by Lou Bradshaw
Later in the afternoon, I saddled my horse and rode out for the MB amid much disapproval. I wanted to be home and ready to move out early the next morning.
Chapter 42
Riding through the gap I could see old tracks, tracks of a wagon or carriage, they were probably made by Don Carlos and his party. There were many horses with the wagon tracks. There were tracks of the Domingo vaqueros, and fresher tracks made by Andy, as he came to get the sorrel.
I went up to the horse pasture, and brought Dusty out and turned the Jake horse in. Riding back to the house, I put Dusty in the corral and gave him some hay. Once inside, I built a nice fire and put some coffee on. Then I got a piece of roast from the smokehouse for my supper. I was going to have to talk to Rosa about those biscuits, mine were a poor substitute. But I made up big batch for the trail.
While waiting for the food to cook and the coffee to boil, I went over my weapons. I stripped everything down and cleaned the lot. Then I took out an extra box of .44 cartridges, and stowed it in my saddle bags. I had a full cartridge belt; everything was loaded with one in each chamber. Then I got another box of .44s because I doubted that Rubio had more than what I’d given him.
As the sun was just poking its face around the south slope of that big mountain, I was cinching Dusty’s saddle. It was chilly, so I had on a wool shirt and a buckskin hunting jacket over it. I had stowed my sheepskin with my bedroll. If we had to follow into high country, it would be cold and windy. There was already snow in the higher elevations.
Within minutes of bringing my horse to the house, Rubio rode up on the roan. I was sure happy to see him. He told me, “Niño is proud to be left alone with the sheep. He is ready to be called Hombre.”
I told him that Niño was a fine boy and would make a fine man someday. “I’d be proud to have him riding for me, when he’s old enough.”
About that time, Andy and the 2 deputies came into view. He introduced them as Carl and Tom. Carl, I had already met, but Tom was brand new. He pulled this duty on his second day on the job, but he had been a town deputy marshal over in Kansas for a few years. So he wasn’t a greenhorn. Of course, going where we would probably go, was nothing like Kansas.
Over the last of the coffee and some bacon, I laid it out for them. “Fellas, the men we are after are as vicious and deadly as any you’ve ever come across and worse than most. They won’t think twice about shooting you when you’re least expecting it. If they’ve got a clear shot they’ll take it. Poke and Gentry are wanted dead or alive in at least four states and probably more.”
“We’ve got to assume that the three men with them are cut from the same bolt of cloth. If not, then they should have chosen their friends more wisely. If they throw down their guns, take prisoners, but if Poke or Gentry throw down their guns, feel free to pull your triggers. They know there is nothing waiting for them but ropes in four states.”
I went over the list of supplies that Andy had bought, and took a side of bacon and a roast from the smokehouse to add to it. I checked Rubio’s rifle and gave him a small sack of cartridges. I asked if he would like to put a saddle on the roan, but he was fine the way it was.
It didn’t take Rubio long to pick up the right set of tracks at Pickering’s ranch yard. The trail was old and cold, but there hadn’t been any rain, and they had moved out at a gallop making no effort to hide it. We were able to follow them at a trot. Everything pointed to the northeast. There was some pretty rough country up that way. Well, it would be just as hard for them as it would be for us.
Crossing a river about ten miles due north of the MB, but we were at least twenty miles northeast of where we’d picked up the trail. We made camp that night in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristos… Blood of Christ Mountains. They sure lived up to their name when the setting sun struck their flanks.
The next morning, Rubio led us into the foot hills and into the little village of Rio Quattro. Where it got its name was a mystery to me, there wasn’t even one river there, let alone four. I guess someone had a big imagination.
Talking to the man who ran the cantina, trading post, boarding house from the same adobe hovel, I learned that five men came through last week. He couldn’t say if it was three days or ten days… just last week. They headed north east, up into the mountains. They had bought supplies, such as he had and ammunition, and had paid with gold coins. Yesterday, two of the men had come back through going the other way.
Now, what did that mean? Were they splitting up? Were those two going for more supplies and pack horses? If that was the case then they would most likely be headed into Colorado. I pressed the storekeeper, bartender, and host to describe the two who came out, but all he could remember was they were gringos. Well, that sure narrowed it down.
Talking it over with Andy and the two deputies, we generally agreed that the two who had gone were going for more supplies and pack animals. They most likely went to Questa the little mining town tucked away in the foothills to the south east.
We pressed on, and soon found the tracks of the two going in the opposite direction. They were fresher and easier to follow, and they would often override the north bound tracks. We were getting higher with every mile. Poke and Gentry were following an old Indian trail, and that meant it would lead them to higher country. I kept my eye on the back trail. It sure wouldn’t do to let those two hombres bump into us from the rear.
I didn’t know how good the fugitives were on the trail, or what kind of wilderness men they were, but for Poke and Gentry to be able to stay unjailed and unhung all these years meant they were crafty if nothing else. I trusted Rubio’s knowledge of woodcraft, but I figured Rubio to be nigh on to seventy, and he might be losing his edge. But even at his advanced age, Rubio was a better tracker than any of us, so I’d stack my chips on him.
