Gold on the Hoof

by Peter Grant

  “Glad to have you along.” Walt couldn’t help adding, with a grin, “You’ll be workin’ your butts off in the saddle for the next three months, so I ain’t sure you’ll want to ride north to Kansas again anytime soon.”

  Jess laughed. “If it pays well enough, we’ll be there.”

  “This’ll pay well enough, if we get it right. Did you have any trouble gettin’ enough hands?”

  “Not at the wages you’re offerin’, an’ bonuses to boot if it all works out. In winter lots o’ cowhands are laid off until the spring roundups, so we could take our pick o’ the best around Gainesville. Tyler’ll bring another ten with him when he meets you at Fort Clark in a few weeks.”

  Walt rubbed his hands – or rather, his hand and his claw – briskly together. “That’s great! I’ll need every one o’ them. I’ll call everyone together as soon as Pablo gets here, which should be any time now, and he’ll tell us what’s gonna happen next.”

  That very evening, as they were filling their plates with roast goat meat, beans and cornbread, Pablo and a dozen Mexican vaqueros rode wearily up to the farmhouse. As he climbed down from the saddle, Walt hurried to meet him.

  “Pablo! Good to see you, amigo. There’s lots o’ food. Come eat, all of you, and we’ll talk once you’ve got that inside you.”

  “Thank you, señor. My stomach was just asking me whether my throat had been cut!”

  After the meal, while the new arrivals introduced themselves to the others and everyone relaxed over steaming enamel mugs of coffee, Pablo followed Walt into the farmhouse to report back. “It is done, señor,” he began. “Everything is as you wished. I have made the grand circle from El Paso down to Chihuahua. From there I sent riders further south to Torreón, then across to Saltillo and Monterey. They will meet you at Fort Clark at the end of this month, to guide you. From Chihuahua I turned west to Hermosillo, then north to Nogales in Arizona, then east to come back here. Along the way, I sent riders to every town on either side of the trail, to pass the word of your interest in horses, and set up these horse fairs where they must bring them.” He handed over a list.

  “You’ve been workin’ real hard,” Walt observed, impressed, as he glanced over the list. “From the ranch, all that way, then back to El Paso… that’s gotta be near on two thousand miles if it’s an inch! You’ve been in the saddle more’n three months.”

  “Si, señor. I bought new horses in Hermosillo, because those we started with were too worn out to continue, even though we took good care of them. My nalgas are asking sorrowfully what they have done to offend me, to make me treat them so badly.” Both men laughed.

  “You tell your backside it can rest for a few months now. You’ll be in charge here, receivin’ the hoss herds, letting the Army inspect them, and handing them over in exchange for Government payment drafts. After that, they’re the cavalry’s problem.”

  “I cannot tell you how much I look forward to staying in one place for a while, señor! However, you will be covering almost as much distance yourself during that time.”

  “And I ain’t lookin’ forward to it, believe me! Still, if we make as much money as I hope we will, it’ll be worth it.”

  “And get your breeding stock for your ranch as well, señor.”

  “Yeah. That, too. All right, bed your men down in the tents outside. Tomorrow, you’ll tell everyone what’s gonna happen, and we’ll split them up into teams.”

  The following morning, Pablo used whitewash to paint a large square on the outer wall of the barn. The thin liquid dried quickly in the cold breeze, and he spent an hour drawing on it with burned sticks, making a map of northern, central and western Mexico. At last, satisfied, he called everyone together. Walt came to the front, and stood with him as he laid out the schedule for the next few months.

  “We have arranged horse fairs in these towns,” and he rattled off their names and the dates as he pointed to them on the map. “One of our teams will be in each town on that date, and for up to a week afterwards. Those who wish to sell horses know to meet them there. They or their riders may help you drive the horse herd to El Paso. The team leaders will hire more vaqueros at each place if they need them.

  “Our Navajo scouts will be divided, one to each team. They will scout for grazing and water on the way down, and guide the herds to them on the way back. Each herd will follow a different route, so that they do not eat the grass those coming behind them will need. Being winter, there will not be good grazing, so we must be very careful about that.

