by Lou Bradshaw
“My pa always said that there were three things a gambler needed to survive, good hands, a good gun, and a damned good horse. Monty taught me about everything I know, but that was his most important lesson.”
“Speakin’ of good horses,” I said, “that gray you were ridin’ when we first met is about the finest looking horse I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, Frosty, yeah he’s a dandy. I got him about a year ago running with a wild bunch. If you think he’s something, you should see his brother, a young buckskin stallion that I picked up at the same time. I got several good Arab mustang mares along with them. Then Don Carlos Vasquez sent up three blooded Arabian mares. Those were gifts from the Dona Elena for bringing her boy back. I’m letting nature take her course and hoping for the best.”
We talked for a while about horses, cattle and royal flushes. Then I pulled out my letter and started reading while Ben went back to his mail. I didn’t need to see a return address to know who the letter was from… I could smell the writer.
My Dearest Max,
Hopefully you are still my dearest Max and haven’t changed your mind about meeting me in Denver because I’ll be there waiting for you. I received a firm offer for the Plugged Nickel from the town banker, who wants to diversify as he put it. The papers are being drawn up now, and in a few days I’ll be ready to travel. I’ll be taking the stage, so I’ll probably pass you on the way.
I hope you don’t mind, but I asked a friend to look out for you as he moves his herd north. His name is Ben Blue, I knew him back in Texas. Don’t be put off by his slow and easy going manner, he and his brother, Andy, were legends back in Rivertown. Andy was a good looking rogue like you, but he picked up a reputation as a gunfighter and they started calling him Hickory Jack. Ben can be trusted, and he will stand with you no matter what.
Yours forever,
Izzy
I was surely going to have to give more thought to the many sides of Ben Blue… Hickory Jack? “Well, Ben,” I said as I folded the letter, “you sure got a glowing recommendation from Izzy. I didn’t realize that your brother Andy was Hickory Jack More.”
“The last four or five years, he tried hard to keep that information behind him and buried. He was a puncher and a deputy sheriff.”
“I’m going to ask you only one question and leave it rest… I think you prefer to think of him as Andy.”
He chuckled and said, “Yep, Dan Coleman wasn’t wearin’ nothin’ but boots, hat and a gunbelt when Andy shot him.”
“I guess you’ve been asked that before.”
Ben smiled and said, “Yep… a time or two.”
He then got up and went to the chuck wagon and came back with his duffle. Setting it on the ground, he rummaged through it for a moment, and then he pulled out the most God awful looking weapon I’d seen in a long time and strapped it on for a cross draw. Pulling it out of the holster I could see that it was a sawed off single barreled shotgun. It wasn’t quite a foot long from tip to grip. The butt had been cut down to make a grip like a pistol but not as much of an angle.
“Whenever I’m in a predicament where bullets could be flying, I always ask myself what Andy would do… Well I know what Andy would do, he’d meet it head on and let the other side know that there wasn’t goin’ to be any backin’ down. In other words, I’m puttin’ them on notice that they may get my herd, but it won’t come cheap.”
Chapter 5
“I had a double barreled ten gauge, but I loaned it to a marshal friend of mine, who was bein’ sent down to Lincoln County last year. I found an old twelve gauge single barrel for sale and got it cheap. Did the cuttin’ on this one myself, and it’s a lot less cumbersome than the double. It comes out pretty quick. I always found that there wasn’t really any use for that second barrel. By the time the smoke would clear I could either have it reloaded or be workin’ with my sixgun. This twelve gauge has a kick, but it ain’t nothin like that ten.”
“Well,” I said, “I for one wouldn’t go buckin’ that thing.”
“That’s the whole idea…. I’ve got to get a letter in the mail, so I’ll be ridin’ back to town. Kinda keep an eye on things will you.”
