The Saga of Miles Forrest

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on

I agree with you Molly,” chirped Edith.  “That’s no place for a boy to be working.  Why one of those ruffians may hurt the boy.”

       Edith and Doc Jones were sitting with Molly and me before the noon rush.  Doc was finishing a piece of apple pie and they were discussing Lucas’ new job as jailer.  I had already had this discussion, well, it actually was an argument earlier with Marta.  Thank goodness for me, and Lucas, that Charlie was on our side, but I don’t think that helped Charlie’s home situation none.
       Doc took a sip to wash the pie down, then stated, “Edith’s got a point.”
       I groaned.  “No, now listen just a minute.  What happens when that boy has to take one of those scoundrels out to take care of necessary needs?  The man may outweigh Lucas by a hundred pounds.  That’s just not thinking it through, Miles.”
       It was time for me to put in my two cents worth.  “First of all, Lucas is a man.  He proved  himself to me, and more importantly to himself that he was.  It took courage for him to protect those horses.  Second, he’ll be shown how to deal with the miscreants of justice.  And last, he’ll have to learn.”  Then I slammed my hand down on the table.  “It’s settled!”
       Molly frowned, Doc scowled, and Edith near jumped out of her chair when my hand hit the table.  I had to get up for more coffee so I could turn my back on them in case I should laugh.
       I was pouring my coffee when I heard Marta scurry over to the table.  “Is everything okay?” she asked.  “I heard a loud noise when I was in the kitchen.”
       “Everything’s all right, Marta.  We were just discussing Lucas’ new position,” she paused waiting for me to sit.  “At least we were discussing it, until Miles put an end to it.”
       Marta dropped her head down for a moment.  “Senor Miles and my husband are right.  I didn’t like it at first, and truth be told I still don’t, but Lucas is the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time.  It is good for him to be happy, no?  The troubles, I know they will come, but we depend on the Lord as in any other time or in any other trouble.  I know he has the two best men around to teach him.  All I can do is pray for his safety, as I do for my husband, and Senor MIles.”
       The four of us looked up at her, no one saying a word.  That is probably the longest any of us had ever heard Marta talk and it caught us sort of by surprise.
       “I must get back to the kitchen,” she said and hurried away.
       Doc pulled on his ear, then scratched his cheek.  “Well…guess there’s not much more to say in the matter.”
       Molly sighed, “She’s right.  Perhaps we take too much for granted, and don’t do enough praying.  I know I pray when Miles is out of town, but I don’t think much about it when he’s in Durango.  The streets here are as dangerous as riding the train up to Silverton.  We just don’t know, but we can pray to the Father who does.
       Doc and Edith both nodded in assent, and I then said a hardy, “Amen!”
       “Speaking of Lucas, I think I’ll head on over to the jail to see how he’s doing, maybe give him some instructions.”  I had just gotten to the doorway when I heard pistol shots coming from up the street, then a rifle shot.  I rushed out the door and ran toward the jail where I saw a man stumble out.  I could tell he was shot, but he managed to get on his horse and ride southward out of town.
       When I got to the jail…

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on

Best we don’t say anything to your sister or to Aunt Molly about this,” I warned Lucas.  “They might not understand.”