  “Each team will make two trips south and back again. The first will be deep into Mexico, to Hermosillo, Chihuahua and towns around them. I expect you will return from there with your horse herds by the end of February. At that time, you will go out again to towns nearer the border, to buy from farmers and ranchers there. You should be back from those trips by the end of March or early April. I think each team should be able to buy at least a hundred good horses at each stop, and perhaps more if all goes well.

  “While we are doing that based out of El Paso, señor Ames will take his teams to Fort Clark, where more cowhands will join him. He will take them south to Monterrey and Saltillo, on the eastern side of Mexico. They will do there what we will be doing here. Because of the much greater distance, his teams will make only one trip down and back, but there are many horses in that part of the country, so they may be able to buy more there than we can here. They will deliver them to Fort Clark, then señor Ames will return here by the end of April.”

  Pablo fielded questions and comments for a few minutes, then handed over to Walt. He stepped forward, looking around the group of almost sixty men. “I told those of you who rode with me that this was gonna be the hardest-workin’ winter you’d ever known. Now you know what I mean!” Laughter, mingled with groans and half-hearted protests, greeted his words.

  “You’ve all got your strings of horses, and you’re gonna work them real hard. If you find ’em gettin’ too worn out on the trail, you can use some o’ the horses you’re bringin’ back: but remember, we can’t sell ’em to the Army if they get worn out too. Pick a different horse every day, and never ride the same one for two days runnin’. Keep them in good condition. That also means you can’t drive them hard or fast. The grazin’ won’t be good in winter, so let ’em travel slowly enough to eat what there is. Don’t try to make more than twenty miles a day.

  “The team leaders will have enough money to pay for what you need in the way of supplies, and to pay for the hosses. Team leaders, there’s one new thing. If the sellers want payment in gold, I’ll pay at most six dollars per horse. If they want more, it’ll be in greenbacks, not gold.

  “Bandidos may try to steal some of the horses. If they do, stop ’em any way you have to. If any get killed, bury ’em deep, then drive the hoss herd over the graves so no-one can tell where they lie. We picked up some Winchester rifles from Comancheros on the way south. If you don’t have one, see your team leaders, and we’ll see how far these go around. If there ain’t enough, look for more from anyone who attacks you. I reckon some of them will have ’em.

  “If you fight bandidos, don’t bother reportin’ that to local lawmen, ’cause there probably won’t be any! Only exception to that is the Guardia Rural, the Mexican federal police. They patrol nearer the border, and in areas where bandidos are thick on the ground. They’re hard men, and they don’t play games, so be straight with them. Pablo’s told ’em we’ll be comin’, and I’ll be givin’ the team leaders letters confirming that you’re all with me, so that should help to sort out any problems.”

  Pablo stepped forward. “Amigos, listen to señor Ames,” he warned sternly. “The Guardia has a custom called ley fuga, the ‘law of flight’. It means that someone might be shot while trying to escape, even if he was not. It saves the time, trouble and cost of taking prisoners to a court for trial, you understand?” Heads nodded. “Do not try to fool the Guardia, treat them with respect, and do not try to bribe them. If you try to push them arou
nd, they will treat you the same way they treat bandidos.”

  Walt nodded. “For the same reason, make darned sure you get a signed bill of sale for every hoss before you head for El Paso. Also, put my brand on every animal you buy, right away. If the Guardia stop you, they’ll want proof you bought them all legally. You don’t want them to think you’re hoss thieves. Ain’t no future in that!” Another loud rumble of agreement.

  “All right. We’ll head out in three days from now. You got that long to go over your gear, buy anything you need, an’ get ready. If any of you need an advance on your wages, see me tonight. Make sure your hosses are in good condition, and feed ’em plenty of oats an’ bran to build ’em up. Have them re-shod at the blacksmith in town if you need to. We’ve got a lot o’ miles to cover before we meet again.”