After several hours of steady climbing we found where the two southbound horses had come from. The up bound tracks kept going north east and up. The two who were leaving, came from the north and were coming up grade, so that meant they were coming from below. That just didn’t make much sense. We stopped to think about it. I asked Rubio if the two riders were for certain part of the main bunch.
He said, “Nothing can be for sure. Main bunch tracks are several days older. Not good tracks. The newer tracks very clean.” Then he showed me a place where the new tracks had over laid the older ones, and two that he thought were from the same horse were close together. Except for the age difference, they were almost identical.
I asked Rubio what he thought, and he pointed uphill saying, “They go up.” Then swinging his hand around in a wide ark he said, “They come down.”
Of course, I concluded, another trail coming down from where they were camped. So one of them knew his way around; someone knew the country. It would stand to reason that they would also know the quickest way into Colorado and beyond. I proposed that we split up, so that we could cover both trails. Andy and I would take the left and lower trail, while the two deputies and Rubio followed the main bunch.
I figured that the trail to the right would take a slower and more gradual climb, but the newer trail would be more of an abrupt climb to the camp. The mountain we were on wasn’t a mesa, but it probably had shelves and ledges of flat rock and wind hollowed caves scattered all up and down the west face.
Chances were that we’d be slower getting to their camp than the others, so I told them to be extra careful and let Rubio be their eyes and ears. As an old Apache fighter and scalp hunter they should trust his instincts. Tom was a little impatient taking orders from a younger man, but he agreed that Rubio’s experience should account for a lot. I told them, “If you can help it, don’t let them know you’re there until we get into position. I’d like to get them in a crossfire.”
“How will we know when you’re in position?” Carl asked.
“When we get a shot we’re takin it.” Andy told him. “When you hear us shootin, be ready to let her fly.”
“But that’s just out righ
t murder.” Tom snapped.
“Okay, when the shootin starts, you yell at them to put their hands up, and get behind a rock or a tree. Whatever you do, don’t get in Carl’s way cause he’ll be busy protecting your ass.” Andy laid it on the line. “These are cold blooded bastards, who would slit your throat and eat a cheese sandwich while they watched you die.”
“Don’t worry Tom,” I told him, “after we open the ball, it will be open warfare. You’ll not be committing any kind of murder.”
“And don’t forget about those two who might be coming back up the trail any time.”
Andy and I went down, and the others with the pack horse went up. Our trail led into a deep canyon, which at some distant time was a raging water course. Within the last couple of hundred years, judging by the trees, it had changed to a seasonal stream, which dropped off to the west and down a ravine.
Riding through that canyon was enough to give a fella the willies. It was dark and gloomy. It was also oppressive. The walls went straight up on our right and straight up on our left, and there wasn’t much ground in between them. The only difference in the canyon walls was their height. The left side went up about two or three hundred feet, while the one on the right went up another couple hundred feet beyond that. Both sides were sheer rock above a hundred feet with the lower walls covered with brush, cedar, and pines. To say the least, it was inhospitable.
We rode as close as we could to the left wall seeking any cover we could manage. There were plenty of boulders and rocks strewn on the canyon floor, but nothing I’d want to hide behind with a marksman two hundred feet above my head. I guess that gave me the willies more so than the spooky gloominess of the place.
Caution had to be our watch word, since we had no idea how far we had to go or if they had lookouts posted. If they did, then we’d have to spot them before they spotted us, and since they’d more than likely be crouched behind a tree or rock, our chances of seeing them first were mighty slim. So it was slow and easy with rifles in hand for us. The hair on the base of my skull had been standing at attention ever since we started down that canyon.
A slow hour passed, and we started to climb. The hair on the back of my head got a little more upright. We came to a place that must have been a small waterfall or cascade. There was a six or eight foot drop from the higher level. We’d seen a number of those coming through the canyon, but none were more than two or three feet high. We must be getting closer and closer to where the big drop was. I figured we wouldn’t be far from their camp when we reached it.
A half mile farther along we found where the canyon was born. Right in front of us was a cut in the rock some two hundred feet above us. You could see where the water used to run down into this canyon with tremendous force, and you could also see where a landslide had dumped a million tons of rock right on top of the cut. A trail led up and to the left of the cut. Fortunately, the trail led through a timbered slope cutting wide to the left. We took it.
I nudged Dusty and he took that hill like he was on level ground. At about halfway to the top we heard a rifle shot. I gave Dusty the spurs.
Chapter 43
That dun didn’t have near the bloodlines of either of my outlaw horses. He was pure mustang and all horse. He scrambled up that steep trail like his tail was on fire. Andy’s bigger and better horse was left in the flying bits of rock and dirt. I could hear other shots coming from both sides of the rock slide, but I had no idea who was doing the shooting. Worse, I didn’t know if any our party was hurt or…
When I cleared the top, I was out of the saddle and behind cover almost immediately and looking for a target. Looking to my right, I could see the trail coming to the rock slide and following around the edge past where I was and then down and circling around the slide to my left. Finally I saw the horses off in the brush. Then I saw a rifle flash and smoke and heard the report. One of our men was shooting beyond the slide.
