When the talk got underway, Chip couldn't believe it. There was vigorous discussion among Ted and a few brick makers about how to stucco the big house. Though respectful, the workers had opinions and they voiced them. Agreement was reached, Ted decided, and a new subject was turned to.
Juan Santos advised a change in placing the horse corrals and mentioned some kind of water wagon that Chip hadn't heard of. When Santos spoke, all listened, and one man asked a question. Chip guessed they had a foreman.
Ted's words to the new families explained a great deal. By offering security, his brother was drawing his workers to him. Already they felt a part of the ranch. Because they cared, their work would be better. Ted knew and used their names and they, in turn, called him Senor Ted.
Chip was impressed. Teddy was putting things together in ways his older brother would never have thought of. Made a man see what really could be accomplished if you got down to it. Three months earlier the Valley of Bones had been bare. Already it was changed so that it could never be as it had been. Given another year or so, Beth and Ted would have something. Made a brother proud to see it.
Chip wished their mother and father back in Perry County could also see what Ted was doing. Well, maybe they would someday. He imagined Rob and Amy Shatto riding into the valley with he, Chip, pointing out things. Ted's cottonwoods would be large and the fine cattle would graze on rich grass.
Beth was already rounding with their first. No doubt she and Ted would have a houseful. Probably name one after him—though Ted claimed otherwise.
When the old folks came, Ted and Beth would be on their porch waiting with their brood around them and the waterfall tumbling alongside. The children? A mix of boys and girls, Chip figured. He painted a few into his dreaming.
+++
John P. Snyder smelled money. Snyder smelled easy-taking money and to that scent he always gave attention.
He had gotten hints when the Shattos led out their first wagons. Word drifted around that raw gold had paid for everything. Right then, John P. saw no gain for himself. The gold was spent and he hadn't much use for a few wagon loads of goods that might be dangerous taking and difficult explaining.
When Chip Shatto came back and bought out half of Santa Fe with more gold, Snyder began serious reconsideration. Apparently the Shattos had a lot of gold. There were also many wagons of goods now involved. With gold and a train of fifteen wagons a man might be gone to California before Santa Fe learned what had happened.
John P. Snyder weighed odds. Only three whites—the Mexicans wouldn't fight—backed into a canyon. Friends had told him about the Valley of Bones and it sounded as though the Shattos had trapped themselves about as well as could be asked.
He'd need a dozen men. Some could be breeds or men who would work cheaply. Half would be whites that he knew and he would have to share with them. Down the road, the whites could get rid of the Mexes and, Snyder's smirk was concealed, even further along he could shed some of his last half dozen.
If they worked it right, their raid would look like Apache work. All they had to do was cork the canyon mouth with one man and go in silent, overwhelm the Shattos and load up, then decide which Mexicans he needed. After the wagons were out of hearing, his men could kill the rest. It could be months before anyone wandered into the Valley of Bones. Snyder's smirk turned wolfish. In that place, more bones might be hardly noticed.
John P. Snyder would have gone unnoticed in a crowd of two. He was below average height, balding, and dumpy in shape. He hung about saloons and spoke little. When a cry was raised over a body stripped of cash, John P. was never a suspect.
Snyder struck seldom and used a cosh or knife so that no pattern appeared. He made very sure his victim was dead. Through the ear Snyder slid an ice pick into the brain. No one noticed the almost invisible wound. Occasionally, theft went unremarked and a heart attack was believed responsible.
Like a half million others, Snyder had traveled west in search of fortune. He had lost count of the dead left in a dozen cities and countless towns, but he knew he grew older. In the Shattos, John P. believed he had discovered his escape to genteel comfort. He could retire his ice pick, except to satisfy personal affronts, and live peacefully among congenial neighbors.
Snyder began gathering his crew. They would assemble part way to the Valley of Bones where none would see. They would ride swiftly and strike quickly.
When John P. Snyder left town, no one even noticed.
+++
Chinca saw the heavily armed party camp a short day's ride from the Valley of Bones. Later one rider left the camp and followed a circuitous route before entering the valley. Later the rider left the valley and began an almost tortuous return to his band. He stopped often to watch his back trail but no one followed; only Chinca saw his path.
Since the whites' return with their first wagons, the Valley of Bones had given Chinca new life. Each day astonishing things seemed to happen and he resented the nights that prevented him from seeing.
For an old man, time passes quickly, and to the ancient Apache, the great house at the waterfall rose magically from the desert floor.
The building showed that the whites had come to stay and Chinca often pondered the best course for his people. Few Apache would choose to enter the valley but, except for cattle and some horses, all of value lay within that haunted place. Chinca again chose to wait.
