny, then answered Farmer.  “I’m lookin’ for Clyde Hoffner.  Any idea where he might be?”
       Farmer shook his head, then looked toward the others.  “Any of you know anything about Clyde?”
       A man who had been sitting by the fire stood and came to me.  “I saw Clyde just before he left.  He said he had to leave.  I asked him why and he wouldn’t answer just said, ‘Because’,” the man paused, took off his hat to wipe his brow and when he had replaced it continued.  “Marshal, I don’t know if this has anything to do with it, but there was a rider come up to the house and barged into the bunkhouse.  There were only a couple of us there and we didn’t appreciate his manner, but we also noticed the way he carried his gun.”
       “Go on,” I urged.
       “He said he was looking for Clyde.  I replied that he wasn’t here.  He stared at me with eyes that gave me the shivers.  Honestly, I thought he was going to pull his gun and shoot me.  That’s when Ozzie spoke up telling the man that I was telling the truth.”
       “Marshal, he turned to leave, but stopped to glare at both of us.  ‘If you’re lying, I’ll be back and it won’t go well with either of you,’ then he strode on out the door slamming it behind him.”
       I took a swallow and washed the coffee through my mouth before swallowing.  “Marshal, Ozzie and I were telling the truth.  Clyde had done left a few hours before.”
       Shaking my head, I muttered, “What in the world had Clyde gotten himself into.  That man, could it have been the man in the diner?”
       “What was that you were saying, Marshal”? asked Farmer.
       “Nothin’, just talkin’ to myself.  Thanks for the coffee and the information.  Let me know if you see Clyde.  I want to talk to him before that other fellow finds him.”

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
Lucas wanted to come along with me, but Mateo had jailed several brawlers so he had to stay at the jail.  Charlie also told him that no crime had been committed, therefore no investigation was needed so his duty was at the jail.  It was for the best.  I’m sure Lucas could have learned something, but I didn’t know much myself or if Hoffner just took off.  His horse could have fallen and crippled or even killed Hoffner somewhere out on the range.
       There was no need to be up early so I didn’t try to break daylight.  I saddled Star, rode down to the diner and had a nice breakfast.  I should make it to Thompson’s ranch around noon and  I’m sure Donovan would feed me.
       It had been a while since I let Star get out and run.  After we left Durango, I let him loose for several miles.  Running was something he relished and it was good to sit in the saddle on him again.  Hawk was better in the mountains, but there wasn’t a horse like Star on the flats.  After several minutes I slowed him down to a walk then led him to a little stream.  We sat there while he nourished himself and I gazed out at the hills.  That was another lifetime when I roamed the hills, deserts, and mountains.  Now, sometimes I had my wishes, but honestly I was content.  Maybe I was becoming too comfortable.
       From my reckoning, it was just before noon when I rode into the ranch yard.  I’d been to Thompson’s a couple of times and he had a nice place.  A large house, but nothing fancy, a cook shack, bunkhouse, and stables connected to a barn.  Thompson, being a widower, usually ate at the bunkhouse and it was there I found him.  Two other cowboys were there eating that I didn’t know.
       Reese Donovan saw me first.  “Marshal, you’re a long ways from town.  Sit yurself down, I’ll bring yuh a plate.”
       Thompson turned his head just far enough to see who I was.  “Sit down!” he commanded.  I know he didn’t demand that I did, it was just his rough demeanor.  He was like that in everything he did–rough.  A rough man from a rough age; time had almost passed him by.  “What brings you out this way?”
       I had already poured coffee from the big pot on the stove and was headed for my seat at the table next to Thompson when Donovan brought my food.  It looked sort of like carne asada, but the meat was cubed and a better cut.  Also the plate had fried potatoes and what looked like applesauce.  I had to smile for it reminded me of a trail dinner, only upgraded.  I will have to hand it to Donovan though; he had spiced up that meat just right.
       Before answering Thompson I took a bite.  Donovan was watching me.  I nodded my head and smiled which brought a grin of pure delight to his face.  He started back to the kitchen when I called him, “Stick around.  I can use your output.”
       “To answer your question, I’m out here lookin’ for Clyde Hoffner.  Last I knew he was workin’ for you.”
       Thompson looked at me with a glare.  I think that is the only way he knows how to look at a person.  “Has he done anything wrong?”
       “Not to my knowledge.  His cousin, Reverend Chapman hasn’t heard from him in several weeks and has become concerned that something has happened to him.  When was the last time you saw him?”
       “You’d have to ask Bill Farmer as he gives out the assignments,” said Thompson.  I could tell he was thinking of when he saw him last.  He looked down toward the two cowboys.  “Perky, Doyle, have you seen Hoffner around?”
       They both grunted and shook their heads.  “Oh, boys, this is Marshal Miles Forrest.  Sorry, I didn’t introduce you to them, Marshal.  That skinny one is Bob Perkins better known as Perky, the other fellow is Frank Doyle.  They’ve been with me since the first of the year.”
       My eyes went to Donovan who was rubbing his chin.  “Miles, Clyde came by four days ago askin’ for a poke of grub.  I jist figured he was goin’ out for several days.”
       “He didn’t look worried or concerned?  I don’t suppose he said where he was goin’?

