by Dan Arnold
Ted was brave, but stupid. It was stupid to try to pull a handgun against a man armed with a shotgun. Unfortunately, it turned out that Ted Johansson had been too stupid to live. Some mistakes you only get to make once.
“We heard several shots …” I started.
“Yeah, somebody brought their horses up, and then they shot out the windows as they galloped away. We all dived for the floor.”
“Could you, any of you, identify any of the men if you saw them again?” Tom asked the group.
They all shook their heads. I could see they were overwhelmed by the events of the last few minutes.
“I’ll need descriptions as best you can give them. What can you tell us about them?” Tom asked.
I interrupted him. “I’m going to assemble a posse and get after them. I’ve got to go now, Tom.”
He nodded. “Be careful. There are at least four armed men running hard and fast.”
Outside, I learned from my deputies there were at least five men in the gang. Three had gone into the bank while one stayed outside the front door as a lookout. The fifth man had brought the horses up for the getaway. They’d fired several shots on the way out of Bear Creek, though no one other than Ted Johansson had been hit. The thieves rode east, across the tracks into the Mexican district, and who knows where after that.
“Charlie, there are five men we’re after. I want ten men in the posse. You and Ed will be in charge. Pick seven more good men, get provisioned, and y’all meet me at the rodeo grounds. I’m not waiting. I’m going to get mounted and get after them right now.”
“Don’t you want to wait till we get organized?” Buckskin Charlie asked.
“I’ll be on their trail in fifteen minutes; it’ll take you nearly an hour to pull it all together. If you can’t get seven men deputized, armed, provisioned, and ready, real fast like, y’all come on with however many you can.”
***
The bricks of Line Street stopped at the railroad tracks. From here east, the dirt road went on through the part of town where most of the working folks lived. This was also the part of town where the old Catholic mission church was, and where the Mexican families lived. Going out of town on this road you would shortly come to the rodeo grounds, which we were now calling the fairgrounds, and the site of the new hotel being built.
A little more than twenty minutes after the robbery, I was following the fresh tracks of galloping horses headed east toward the fairgrounds.
Tracking is a learned skill. I learned to track from my friend Yellow Horse. Yellow Horse is half Comanche and half Cherokee. He and I worked for Charlie Goodnight down in Texas, and Yellow Horse had scouted for D Company of the Texas Rangers—my old company. I would never be able to track like Yellow Horse could, but I was better at it than most men. A fast running horse tears up the ground and leaves clear, deep impressions. Five hard running horses leave a very clear trail, even on a heavily traveled road. A child could have followed these tracks.
Line Street in Bear Creek is actually just part of the road that runs from Flapjack City, high in the mountains to the west, through Bear Creek, and then to all points eastward. It was a heavily traveled freight and stage road, as well as being the primary service road for outlying towns, ranches, and farms. It more or less followed Bear Creek out onto the plains then continued through the town of Waller on into Chaparral County where it turned south and ran all the way to the Red River, between Texas and Oklahoma.
***
I was able to lope along on Dusty and follow the tracks on the road as they ran east, until they split up. Just past the fairgrounds, two sets of tracks continued on down the road, but three peeled off and left the road. One rider going due north, the other two going southeast, and then those two split up. That was as much as I learned in the first hour of tracking, and then it was time to go back to the rodeo grounds to meet the posse.
We sat on our horses in a circle in the middle of the road near where the outlaws had split up. We all understood the danger and the difficulty of the task. Every one of the ten men there was capable and loaded for bear. We had to split up to follow the fugitives.
“Johnson, you and your men follow the trail that goes north. Scotty, you Shorty and Harrison follow the trail that heads southeast. Buckskin Charlie, you and Mulligan follow the trail that goes south. Ed and I will try to track those two hombres that stayed on the road and hope they don’t split up.
My best guess is, because they didn’t stop and divvy up the money, they’ll all meet up at the same place eventually.
Now, y’all be careful. They’ll be watching their back trail. If you get a chance to jump the man you’re following, do it, but be real sure you can take him. Otherwise, follow him until he meets up with one or all of the others.
Chances are we’ll all end up in the same place. It may take a couple of days, maybe more. If y’all run low on supplies, get sick or hurt, or lose the trail, just head on back to Bear Creek.
A desperate man probably won’t hesitate to shoot you if he gets the chance, and he’ll be watching for a posse. The first priority is that y’all come home safe and sound. Let me repeat that. One citizen has already been killed. I want each of you to stay safe and get home in one piece. If it means a thief gets away, then he gets away …Okay, any questions?”
“Sheriff, if we do get the drop on our man, what should we do with him?” Joe Johnson asked.
“Like I said before, if you do, try to take him alive so you can get him to tell you where they are supposed to meet up, and then make him take you to the rendezvous point.
If he won’t or can’t do that, tie him up tight, hand and foot, then drape him face down over his saddle horse and head for town. By the time you get him to Bear Creek, if he’s still alive, he might change his mind about talking.
Y’all keep your eyes open. Watch where you’re going and be aware of the possibility of ambush. Keep your rifles out, and be ready to use them. Good hunting, boys.”
10.