       He gave a laugh, then said, “Si, they, how you say, would skin your hide.”
       I didn’t think it at all funny.  “Go ahead and laugh, but remember you have to face Marta.”
       That made him somber.  He squinted his eyes, and then asked very seriously, “What do I tell them about the guns?” Then he looked toward the little rope corral, “And the fine horse that is mine?”
       I pulled on the end of my moustache, pondering what he said and what brung all this about.  We had met with the commander at Fort Wingate, and he had two of his men undercover as cowboys to help Lucas and I drive the cattle back to Colorado.  The plan was that we might get drawn into a horse-trade along the way.  There was a group that would steal horses in Colorado, then sell half of them to some Mormons over in Utah, and trade the other half.  Then they’d steal some in Arizona, mix them with the ones they traded in Utah and sell them to the Army or any other buyer.  The idea was to join up with the horse thieves and have them persuade us to add our horses to theirs and go with them to the Mormons.
       Best plans are often put to waste.  We were out about four days from Wingate; I could see Twin Buttes off to the West.  The road was easy, and the cowboy-soldiers were able men.  We had gone by the small village of Tohatchi that morning and planned to drive the herd as far as Sheep Springs that day.  That would be close to a third of the way to Colorado.  I figured that they’d have to come on us in the next day or two.
       Like I said, the plans we made went right out the coop.  Instead of asking us to join them they decided to take the whole cavvy themselves.  It was early when we camped, there was plenty of water for the horses.  Lucas had a fire going and coffee on.  I’ll hand it to the boy, he sure did his part.
       Markum was out riding with the herd, and I had a restless feeling in my innards.  Being so restless, I decided to saddle up and ride out with Markum while coffee was boiling and Nicholson was fixing supper.  It was twilight and I had just mounted and started out of camp when they came at us like a bunch of Comanches.  Yelling, screaming, and firing at any two-legged target they could find.  I saw Markum fall from the saddle and two men start pushing the horses.  
       As I pulled my rifle from the scabbard, I heard shooting from the area of the camp.  They had the horses running now; I hesitated, Lucas was back at camp.  More firing…there wasn’t much I could do.  I looked back toward the herd, saw a man riding off to my right.  Fixing a bead on him, I fired and he tumbled from the saddle.
       There was a sound of a horse coming from camp, I turned in the saddle and heard a yell, “Don’t shoot, Senor; it is Lucas.”  He didn’t stop beside me, but continued on after the rustlers.  I could see two of them out in the front, one on each side.  I watched as Lucas veered off to the left, so I took to the right.
       Hawk was enjoying himself.  It had been quite a spell since we’d been involved in a ruckus like this.  I think the old horse missed it for he was flying over that ground and before long we were coming abreast of the man.  I didn’t fire, but instead I swung the barrel of the rifle catching him on the chin.  He tried to hold on, but fell right into the charging horses.  I looked over the herd searching for Lucas.  There wasn’t much I could do so I started to try to turn the horses, much like milling cattle during a stampede.
       They were starting to turn and slow down, then a shot came from the left rear of the herd.  I had been praying the whole time to myself, but I blurted it out, “O Lord, let Lucas be all right!”
       Minutes later the horses were walking back toward where we had them before the ruckus started.  I moved warily in the back and spotted a lone horseman coming my direction.  I stopped Hawk, and cocked my rifle.
       Lucas was pale, well, as pale as a Mexican boy can get.  He looked at me, eyes wide, then bent over the saddle puking.  “Two-Bits won’t appreciate it if you got any of that on him.”
       He looked up, then wiped his mouth, but now a smile on his face…sorta.  “Senor Miles, I think I maybe keeled two men, maybe three.”
       As we rode back, I looked for Markum.  He was sitting, leaning back against a rock.  Dismounting I checked on him.  He had been shot in the shoulder and upon falling he possibly broke some ribs.  I let Lucas get the horses back to their feeding ground while I got Markum back to camp.  Nicholson was dead, and not far away from him was another man–the one Lucas shot.
       We had stopped the stealing, but we still didn’t have an idea who the traders were in Mormon country.  That would have to wait.  I needed to get Markum back to the Fort and these horses taken care of.
       Five days later, Lucas and I were on the trail heading back home.  “Let me do the explainin’, Lucas.  You keep the rifle and I’ll hold on to the pistol and talk to your Uncle Charlie about that.  The horse, well, I’ll come up with somethin’.”
       I worried about him, but all the way back I didn’t hear him babblin’ about anything, nor did he wake me up during the night.  I was just praying that he hadn’t seen the “Devil’s Grin.”  One thing for sure–he was now a man.

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on

I rushed outside to find Lucas half-leaning and slumped along the wall of the office, a burly man standing over him.  The man needed a shave and a haircut, and I figured a bath as well.  He didn’t look to be a cowpuncher, but I didn’t like the way he was standing over Lucas, pointing his finger at him and threatening him.

“Stay out of my way, boy!  Understand?” he hollered and raised his hand to slap Lucas.

Being the gentlemanly sort that I am, I rapped his arm with the barrel of the Greener as he started to swing.  Nothing serious, but it probably hurt some, and it sure got his attention.

“Leave the lad alone!” I ordered.

Snarling, he turned to look at me.  “And who might you be?”

I looked at Lucas, smiled and replied, “I’m the lad’s uncle.  Now, you just be on your way.”

It showed plainly on his face that he was itching to do more, but he didn’t like the look of the shotgun in my hands, plus his forearm was already smarting from where bone and steel collided.  He said something under his breath which I didn’t understand, glared at me, then turned to walk away.

“Come on, Lucas.  We need to get a few supplies then head on down through the Navajo Nation toward Fort Wingate.”  I hadn’t gone this far south in this area before.  Looking up at the sky I noticed it was clear, nary a cloud to be seen.  A grim smile appeared on my face as I thought, “This is goin’ to be a hot, dry day.”

We went to the livery to retrieve our horses where I started a conversation with the hostler–Benny by name.  He was an old man who had hurt himself prospecting, so decided to open a livery in Farmington.  His hair was sparse enough a fellow could run a rake through it.  But he was a happy fellow, and seemed to enjoy our company.

“Nah, them Navajos won’t give yuh no trouble.  Well, that it unless yuh have a renegade out there.  People’s no different, there’s good and bad amongst them all,” he informed us.

 “What about water?” I questioned.

He rubbed his chin several times.  “Yuh need to ride west about fifteen miles ’til yuh come to the Chaco River.  There’s a trail down along the river, but at times yuh’ll have to take a detour around some canyons and small gorges, but yuh’ll soon come back to the river,” he said, then scratched his head before pulling on his ear.  “Yuh can go further west, there’s a decent road there goin’ down to Wingate.  A couple of springs along the way that yuh should be able to get to by the end of each day.  I reckon from here yur ’round one hundred twenty miles from the Fort.”

