Hickory Jack (Ben Blue Book 1)

by Lou Bradshaw

  I asked him how he took his sheep or wool to market. I wondered about another exit. He told me that he used to use the pass where the houses were, but the three brothers wouldn’t let him, so he went over the mountains, which took much longer. He said they shot at him once, and he was just biding his time to get a good shot at them, but his eyes were not young anymore.

  I told him that he could come and go through the pass anytime he wanted. That I wouldn’t shoot at him or his grandson or his burro.

  Then he said that it was time to smoke with his new friend, and the boy produced a long pipe and a pouch. He said, “Navajo don’t smoke the pipe like other peoples do. But I, Rubio likes to smoke, so maybe Rubio is Cheyenne some time.” Then he stoked the pipe and lit it with a twig from the fire and handed it to me. I took it and drew a good puff. Then of course, I choked and coughed… and coughed. The old man acted as if he didn’t noticed, but the boy was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

  I asked, “You called yourself Rubio, is that your name?”

  He seemed embarrassed because, he hadn’t given me his name until now. “Si,” he said, “the Spanishmen called me Rubio when I was small because of my red head band.” He raised his finger to the faded pink cloth. “I call my grandson Nińo because that is what he is. When he is a man, I will call him Hombre, and he will be.”

  He asked if there was anything that he might do that would cause me anger. I said, “About the only thing that would upset me, would be to find out you were putting cow meat in that stew pot.” He laughed and made a show that he would never do that. Then I said, “Seriously, Rubio, you come and see me if the stew gets thin and you go hungry. We will hunt or we will work something out. If we need to butcher a beef we will.”

  With that, I took my leave and took the trail down to the lower valley and then to the big valley floor to continue my exploration. Just before dark, I made camp by a small stream below the big mountain. I reckoned that I was directly across from my cabin, but about ten or twelve miles away. Brownie was picketed in some lush grass close enough to get my attention if anything comes prowling around. So after a good meal of bacon and some hard biscuits washed down with strong coffee, I rolled up in my blankets with my saddle for a pillow and slept.

  As soon as the sky was turning gray, I was up rekindling last night’s fire. Then it was some good strong coffee and a few of hard biscuits and jerky. Thinking about it, I determined that there weren’t many things I wouldn’t eat. I just wasn’t a picky eater. If you’d put enough salt and pepper on it, I’d probably eat a saddle blanket.

  Brownie was feeling his oats, and gave me a few jumps and humps to let me know how happy he was to have me on his back. I stayed there because it made him so happy. Soon we were on our way around the valley again. At the foot of the big mountain there were any number of canyons leading off into unknown depths. I figured that these would surely be box or blind canyons because I couldn’t imagine any of them working their way through that monstrous hunk of rock. I would imagine that most of them would stay snow free through the winter. The same would be true for those to the north. The mountains there would keep the north wind from dumping a lot of snow in that area.

  As I circled the northern part of the valley I could see cattle aplenty. Most of them wearing Domingo’s brand, but there were enough wearing MB connected to give me a little thrill up my spine. They might be dumb ugly beast, but they were my dumb ugly beasts eating my grass.

  When I approached the cabin I rode up along the slope behind it to see the best place to get deadfalls for firewood or posts. There were plenty to choose from, all I needed to do was rope ‘em and snake ‘em. I’d have to see which of my horses was most suitable for the job. I came off the slope south of the ranch yard, and the first thing I noticed was fresh wagon tracks.

  At first, I was a little shocked, and then I remembered Juan saying he’d have a haying crew come over. That must be what was going on. I rode on up to the house. I could see where the wagon had stopped at the door, and the horses had stood there long enough to trample the grass. I guess the vaqueros stopped to see if I wanted to get in on the fun. Back on the farm, I’d have run and hid from that hateful sweaty job, but now that I was bigger and stronger I kinda longed to have a scythe in my hands. Besides, I was afraid all this loafing and elegant eating was gonna make me fat. Folks would be saying, “There goes old big belly Blue.” I couldn’t have that.