Ed and I rode east on the road, with me looking for sign. With as much traffic as this road had, it wouldn’t be long before the tracks of these two bank robbers were obscured. This was especially true now that they had slowed to a walk.
It can be hard to tell one set of hoof prints from another. Fortunately, their horses were shod, and I had gotten a clear look at the distinguishing characteristics. Every town had one or more blacksmiths to do whatever metal forging needed doing, and every ranch of any size had somebody to do the same thing. All of the horseshoes on these horses were hand forged and hand fitted to the individual hooves. The tracks were as clear to me as a signature.
They ran their horses for as long as they could, but they’d eventually slowed, and were walking when they passed this way.
Near the entrance to the Bar C ranch, we came upon a bowlegged man walking along with a two wheeled cart pulled by a burro, traveling west on the road. The cart was loaded with vegetables. From his cotton pants, sandals, and straw sombrero, I recognized him as a bracero. My people, the Romani, are travelers. We are horse traders, tinkers, entertainers, and circus folk. We have to learn the languages of the people in the area where we camp. I’d spent some time in Mexico and Texas, so I know a little Spanish.
“Hola. ¿Has visto a dos hombres equitación oeste juntos? Sus caballos habrían sido caliente y aliento.”
“Ah, sí señor. Hace una hora, al igual que yo estaba llegando a esta carretera, estos hombres pasaron.”
“Bien. ¿Puede describir los caballos?”
“Venga, sí. Uno era una castaña con sin marcadores, el otro una bahía con una carga ganadera a su derecha delantera. Ambos fueron geldings.”
“Bueno. Gracias. Que tengas un buen día.”
Ed looked at me for the translation. “I asked him if he‘d seen two men, on hot, tired horses. He said he had, about an hour ago. One horse is a chestnut with no markings; the other is a bay with one white stocking on his right foreleg. They’re both geldings.
/> That would put them about three miles ahead of where we are now, when he saw them, and we should figure to add on another three or so miles to that, for the distance they’ve probably traveled since he saw them. They’re only about six miles ahead of us. It’s interesting that they were both still together.”
Ed nodded. “Did he describe the men?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t bothered to ask, because I figured they’d both been wearing dusters. Those long coats would have covered them from their hats to their boots.
“They must figure we can’t track them on this road, and in another hour or two, they’ll be right; we won’t be able to. Traffic will have messed up their tracks. You can see where even these cart tracks wipe out parts of their trail here and there.” Ed said.
I could see that, but it wasn’t all bad news.
“Yeah, but we have an advantage, we know they were together about three miles from here, and we have fresh horses. We might cut the distance between us a whole lot if we pick up the pace. We can travel mighty fast if we don’t have to track them. Also, by now they may be going into, through, or around Waller. Maybe somebody will have noticed them. We can be in Waller in less than two hours.”
We slapped spurs to our horses.
***
Waller was a little town that served as a stage stop and layover town for the freighters and folks traveling the road to and from Bear Creek. The town was named “Waller” because it was the location of an old buffalo wallow. A wallow was just a huge divot in the earth scraped out by the buffalo as they rolled in the dust and dirt. Old time plainsmen called them “buffler wallers.” Waller had another distinction. It was the last town in the eastern part of Alta Vista County. In fact, the county line was right on the east side of town.
The last time I’d been to Waller, I’d been shot, and I had to kill a man. Jack Slade was a man wanted for murder and robbery in more than one state, but locally he was known as Jack Sloan. He was a two bit outlaw hiding out in Waller. He’d been hired by the mayor of Waller to act as town sheriff and protect the mayor’s personal business interests.
Because I’d let Bob Logan collect the reward on Slade, everyone thought Bob had done him in. I’d been laid up with a bullet wound at the time. No one except Bob knew that I killed Slade. If Bob hadn’t defied my orders and come looking for me, I would’ve died from the wound Slade’s rifle bullet tore in me. It had been a near thing.
We found the Mayor of Waller, sitting on a chair in the shade of the porch, outside his saloon. He was a fat man wearing a blue shirt with no tie, jacket, or vest, over tan pants. He stood up to greet us as we swung down from our horses at the hitching rail. He had some leather suspenders holding his pants up, while his belly tried to push them down. I could see he wasn’t armed.
“Howdy, Sheriff Sage, what brings you to our fine town?”
He knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t shake hands with him.
“Mr. Wilson, this is my deputy, Walter Edward Burnside. Deputy Burnside, meet the Mayor of Waller, Mr. Spencer Wilson.”
They shook hands.
“We’re looking for two men, riding lathered horses. One is a chestnut, the other a bay, both geldings. They would’ve come through here, maybe a couple of hours ago.”
“You know, Sheriff Sage, you really are a rude man. I never see you unless you’re hunting someone. I’m starting to regret voting for you. Nonetheless, since my manners are better than yours, may I offer you both a drink?”
“Cut the crap. You asked me what brings me here and I told you. Have you seen these men or not?”
He was thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I don’t know. There are a lot of riders, wagons, and such going through town all the time. I don’t pay much attention to those just passing through. They certainly didn’t come into the saloon.”