 

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on
Reverend Chapman, I have a favor to ask of you,” said Molly, as she watched the preacher sip his coffee.  “Hannah and Gretchen are two fine elderly ladies who both worked for us at one time or another.  They still provide our eggs.  But what I was wondering, would you stop by and see them?  I know Gretchen has been ailing and they don’t get out much.”
       “There’s nothing on my calendar, so after I leave here I’ll go get Betty and we’ll go visit them.  Tell me where they live.”
       Molly gave him the instructions then said, “They are getting up in years, and I’m concerned about their eternal souls.”  She took hold of the preacher’s hand, “I really appreciated this.”
       He nodded, then pulled his hand from Molly’s, picked up his cup and drained the contents.  Standing up, he looked down at Molly, “Be praying,” then walked on out the diner.
 
    
       I walked out of the diner in time to see the stranger riding down the street, probably heading for Olson’s or the Broken Drum.  It was time for me to do some checking around on the preacher’s cousin, Clyde Hoffner.  I thought I’d check at a couple of places in town, then ride on out to Thompson’s in the morning.  The first place I went was over to Solly Vendor’s place.  He had a large window in front of his counter and he often was outside smoking some of his merchandise.  
       Though I didn’t approve of Solly’s ware I thought he was a good, solid man.  He was honest and did his part to help out if a person was in need.  We made the normal greetings and chat, but when I asked him about Hoffner he told me that he hadn’t seen him since he rode in with the preacher then went to work for Thompson.
       Leaving Solly’s I went on down the street and peeked in the jail to wave at Lucas.  He was busy sweeping the floor of the office, but took the time to wave back.  Lucas was a changed person after his trip to Canon City.  I wasn’t sure if he would stay on as deputy, and I don’t think he had come to a decision yet in his own mind.  From the jail I went to Olson’s Saloon.  I didn’t see the horse of the stranger tied out front so he either went to the Broken Drum or on out of town.  
       Rufus Dixon was working the bar. He did his job, caused no trouble, and usually knew when a stranger came to town.  I asked him first about Hoffner to which he replied he hadn’t seen him.  Then I asked about the stranger.
       “Tall man, whiskered?” questioned Dixon.  He wears his gun on the left side, for a cross draw.”
       That could be several men in town, but I nodded, “Sounds like him.  Has he been in?”
       “Not today,” replied Dixon.  “I only saw him once and that was last night,” he paused.  “Be careful, Marshal.  There’s something about him that is dark.  Maybe it’s his grown of whiskers, but it seems to be more in his eyes and his attitude.”
       “Thanks for the advice.  Let me know if you see or hear anything of Hoffner.”
       I was only a couple of stores from Foster’s Mercantile.  It had been a while since I had talked to Darnelle or seen Mr. Foster, so I decided to stop by for a quick visit.  There were several customers in the store and both Darnelle and Jessie Blackstone were busy.  I waved and started to walk out when Darnelle held up her hand, “Wait Miles!  Let me finish with Mrs. Ferguson and I’ll be with you.”
       While she was finishing I gazed at the goods in one of the glass counters.  There were all sorts of watches, rings, and other types of jewelry.  I perused the watches as I hadn’t had one in several years.  The one my Daddy gave me when I left home broke when I was riding for Pennington over on the Tomichi Creek.  Moving on to the next counter; it was filled with shaving mugs and razors.  Automatically my hand went to my chin and I rubbed it a few times, the shook my head.  My razor was still good.  On top of the counter were various types of soaps with their own curious aromas.  I was in need new soap, but it would have to wait until later.
       I was sniffing the different types of soaps when Darnelle accosted me.  “Miles, what can I help you with?  Soap, a new razor?”
       Smiling, I replied, “Always tryin’ to make a sale. Yuh know, after a while they all begin to smell the same.”
       Darnelle giggled and returned my smile, “Well, that’s why we are in business.  Are you here for a reason?”
       “No particular reason.  I realized I hadn’t been by in a while so just stopped in.  I wanted to check on you and also see how your Dad was doing.”
       Her countenance became cloudy.  “Not good.  We’re not sure, but he made have had a minor stroke.  Whatever happened it has affected his attitude again.”  Quickly, however, she put away that expression and her normal smile and joyful attitude returned.  “Have you heard that the Blackstones are leaving and moving to Oregon?”
       Jessie Blackstone was married to a no-good saloon owner in Silverton.  Reverend Chapman worked and worked on that man until one day he broke down and gave his heart to the Lord.  For the past year he had been trying to sell his saloon, but wasn’t getting the price he wanted.  I reckoned it finally sold.
       “You’ll lose a good worker,” I said.
       Darnelle nodded, “Yes, but it will be good for the family to be together again.  Connor needs his father,” she said, then paused.  “I can see that you’re anxious to be going so I won’t hold you up any longer, plus I’ve got customers.”
       “Tell your father and mother, hi, for me.  And say a prayer, I’m leavin’ town tomorrow on a job…”