We got the herd moving the next morning and it was business as usual. We wore out horses keeping herd quitters from making a break for it. But that was the way of cattle drives, there was always some steer that didn’t like his neighbors, or he figured he’d be better off back on the ranch than where he was going…. If you think about it, I guess he’d be right about that. Anyway there always seemed to be one who was tryin to break ranks. Ben had a good remuda with about three horses per man. Delgado, one of the two vaqueros acted as horse wrangler. The chuck wagon was on loan from a friend of his who wasn’t shipping this year except for a few hundred, which he mixed in with the MB herd.
About five days out of Cimarron, we ran into our first bit of trouble. Ben was riding point, and I was on the flank a couple hundred yards behind and to the right. I saw what looked like five or six riders come out of a draw. I yelled back to the rider behind me to hold up, and I started moving to the left to curl them back. This didn’t look good and I didn’t want any shootin close enough to spook the herd.
As soon as we’d got them turning, I trotted up toward Ben and the others. I noticed rifles at the ready in several hands, so I loosened the thong on my sixgun. As I drew near I asked, “What’s goin on, Ben?”
Without looking at me he said, “These fellas seem to think we picked up some box S beef coming up the trail. I think they made a long ride up here for nothin’. What do you think about that?”
“I’ve seen some S-S steers mixed in, but the rest of ‘em are all MB connected. Yep. A long ride for nuthin’.” Right there in front of the rest, was my old friend John Slack, but he wasn’t doing any talking. My guess was he had a little sore throat.
About that time, Ralls rode up and Ben told him what these fellas were claiming. “They’re figuring that we’ve got close to two thousand head of box S stock. What should we do trail boss?”
Ralls sat his saddle with his hands on the horn and said, “Since they’ve got us out numbered and out gunned and they seem to think they’ve got a pretty good claim, I don’t see anything other than to let ‘em take their cattle.”
Ralls started to say something else, but Slack looked at me and rasped, “Hey! You’re that Bell fella.”
I said, “Sure am…. Ben Blue, let me introduce Mister John Slack, bad card player, knife fighter, sore loser, and coward…. He puts a bounty on business he can’t handle.”
The man who had been doing the talking said, “I’ll take him, boss, I can use that re-ward,” as he was saying it, he swung his Winchester toward me, and Ben knocked him out of the saddle with that sawed off cannon. All hell broke loose, with horses rearing and plunging. I put a bullet into one, and the rest were caught flat footed. We had the drop on them, and more riders were coming. When the dust had settled, three men sat their horses with their mouths open, but there was no sign of John Slack.
“Wrong answer, Ralls.” Was all Ben said.
The three remaining herd cutters slowly raised their hands and tossed their rifles to the ground. Ben leaned over and whispered, “When the others get here, kinda stay behind ‘em. I got a feeling that these boys may have some friends among our crew.”
Ben told the three to get down and take off their side arms and then he said, “Boys, it’s lucky for you that there ain’t any ugly trees nearby that we could decorate with your handsome selves. So I’m gonna give you a break that I learned from old Mister Jenkins back in Texas. First you take off your boots. And if you don’t then Tater here will start shootin toes off. While you’re at it, take the boots and off these other fellas too. Then you’re gonna sit right there until the herd has passed. If that man is still alive,” pointing to the one I’d shot, “you can doctor him.”
“Tater, if you would please, pick up their guns and boots and haul em back down to the chuck wagon…. Now you gents take t
he saddles off your horses and set em on the ground. Delgado, if you would please, put these horses with the remuda.”
“Now we’re gonna leave your horses and your boots about five miles up the trail. When you get there you’ll find one pistol with six cartridges in it…. Now those saddles weigh about forty or fifty pounds apiece, so do try to pace yourselves. Otherwise, you’re likely to catch a heat stroke. And I sure hate to think that you boys weren’t any smarter than these other two here, who developed a bad case of stupidity…. I got a great deal of faith in you fellas. I know you’ll think back on this someday, and just smile and say ‘That Ben Blue, sure showed me the error of my ways and taught me to quit collectin the wages of sin.”