“I didn’t even describe them to you. How do you know they didn’t come into the saloon?”
That startled him. “Oh, well … uh … what I mean is, I didn’t see the horses you mentioned. Since you didn’t describe the men, I don’t have any idea whether they were here or not.”
I looked at Ed. He rolled his eyes.
“Uh, huh, well, we’re going to look around. I’m sure you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not; feel free. That offer of a drink is still open.”
The tracks had finally disappeared in among all the other tracks, right on the edge of town. They’d been through Waller alright. As far as I was concerned, Mayor Wilson had just confirmed it. It only took us about thirty minutes to search the little town for their horses. I’d hoped they would have swapped horses here, but the chestnut and the bay were not to be found. An old timer said he thought that maybe he’d seen two men on horses like we described, headed east, but the men hadn’t been wearing dusters.
Ed summed it up. “They may have ridden on through town, or they may have swapped horses, and their tired horses were taken out of town in a little herd of other horses. What do you think?”
“No, I think they rode right on through. I think they’re in a hurry to get somewhere and they didn’t want to risk getting caught here.”
“They could have dropped off the money here in Waller, somewhere.”
“No, I can’t imagine this would be the place to meet up. It’s too close to Bear Creek, and they know a posse would look for them here.”
“They had enough time to divide the money, take their share and ride on, leaving the rest for the others to divvy up when they got here.”
I shook my head.
“Would you agree to a plan like that? If you were a thief among thieves, would you trust someone else to leave the money for you somewhere to pick up at your leisure, after they disappeared into the unknown with whatever they thought they deserved?”
Ed shrugged, conceding the point.
“Regardless of where the money may or may not be, we have to stay on the trail of those two men if we possibly can,” I said.
“If they stayed on the road, do you think we might be able to pick up their tracks somewhere on the other side of Waller,?”
I doubted it. There was an unlikely chance of that, but something else was beginning to gnaw away at the edge of my insight. It was just a vague notion, but something was starting to come into focus.
11.
Mrs. Poole’s Boarding House was situated on a little hill just off the road on the east side of Waller, barely across the county line in Chaparral County. It wasn’t really a boarding house. It never had been. Men came to Mrs. Poole’s Boarding house to dally with the women who lived there. You could also call it a bordello, brothel, crib, or cathouse. Call it what you will. It was a whorehouse, the best known whorehouse for at least fifty miles around. That was our next stop.
I’d never ridden past there without seeing people out on the big wraparound porch. There were usually buggies and horses tied to the hitching rails at the bottom of the stairs and all the way around the two story house. From the porch there was a very clear view of the road for nearly a mile, looking east or west.
When we knocked on the door, we were greeted by the heavy set madam.
“Well now, Sheriff, I don’t believe we’ve seen you or your deputy here before. Welcome! Make yourselves at home,” the fat lady said.
Her red dyed hair was pulled up with a ribbon and she wore far too much makeup and too little clothing.
There were three other women standing around looking at us. They were in various stages of undress, as well.
Ed and I had our hats in our hands. We were all standing in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. There were customers seated in the parlor and living room. A couple of the girls were serving them drinks.
“What’ll it be, boys? ... oh dear, I can see you didn’t come to play, and that means you didn’t come to pay.”
“No ma’am, I’m sorry. We‘re just passing through and wondered if maybe one of your girls or someone here might ‘ve seen the men we’re looking for.”
&
nbsp; “Hmmm, we do seem to get a lot of gentlemen callers,” she winked. “And, before you ask for information about possible visitors, you need to know the only thing you can get for free under this roof is piano music, and that’s only if you play it yourself! HAH, HAH, HAH!” She laughed like a mule.
I had to smile. Poor Ed was beet red. I pulled a ten dollar gold piece out of my pocket and flipped it to the fat lady. She snatched it out of the air and gave it a little bite to see if it was real.
“Ohhhh, sweetie, we could have such a good time. Why do you care about finding men when you’ve already found us?” All the girls giggled.
Another girl had joined the group. She was making cat’s eyes at Ed.
“It’s the job, ma’am. We have our duty and so few comforts. Could you help us with our inquiry?”
“Why sure, honey, but you must understand that we don’t kiss and tell.”
“Yes, ma’am. I doubt the men we’re after would’ve stopped here, at least not this time. Maybe someone saw them ride on down the road.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time we saw the backside of a man! HAH, HAH, HAH!” Everybody was laughing—the girls, the customers, even Ed.
“This would’ve been two or three hours ago, maybe. Two men riding together; one had a bay horse with one stocking on the right fore leg. The other rode a chestnut horse with no markings. Did any of you folks see those men?”
“That sounds like the Thorndyke boys,” the newly arrived girl said. “I saw them trotting by at about 3:30 this afternoon. I noticed their horses were kinda dirty and tired looking.”
When she said that, just as casually as could be, I expect I was standing there with my mouth open.
“Excuse me, which Thorndyke boys? How did you recognize them? Have you seen them before?”
“Why sure, silly,” she giggled. “It was Henry and his brother Harvey. I didn’t see Homer today, though.”
“You know all three of them by sight.”