  Walt took the team leaders into the house for a private meeting, to make sure they knew what he expected of them. They discussed the division of the men into teams, and assigned a group to each leader, making sure that the Navajo scouts, Walt’s ranch hands, Vicente’s mesteñeros, the cowboys from northern Texas, and the Mexican vaqueros were evenly divided. Walt handed out sheets of paper listing the Army’s criteria for its horses, and warned the leaders to reject any animal that did not meet or exceed them.

  “There’s two branding irons per team,” he said, pointing at them in a corner of the room. “My ranch brand is Rafter A. Brand each horse on the same day you buy it, and make sure to cancel any older brands by puttin’ a diagonal line through ’em with a running iron. One more thing. I want good breeding stock for my ranch; mostly mares, but a few stallions too. No geldings, o’ course!” The men laughed. “If you see a real good hoss, one that’s well above the average, I want you to lightly underline the Rafter A brand – lightly, meanin’ singe the hair off, not burn the skin – with a running iron. That’ll tell Pablo that he shouldn’t sell it to the Army, but keep it for me. I don’t expect you’ll find more than one horse in twenty that good, but I won’t complain if you do.” Laughter. “Pablo will choose others that catch his eye as they pass through here. The hair’ll grow out in a few months, leavin’ just the Rafter A brand behind.”

  It was cold and clear on the morning of their departure. Pablo and two of his vaqueros stood by the farmhouse, sipping hot coffee, as their compatriots mounted, settled themselves in the saddle, and prepared to move out.

  Walt shook Pablo’s hand. “I’ve left plenty of money, gold and greenbacks, on deposit at Fort Bliss with the commanding officer. He knows you have the right to draw anything you need. As soon as the Army’s accepted each group o’ hosses, the commanding officer will give you a U.S. Government draft for them, which you can deposit with the Wells Fargo agent until I get back. We’ll take all the drafts back to Fort Union and cash ’em there. Make sure the draft is for payment in gold dollars, not greenbacks – that’s part o’ the deal I made with the Army buyer at Fort Union.”

  “I will, señor.”

  “All right, amigo. I’ll see you in three or four months.”

  “Stay safe, señor Ames.”

  “I’ll surely give that a whirl, Pablo.”

  Walt swung into the saddle, and turned to face the men. “Everyone ready?” A chorus of “No!”, “Hell, no!” and “You gotta be kiddin’!” came back, and he laughed.

  “All right. Teams for central and western Mexico, off you go. Good luck to you!”

  More than three-quarters of the riders moved out, taking with them two extra horses per man plus twenty pack horses. They raised a cloud of dust as they turned towards the bridge over the Rio Grande between El Paso and Paso del Norte, gateway to the south.

  Walt waited until the road was clear and the dust had begun to settle, then turned to the men accompanying him to Fort Clark. “Ready? Then let’s ride!”

  6

  Twenty-two days after leaving El Paso, Walt led his men into Fort Clark. They looked around curiously as they rode their horses towards the administration building. The fort had no perimeter wall. It was a cluster of buildings around an enormous parade ground, offering enough space for an entire regiment of cavalry and its supporting units to assemble.

  Walt left his men outside while he went to find the adjutant. He reported his arrival, and added, “Fort Union said they’d wire Colonel Mackenzie and ask whether there was a barracks available for us for a few days, since we’re goin’ into Mexico on Army business.”

  “Yes, we got their message,” the adjutant, a young-looking lieutenant, replied. “How many men did you bring, and what sort? Cowhands? Scouts?”

  “It’s a mixed group; ranch hands, some white, some black and some Mexican, and a few Navajo Indian scouts. We’re meetin’ more cowhands from Gainesville, who’ll join us here at the beginning of next month.”

  The lieutenant pursed his lips. “You’ll have to keep your men in hand. We’ve got white and black soldiers here, plus a company of Seminole scouts. We’ve had some trouble between the different groups before. Colonel Mackenzie cracked down real hard on that, and he won’t stand for any more.”