  I road Brownie on over to the corral and stripped the saddle, and gave him a little rubdown with a tow sack. He sort of liked it. With a slap on the rump he joined the others, I presume to tell them all about his mountain climbing prowess.

  Walking back to the cabin, I noticed quite a few tracks. There were boot tracks and tracks from at least one ridden horse.. Maybe two. The porch had traces of mud and dirt, which weren’t there yesterday. Not that I spent any time sweeping it off, but it wasn’t used enough to gather that much dirt.

  I slowly opened the door and peeked in and closed it quickly.

  Chapter 30

  I stepped back and quickly looked around to make sure it was my cabin. It was. My horses were in the corral, my view of the mountains, and my barn stood where I’d left it, but that wasn’t my cabin in there. I opened the door a crack and peeked in again, and then eased my way inside.

  There was a table that wasn’t anything like the table that used to be in there; this one had all the legs it was supposed to have, and they were all the same size and shape. There was a shelf over the washstand and all my food stuff was on it along with some dishes. I’d been using my tin plate and cup that was my camp gear. They didn’t seem to care if they were being used inside or under a pine tree somewhere. Some of those plates were a bit chipped and one of the cups was missing a handle, but they sure looked good on that shelf.

  There wasn’t a stove before, and there wasn’t one now but the hearth was all cleaned and handsome with three pots and a skillet hanging on it. In the other room, where I usually didn’t keep anything but my extra truck, like a bridle, moccasins, sheepskin coat, and the like. Well now, there was an honest to goodness bed in there, with a mattress and bedding. There was a little table with a coal oil lamp, and a shelf with my meager library of books on it. There were pegs driven into the log walls for hanging things on. And… there was a curtain on the window.

  On that little table tucked under the lamp, was a folded piece of paper. I picked it up and started to read,

  Dear Mr. Ben Blue:

  A few friends, Linda and Maggie Tucker from the Rockin’ J, my grampa, your handsome brother, and I came by to surprise you with a welcome party. You weren’t here, so we did as much mischief as possible and left. You’ll find the floors clean along with everything else. Keep them that way. I would suggest that you go out and find yourself a squaw to keep house for you, being the red headed heathen that you are.

  Yours Truly,

  Miss Patricia Anne Stellars

  I was just overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to say, well, there wasn’t anyone to say it to anyway. In a way, I was kinda glad that I was gone when they came because I sure would have made a complete fool of myself had I been here. Everywhere I looked, I saw something that I hadn’t seen before, it was just too good to be true. From now on, I would have to start thinking about this as the house and not the cabin.

  After putting together a fire and fixing myself a decent supper, I sat down at the table and told the one person I knew who would be as happy as I was over my good friends and two I didn’t even know, in the form of a letter to Father Paul. I also told him about how helpful his Father had been and of my new friends Juan Domingo and Rubio.

  The next morning, I threw a saddle on that little blue roan to see what kind of horse he was. He was ready to go as soon as my behind hit the saddle and he didn’t show any signs of wanting to let up. He didn’t have the stride that Brownie had, but my butt didn’t take a beating either. He was quick and agile, and would probably be good with cattle. We would
see.

  When I reached town, my first stop was the freight office, where I learned that Miguel was expected today. I asked Manuel, the agent and friend, to have Miguel find me if he gets in before noon. Next, I went to the Mercantile for a few things. I needed some shirts and winter long johns. I also needed some flour and coffee. While I was there, I walked to the far end of the counter and mailed my letter to Father Paul. Still feeling rather good about my good fortune, I opened the envelope and folded a ten dollar bank note into it. He would know what it was for. I had sent him a hundred dollars when my Missouri money was deposited in the Taos bank. I’d sent it for the poor box in the name of Maria Magdalena.

  As I left the store, I was asking myself what in the world I was thinking, just casually dropping ten dollars in an envelope for people I didn’t even know. I decided that I should have made it twenty. Maybe next time.