I gave him an extra dollar and told him to come down to Durango some day.  I’d treat him to the best pie he’s ever eaten.  Then Lucas and I took our leave and headed toward the mercantile.  We bought a few supplies plus some bacon, flour, extra coffee.  They had some beans in a can so I purchased a few of them, and also some canned peaches.  It’s hard to imagine the changes that are taking place.  Canned fruit and vegetables; a few years ago who would have ever thought.

Lucas loaded up the pack horse as I watched over him making sure it was done right.  It was time for him to be learning some things about living on the trail.  While he was doing the job I glanced around the town and noticed the burly man across the street by a saloon.  He was leaning against the post and I noticed that he would look at us from time to time.

When Lucas tied off the load, he looked at me smiling, “Did I do good?”

I pulled on the ropes, looked over the burden and nodded.  “Let’s mount up and head down the trail.  It’s goin’ to get hot quick.”

Two hours later we reached the Chaco and headed south following the well-worn trail.  Another hour and we came to a small village of a half dozen hogans that was not far from the turnoff and the kids waved at us as we traveled by.  

After passing by the village we continued for another half hour before I pulled over by the river to stop for a spell.  Lucas gathered up some sticks and built a fire so we could have some coffee.  I opened a can of beans with my knife and then one of the cans of peaches.  We’d eat light and then fix some biscuits and bacon for supper.  

“What is wrong, Senor Miles?” asked Lucas.  “You constantly look back where we come from.”

I smiled, “Lucas, it’s always good to check your backtrail for two reasons.  One is that goin’ back the same way things don’t look the same, so you want to get it in your mind.  The other reason is that you may find that someone is following you.”  I pointed, “See that little swirl of dust?  We have someone following us.”

He looked quickly to where I was pointing, then at me with a question on his face.  

“We’ll travel a few more hours and make an early camp.  Have a good supper, and see if our travelin’ companion will take a notion to make a visit,” I told him.  “Let’s finish up here and get movin’.”

The Saga of Miles Forrest

by Ira Paine, Posted on

We arrived too late in the evening for me to send a telegram to Marta. The place hadn’t changed much since the last time I had traveled to Farmington. That was about four or five years ago. A couple new saloons, some signs changed, more Anglo than in the past.

     I sat in the saddle looking around pondering the situation. The region was pretty dry, so that would mean a dry camp, or we could spend the night in the hotel.

     “Senor, is there something wrong? You’ve been shaking your head,” inquired Lucas.

     “No,” I replied with a laugh. “Just thinkin’ how my Molly has spoiled me over the years.”

     Now he gave a laugh. “That is for sure. She makes you a pie almost every day .”

     That deserved a scowl, so I gave him one. “Not every day!”

     My reply only made him laugh harder.

     “Let’s get the horses put up. Remember not to call me ‘Marshal,'” I ordered. “I don’t want anyone to know who I am.”

     At the livery the hostler looked us over. “What yur doin’ with a Mex kid?” he asked.

     I didn’t care much for his attitude, but I didn’t want to make him mad and not take care of the horses so I simply replied, “Travelin’.”

     “He is my uncle,” spouted Lucas. “His brother married my mother. They are dead–Apaches. He now is taking care of me.”

     The look I gave Lucas, well I hoped the hostler didn’t see it. “Lucas, you can sure tell a whopper,” I thought to myself.

     “Tough kid,” responded the man taking the reins of Two-Bits. “Apaches are mean critters. I had a run in with them when I lived down at Lordsburg. One reason I moved up to this part of the Territory.”

     I took care of Hawk while Lucas began to unload the pack animal, the hostler already had the saddle off Two-Bits. “All right to leave my gear here?”

     “Shouldn’t be a problem, though I can’t guarantee it,” he stated. “I sleep here and keep the door locked so reckon it will be all right.”

     He looked at the shotgun in my hand. “Yuh always carries that thing around?”

     Looking in his direction, I replied. “Can’t hardly go to sleep without it by my side. It’s just reassurin’ company.”

     Nodding, I put my hand on Lucas’ shoulder to guide him out. “Cantina across the street serves good food,” came a holler from back in the stalls.

     We ate then went to get a room at the hotel. Lucas had never stayed in one before so it was an experience for him.

     The night went by slowly, but I noticed that Lucas didn’t have any trouble sleeping. That’s just not right; he should have a guilty conscience for running off and telling that big lie to the hostler. Morning came and I reckoned the bedbugs didn’t get me. I woke Lucas and we went out to eat breakfast at the cantina; I had huevos rancheros on my mind. Well, they had eggs–they must have been quail or from pullets they were so small. But the tortillas, fresh side, and beans were good.

     From there we went to the telegraph office. Lucas stayed outside while I went in to send a telegram to Marta. At least I wouldn’t have to hear her chew me out. “Marta–Lucas is with me–I take care of him–Miles.”

     I paid the operator and as I turned I heard, “Kid, get out of my way!” Then heard the sound of Lucas bouncing off the office wall.

     Sighing I went out…