  “I’ll make sure my men understand that,” Walt promised. “They’re all pretty tired. We rode all the way from Colorado to El Paso, then across southern Texas to get here. We’ll spend most of our time catchin’ up on sleep, I promise you!”

  “Did you pass through the Texas Panhandle or the Staked Plains?”

  “We went to Fort Union first, in New Mexico, then cut across the Panhandle to join the Comanche Trail. We followed it south, past the Palo Duro Canyon, then through the Llano Estacado to Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos River. We were checking the grazing conditions for our return trip. At the Crossing, we turned west to El Paso.”

  “Did you see any sign of Indians?”

  “A few tracks of unshod ponies here an’ there, but nothin’ to speak of. We ran into some Comancheros, though. They were fixin’ to trade rotgut whiskey an’ guns to Injuns.”

  “Did they make trouble for you?”

  “No, we made trouble for them. Killed ’em all, destroyed their whiskey, an’ took their guns.”

  “Colonel Mackenzie will want to hear about that. He’s busy right now, but can you be back here at two this afternoon?”

  “Sure, if you’ll let me settle my men in their barracks first, and show us where to put our horses.”

  “Of course. Come with me.”

  The barracks was a long, cold, cheerless stone building, with twenty beds set along each wall, no more than bare planks on an iron frame. They had no mattresses, sheets or blankets, but Walt assured the adjutant that his men would use their bedrolls. The adjutant promised, “I’ll tell the quartermaster sergeant to bring mattresses, and fuel for the stoves, too.”

  The two big cast-iron stoves at either end of the barracks were soon glowing red, and his men warmed themselves over their heat with grateful sighs. The quartermaster sergeant hadn’t provided enough fuel to keep them that way, so Walt had a word with him. Money changed hands, leading to a sudden and dramatic increase in the fuel supply, enough to keep the stoves burning twenty-four hours a day. Walt moved his gear into one of the tiny rooms intended for a corporal or sergeant, then left the men to relax while he returned to the administration building.

  Colonel Ranald Mackenzie was younger than Walt had expected. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was an imposing officer, with a strong command presence that made Walt instinctively stiffen to a brace as he was introduced. The Colonel noticed at once. “Were you in the Army, Mr. Ames?” he asked as they shook hands.

  “Yes, sir, but not yours,” Walt replied with a half-smile. “I wore gray during the War.”

  “What outfit?”

  “I started in the Second Tennessee Cavalry, and transferred to the First Virginia after I was sent there with an urgent message. Finished out the war with them. I was a scout and courier, sir.”

  “What rank?”

  “Sergeant, sir.”

  “I see. I daresay that background has he
lped you out west. Scouting is a challenge anywhere, but a good scout in one region can soon learn to be a good scout in another.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s been my experience, anyway.”

  “Your reputation precedes you, of course. That shot you took at Hunting Wolf in 1866 has become something of a legend. You blew his medicine bundle clean out of his hands at half a mile, if the stories are true.”

  “Ah… not exactly, sir. It was more like five hundred yards, and my sights were set too high. I was aiming at his chest. I just got lucky.”

  Mackenzie laughed. “Well, stories grow with the telling, and you did hit it, after all – and then killed him for good measure. I understand you impressed Satank, too.”

  “Yes, sir. He gave me my Indian name, ‘Brings The Lightning’.”

  “He was a murderous savage, and I’m glad he’s dead, but he was a brave leader for all that. Now, my adjutant tells me you had a run-in with some Comancheros on the way here. Where and when? What happened?”

  Walt spent some time describing the engagement, showing the Colonel on his wall map where it had occurred. “We left their bodies where they lay,” he concluded. “We took all the weapons and destroyed all the whiskey. I would’ve burned the rest, but that would’ve made smoke that might have attracted Injuns before we could get clear, so I left it there instead. I reckoned they’d loot it when they found it, but probl’ly not try to follow us.”

  “That was sensible. I’m glad you dealt with them so severely. Comanchero traders help support and sustain the Indian tribes, to our cost when we have to fight them. At least that’s one batch of repeating rifles we won’t have to face!”