  My next stop should be the bank; it had been a long time since breakfast, so I decided to go across the street to that little eating place. I just wanted to see if they had anything that could stave off starvation, like a big slab of pie. It didn’t matter what kind as long as it was big and sweet. So I tied my purchases on behind the saddle and left the roan at the hitch rail. The sun had come out from behind the clouds and it was warming up nicely.

  A big quarter of an apple pie and three cups of coffee filled me up and made me think that I may never eat again. Sitting there with the sun coming through the front window, I felt myself getting real lazy. I finally forced myself to get up and get out. Looking down the street at the bank, which was all of two blocks away, I thought I might as well ride to keep from wearing down the heels of my boots on the rough boardwalk planks. Sometimes I felt like a genius with that kind of reasoning.

  So I climbed on that horse and jogged on down the street. I hadn’t come up with a suitable name for the roan yet, so I didn’t address him by name. I’d thought about calling him Blue, but I might get him confused with myself. I could see all kinds of problems stemming from that.

  That’s what was running through my mind as I approached the bank. When I got near, I got a bad feeling about the fella settin his horse just a little up from the bank door. The fact that he was wearing a duster and a scarf on such a nice warm day wasn’t what started me suspecting something. It was the fact that he was dressed like that and holding the reins of two saddled horses. I just pulled up about ten yards past the bank, got down, started fussing with the cinch, and slipped my express gun out of my bed roll behind the saddle. I had intended to leave it at the sheriff’s office for Andy.

  I didn’t have to wait more than half a minute, till those two fellas that were meant to those saddled horses came boiling out of the bank with masks and bags and guns. I said, “You boys just stop where you are!” They both swung around toward me and the stupidest one sent a bullet over my head. I pulled one of my triggers, and he slammed into the front of the bank. The other one stopped, but the horse holder acted like he wanted to make a run for it, so I pointed the other barrel at him. “I can only get one of you, so which one will it be… you decide.” They both just kind of settled down. About that time, the door opened and out come the banker and a teller with rifles.

  I asked the teller if he’d run down and get the sheriff or the marshal. I really didn’t care which, as long as he hurried. I didn’t want to shoot another one. Mr. Clagg, the banker, was ready to do some shooting of his own, and from the cut on the side of his head, I’d say he had reason. I walked around my horse and started taking artillery and gun belts from those boys. I made the one holding the horses get down and sit on the ground. Then I made the other one sit down too. It’s hard to take off running when you’re flat on your butt with your legs out in front of you. Mr. Clagg still wanted to shoot someone, but he contented himself by picking up bags of money.

  The teller came chugging back with the sheriff chugging right behind him. “What the hell’s going on here?” the sheriff blustered.

  Clagg proceeded to tell the sheriff all about it, and how the dead one had whacked him with a six-gun. They had come in with a rush and the dead one made him open the safe while the other one kept an eye on the teller and out the door. Then they scooped up the bags and shot out of there. By the time the teller had gotten Clagg on his feet they heard the shot and the boom.

  The sheriff went over to the dead one and identified him as Pete Fellows and the horse holder as Deke Masters, they were both well known. Then he asked the other man who he was, and the man said he was Bob Smith.

  Sheriff Nelson looked at me and said, “Red, I want you to stick that blunderbuss in Master’s belly. Then I’m going to ask what this fella’s name is. Now if he says Bob Smith, you shoot him.” It turned out that his name was Clell Taylor. He was also well known but not in Taos.

  Nelson sent for the undertaker, then we marched those bank robbers down to the jail, with him walking behind with my reloaded shotgun and me leading the horses. I’d just hung all three gun belts on the first saddle horn I came to and took off walking behind the sheriff.

  At the jail, the jailer searched them for any hideout weapons and found a few, and then Nelson put them in a cell and turned the key with a loud click. When we got to the outer office, he was chuckling. He said, “Red, hee hee, I had that lock rigged to make that God awful noise. It usually brings those boys down to earth in a hurry.”