Working my way through the brush and boulders, I came up behind the deputies. “Ben Blue… coming in behind you.” I shouted. Carl yelled to come ahead. Andy came in shortly behind me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We come on ‘em awful sudden.” Carl told us. “Tom took the first shot right in the chest. He never knew what hit him. I got hit in the leg, and I ain’t seen the Injun since. I think they was as surprised to see us as we was to see them.”
He went on with, “After the first couple of volleys, they took off. I was just tryin a luck shot when you came up.”
I went over to see if there was anything I could do for Tom. There wasn’t. He got hit dead center… probably didn’t even hear the shot. Tough way to start a new job. I said to myself.
About that time we heard another rifle shot. “That would be Rubio.” I said.
I got a bandage on Carl’s leg and seemed to have the bleeding slowed. The bullet went through the calf without hitting any bone or big bleeders. But he wasn’t going to be any good on the trail. He’d have to go back down. With those other two coming up that was gonna be risky for a wounded man. I sure hated the idea of having to take him back and taking a chance on losing the scent.
Andy said, “Here comes your Injun, leading an extra horse.” Sure enough there was Rubio, trottin up the trail leading a horse …and carrying a fresh scalp. Apparently, he had taken the roan down the slope and picked one of em off at a switchback.
I asked him which one he had shot, but he didn’t know one from the other. All he said was, “This one.” And held up a bloody brown scalp. I didn’t give it too much of an inspection. Both Poke and Gentry had dark brown hair, and I’d not seen any of the other three.
I looked through the saddle bags and found some letters addressed to Robert Patton, with salutations of ‘Dear Buck’. So that meant that Poke and Gentry were still alive and fleeing.
I called a war council on the spot, and suggested that Rubio go with Carl and take Tom’s body back for burying. He deserved that much at least. Andy and I would forge ahead. No one had any objections or better ideas. I told Carl that if there was any reward money for Robert (Buck) Patton, it should go to Rubio. And he should keep the horse as well.
Andy had split the supplies on the pack horse and we divided the packs between us. I cautioned Carl and Rubio that there were probably two others coming up the trail. I suggested that they take the canyon trail down. After Rubio took a look at Carl’s leg, and put some pine sap on it, he re-wrapped it and they took off.
We still had at least three or four hours till sundown so we each grabbed a chunk of bread and some salt pork, and we moved out slowly, not wanting to fall into any kind of situation like what had just happened. At this point we were only minutes behind Poke and Gentry. This was no country to have a running shootout at a breakneck pace. We had to be smarter than them. I told Andy as much, and he agreed.
So we started out nice and slow. We were able to read their signs at a fast walk, but they were practically galloping. If we were lucky they’d fall over a cliff and break their damned necks. We weren’t counting on that. The only thing we could count on was each other; we hadn’t let each other down yet.
Stopping just before sundown we made a small, well concealed fire and made coffee and cooked some meat, and then we put out the fire and moved on down the trail another mile or so to make camp. I trusted Dusty to be a good watch dog, so I kept the mustang close where I could keep an eye and ear on him.
The next day we were still within striking distance of them, but anytime the trail broke into the open, we would have to keep to cover. Then we’d have to work our way around to where we wouldn’t be ducks in a shooting gallery. I figured there had been ambushes set and abandoned, when we didn’t show in the open.
Coming to another slide area where there was no way around, we had no choice but to risk being out in the open. It was loose flat rock, the kind that will slide out from under a person and send them sliding down a slope or off the edge of the world. Not wanting to take a chance on getting ourselv
es or one of the horses hurt or killed, we led them across the loose rock.
Crossing that slope was some kind of scary. Not only were we in jeopardy of a misstep and a long slide or worse, but we were pretty well out in the open. At one point, I found a place where the rock had been disturbed more than normal, and there was a smear of blood on the rocks. Had one of them fallen or one of the horses? Of course it could have been an elk or a bear, whatever it was, it had to be big enough to disturb those rocks that way. We had crossed the slope like a relay. Andy stayed back on the far side and covered me across with his rifle. As soon as I found cover, he came across.
There were no shots from Poke or Gentry. Was it possible that they weren’t watching their back trail? I was watching our back trail just in case those other two outlaws came up behind us. Was it possible that after the shootout back there that Poke and Gentry thought they had disabled the deputies so much that they had to turn back?
Following the trail back into the cover of pines and boulders, I noted that one of their horses was going lame. The bloody rocks on the slide told the story. The rider stayed on the horse until it went to its knees. Then both men were now riding the other horse and the lame one followed along behind. Poke and Gentry were getting careless. They didn’t try to cover their trail, they were moving decidedly slower. My gut feeling was they didn’t know we were even there, but they were expecting the supplies to be not far behind.
At one point that afternoon, I heard a voice raised in anger. I couldn’t tell what was said, but I got the impression that it was directed at another person and not an animal or a situation. It seemed to have come from a higher elevation and less than a quarter mile away. But in those hills and canyons, it could have come from anywhere and from a much greater distance.