I was beginning to see why Izzy thought so much of Ben Blue. That big overgrown bumpkin could lull you to sleep with his country boy demeanor, and then crack you in the head with a sledge hammer. I saw that shotgun in his hand when I rode up, but Slack was too busy counting his money, and that other one was too busy trying to collect that bounty… they never even considered him a threat.
Ben seemed to be about a thought and half ahead of everyone else. It was like a good gambler looking at all the show cards and figuring what every player might have in the hole and what the odds were. I didn’t think I wanted to sit across a card table from him… I sure as hell didn’t want to face him in anger.
Tate came back from the chuck wagon with a shovel and tossed it to the three outlaws. “Dig.” He told them. He checked the man I had shot and determined that he had expired so he told them, “Make it big enough for two.”
We checked their pockets and saddle bags and found some letters and other papers, which Ben put in the spokesman’s saddle bags and said he’d leave them with the next sheriff or marshal we came to. There was about forty dollars cash money between the two dead men, so he told the other outlaws to divide it up among em.
The crew went back to the herd and started them moving again. Ben, Ralls and I stayed with the prisoners until the chuck wagon came up to where we were. Ben motioned the cook to hold up. Then he turned to Ralls and said, “You gave me some pretty poor advice a little while ago. I told you that was the wrong answer, and there’s no place on this drive for someone who’s not willing to move Heaven or hell to get this herd through. So you go dig your gear out of that wagon, and get the hell out of my sight.”
“You can’t fire me,” Ralls blustered, “we had a deal to the rail head.”
“The deal we had was to get thirty five hundred head of cattle to the railroad with a tolerance of reasonably expected losses. You were willing to give up over half the herd without any more than a two bit outlaw’s say so. I don’t call that a reasonably expected loss. Now you can stand there and argue with me, and I can take a notion that’s been festering in my mind that you and John Slack were working together and go look for an ugly tree.”
“What about my men? I’ll take em with me, and you won’t have anyone to drive your herd. What’ll you do then?”
“There’s a couple of them, that I don’t want drivin my herd, I’ll give the others a chance to make their own choice…. But let this be fully understood. If I see you on my back trail, I’ll take that as a sign that you’re trying to steal the herd, and I’ll treat you as the rustler you probably are…. Now git!”
“You know of course, that he’ll just wait till we’re out of sight and join up with these boys.” I told him.
“Oh, sure, I figure that’s exactly what he’ll do, but I didn’t say we’d leave their horses tied up when we left them and their boots. In fact I might even give em a good whack on their rumps to give em some exercise. Ralls will ride up to get the horses and boots, but it’ll take him all day to get it done…. What’s your opinion of the boys in his bunch?” He asked.
“They know cattle, but they’re a pretty low grade pack of coyotes, except for Graves… that sandy haired boy. He seems to be a cut above the rest. I think the rest of them will pull out when they learn that Ralls is gone.”
“That’s why I waited for the herd to move on before I fired him.”
Then Ben did something totally unexpected, by me anyway. He walked over to the newly dug grave, removed his hat for a few seconds, and then crossed himself and put his hat back on. I’d seen plenty of Mexicans do that sort of thing, but I’d never seen a gringo do it.
When we stopped for the night, Ben sent Tate and Delgado out to be with the herd, and had all the rest of us gather around the camp fire. It was still a few hours till dark, but we’d come on to a good place to stop. Jesus, Ben and I were on one side and the four Ralls riders were seated on the other. Ben stood up and addressed us all. “Boys, after our little ruckus today, Mr. Ralls and I had a little difference of opinion, and as a result of that he’s no longer the trail boss of this drive…. I won’t bore you with details; all I want to know is how many of you are loyal to this herd and want to stay with me?”
“If you want to leave, you can get your horse and gear, draw your time, and ride out. You’ll probably find him somewhere between here and Cimarron. He’s probably with those three herd cutters… What’ll it be?”
The four men looked at each other, but none said anything, until Graves got up and said, “I like your style, boss. I’ll stay with the herd.”
The other three huddled up and held a pow wow. I couldn’t hear what was being said but they were not very happy about their circumstances. “What about you payin’ us a severance since you’re firin’ us.” Reno asked.