  He started shuffling through some flyers in a file drawer and said, “I suppose you got some reward money coming. From what Marshal Stewart told me, you boys practically made a livin off a reward money. A couple of purty successful bounty hunters. Yeah… here it is.” He closed the drawer holding three wanted posters. “Whoopee!” he shouted, “No wonder that Taylor didn’t want to be known. He shot up a bank in Socorro, an killed the wife of a pretty big shot rancher a doin it. There’s a thousand dollars on him. Looks like he’ll be traveling and hanging. The others are worth five hunnerd each.”

  “What made you take a hand in that shebang at the bank? Most folks would have just come a running for a badge, but you stood to ‘em. What possessed you boy?”

  “What those fellas don’t think about, is that it ain’t just some rich banker’s money.” I told him. “That money belongs to a whole bunch of people, and most of ‘em can’t afford to lose any of it. And a chunk of that money was mine. Maybe not one of the bigger chunks, but it was mine.”

  “Maybe,” he said, “I hired the wrong brother for a deputy. You interested? I like the way you work and think.”

  “No thanks, Sheriff. I think you’ll find that you made the best choice already. I got about eighty or so square miles of range to turn into a ranch. Don’t worry, Andy will do you a good job. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and makes good decisions. He used to be awful sudden, but he’s outgrown that. You saw that when he settled things with Turkey and that other idiot. In the old days, there’d be two new graves up on boot hill. After all he’s had some good teachers. What Jasper Stewart didn’t teach him… I did.”

  “Now, tell me, Red, you boys ain’t really brothers are you? And ain’t you got another name besides Red?”

  I laughed and told him, “Yes sir, it’s Ben… Ben Blue and you’re right we’re no kin at all. I was raised by his ma and pa after my whole family died of the fever, and we just always thought we were brothers. There’s not much we wouldn’t do for one another.”

  Nelson said he’d let me know about the reward money when it came through. I got out of my chair and left, suddenly feeling the effects of all that went on.

  When I came out into the sunlight, I had to let my eyes get adjusted to the glare. I almost walked into a buckboard and team sittin at the edge of the boardwalk. I’ll blame it on the glare, but secretly, I had just ended another life and made way for another to hang and one to probably spend the rest of his life in misery.

  I looked up at the buckboard and the passengers sitting on the seat to see Patty and Sam Stellers lookin’ back at me. Patty looked about the way I
felt. Her face was as pale as I had ever seen it, and she was dabbin her red eyes. I knew better than to make notice of it.

  Sam cleared his throat and said, “You all right boy? We was at the Mercantile when we heard the shootin’, then some feller ran in and told what had happened. He didn’t know your name, but he knew Andy and said you was his red headed brother. When we settled up and left I saw your blue horse at the hitch rail in front of the bank. So we just hooked him up and came over here to wait.”

  Patty made an attempt to say something but faltered and finally said, “Ben, you’re coming back to the ranch with us, for supper.” Then as she gained momentum, she went on, “No excuses. You just climb your heathen self up on this buckboard and we’re goin’.”

  That was the best thing she could have said to me at that time, but I still had to make connections with Miguel at the freight office. So I told them that I would catch up to them on the trail. Then I saw Miguel coming down the boardwalk.

  I said, “Never mind. This will take care of the freight office business.” and walked on up to meet him. Then I give him instructions as to what to do with the envelope. I told him to tell the clerk that it was from me, and that it was confidential. He couldn’t say confidential or personal so that they sounded like what they were supposed to represent. We finally settled on secret. Then I climbed up into the back of the wagon and sat down on a couple of sacks. Patty had got her tongue back, and she was chattering like a magpie. I could tell that most of it was a bit forced, but I sure appreciated the gesture. I was beginning to feel a lot better already.

  Chapter 31

  I told them how much it meant to me for them to come over with furniture and fixins and thanked them over and over. And I asked them to thank the other girls as well, Brenda and Nelly?

  Patty laughed and corrected me, “Linda and Maggie, and you’ll have to do your own thanking mister. Sunday at the church social. It’s a box supper. Each lady or girl prepares a box of food, and the gentlemen or heathens, as in your case, bid on the boxes so he can have supper with the person who fixed it. And you’re invited so don’t break any bones or get lost in the woods between now and then.”