“I’m not firing anybody but you, Reno. You’re the one man in this outfit that I don’t want staying with the herd… I have my suspicions that you boys and that Slack bunch were working hand in glove. If I had proof of that, I’d hang the lot of you. With you first, Reno.” Then he walked to each man and handed him a small sack of coins. “Count it, get your stuff, and go… Don’t let me catch you doggin’ this herd.”
“Oh, and tell Ralls that I’d been warned and the law is on to him. He lost one too many herd owners to… eh… accidents and Injuns…. Now fork your horses and git!”
Chapter 6
The next few days found us pretty well stretched thin. We were five, doing the job of what should be ten or twelve, but we kept them moving, albeit slowly. We were coming onto Raton Pass, and if we were going to be hit by Ralls and his crowd, that would be a fine place to set it up. Leading to the pass everything was wide open, but like most mountainous country the pass itself was rugged and rough. They say there was many a busted wheel on freight wagons coming through it on the Santa Fe Trail. The herd should be all right though. It was rough, but not mountain goat steep.
They had started a settlement right at the mouth of the pass. They were calling it Raton, which means mouse or little rat… Little Rat, now ain’t that a hell of a name for a town? The town wasn’t so grown up that it blocked the entrance to the pass so we were able to take the herd around it rather than down the main and only street.
We moved the herd past the town and held up for the night rather than start the pass in the late afternoon. The grass was sufficient, and there was water nearby, so we’d lose a couple of hours of daylight, but it was for the best. Besides that, Ben wanted to give the boys a little breather and a chance to visit the cantina. His one word of warning was, “Avoid gun trouble and woman trouble.” Actually, I reckon that would have been several words of warning.
He and I rode into town first to see if there were any riders looking for work. We walked into the town’s only cantina and ordered a couple of beers. He took a couple of sips and turned to face the room. There were about nine or ten men scattered around and at the bar. They were mostly Mexicans with a few whites.
“Boys,” he said, “I got me a herd up at the pass and I need riders. If you got a horse, saddle and gun, and if you can use all three of ‘em, then I’m willin to talk about a job. If you ain’t got none of ‘em but can use all three of ‘em, don’t worry cause I got extras of ‘em.”
“I don’t care if
you’re white, brown, red, black, or Chinaman, I’m lookin for men’. If you got a friend or a brother in law that you’re wantin to get out of the house for a month, send ‘em up to the herd and ask for Ben… Blue… or Red… all the same fella… me.”
“What about someone who just got outa jail? You hirin’ convicts?” A man at the bar asked.
“That depends on what he done. I don’t abide murderers, rapers, or rustlers. But if he was one of those, then they’d have hung him not let him out. Anything else usually means he needs a better class of friends. And he won’t find any low class fellers out there with the herd.”
A man at one of the tables asked, “What happened to your crew? How come they left you?”
“That’s a good question. My trail boss and his men were just a little too friendly with a bunch of herd cutters, so I run ‘em off.”
“What about the herd cutters?”
Ben motioned to himself and me and said, “Shot a couple of ‘em and the rest are probably still lookin for their boots, guns and horses. We’d have hung ‘em if we’d had the time.”
“You’re pretty salty, ain’t ya?” Someone asked.
Ben said, “Nah… I’m a regular sweetheart, but this fella beside me is the salty one. Why that big lake over in Utah used to be sweet and clear till his horse throwed him and he fell in it. Why he’s so savage, that it’s all I can do to keep him from eating his bacon on the hoof.” That busted out the crowd, and when they were through laughin’, we signed on a puncher and a vaquero.
He told them that they could start tonight or at first light, it was his way of saying they could get at least one meal today. I reckoned he’d been hungry a time or two.
Later that evening another rider came in and asked for Ben… Blue…or Red. Ben motioned him over to the chuck wagon and was already dishing up a plateful when the boy got there. The boy was just that… a boy. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen, but that was a man in these parts.