When the larger white returned with two hands of loaded wagons, The Watcher grew increasingly intent. Now the valley fairly swarmed with people. The numbers would little effect a raiding party, for most were women and children who could not offer resistance. But Chinca had grown increasingly interested in the activities and had, for the moment, buried warlike intentions.
Long ditches dug across the valley fascinated Chinca because he had seen them before. Pueblo Indians like those at Taos had used them to water their corn and bean patches. Obviously the whites planned to feed the valley by guiding the disappearing water into their ditches. Would corn and gourds spring forth? Would grass grow as it did along a river's edge? The old Apache was more than curious, for here was a great thing that would change much that he had watched for so many of his seasons.
The appearance of the strong band whose many guns glittered in morning sun changed the mind of Chinca. Born to a hunter's cunning, the scent of deception touched the Apache. Plainly, the one had scouted his enemy. Pretending friendship, he had ridden in to judge the valley's strengths. Now he returned to his camp to tell what he had seen. Soon his party would mount and ride through the night to a place close to the entrance. Then, with the first light, they would steal into the valley and, in a screaming rush, overwhelm the three whites and any of the Mexican planters that rose against them.
It was the best way, and those within the valley would have no chance. Chinca knew because in his youth he would have done it so.
In daylight the victors would flee with all worth taking. At first the flight would be swift with blood still hot and eyes excited. Later, all would slow, tired from the fighting and long riding. Chinca chose a place, far across the valley, but clear to his eyes. There the Apache would rise from the earth and destroy those who were heavy with possessions taken from the Valley of Bones.
Chinca summoned a woman by tossing pebbles down the path that led behind his lookout. While waiting he wondered who would be sent? The victory would be great with many goods and fine guns that would make his people stronger. A war leader should go but, more likely, the wild ones would take the trail. Juan-Juan might lead or even Coyote Boy, the half-Apache. Many would be needed for, although weary and unsuspecting, the enemy too were warriors who would die in battle.
Later, Chinca was not at ease with himself. With the whites gone, his world would again become one with the spirits. It would then be right but he would sorely miss the excitement in the Valley of Bones.
+++
John P. Snyder's approach was seen by the valley's lookout who passed word and remained undete
cted, as Ted had instructed. John P. believed he rode through an unguarded entrance.
Snyder had spoken with Mexican boys watching over some cattle, a few sheep, and a horse herd. They had a cow down and were burning on a large arrowhead brand. Damned cows were running loose for the taking everywhere. Branding seemed to Snyder a waste of time and a lot of work. The boys would not stay out at night but when Snyder and his band rode in they would avoid the herds, just in case. Their surprise must be complete and if boys were outside, his trackers could run them down after the fighting.
From a new third floor window, Chip and Ted watched the rider coming in. They stood well back in the shadows and made the stranger large with their telescopes.
Chip said, "I don't recall him. Do you, Ted?"
"Stranger to me. He sure isn't missing much. Eyes're just dancing around."
"That's normal enough; anybody'd be looking."
"Uh huh, but his head should be turning, Chip. This one doesn't want his looking noticed."
Chip watched some more. "Believe you're right, brother. Unless you've got a telescope on him the man'd look half asleep."
"Well, he's alone so we can handle him, if he's unfriendly. Tell you what, Chip. I'll go out and talk. You stay inside with your rifle on him. I'll give him an opportunity to try for a gun. If he don't, we'll know more."
"If he does, what should I do, Teddy?"
"Dang it, Chip, this isn't a time to joke. Use the Shuler two-barrel. I don't want any misfires—and, if you shoot, don't miss!
Ted started down the ladder and Chip called a reminder. "Stop him well beyond the porch where I can see him, Ted, and Keep Beth inside. This hombre doesn't seem like much but you can't tell."
Ted's voice came back up. "I know that, just worry about your own part, Chip."
John P. Snyder rode up with his hands showing and smiling his pleasantest. His only weapon was a battered musket hung on a loop over the saddle lump. He had removed the percussion cap so that the gun appeared even more innocuous.
Snyder had bothered to learn the Shatto names and recognized Ted as the one stepping out to greet him. Shatto carried a Hawken rifle as any sensible man facing a stranger would. No one else appeared and John P. wondered if hidden guns were pointing at him, or if he was being accepted at face value. Just a harmless traveler.
Snyder had to marvel at the house. Once it was fitted out, the home would be a fortress. He was pleased that no doors or shutters were in place. He doffed his hat and nodded sociably.
"How do. You must be Mister Shatto. I'm John P. Snyder. Heard you was in here. Passing by on my way to Santa Fe and thought I'd ride in to see what was developing."
Snyder paused to twist in his saddle for a look around. "Impressive, mighty impressive."
Ted took in the mild eyes and pleasant tone. He ran his eyes over the man and saw no suspicious lumps. Ted touched his own hat brim and said, "I'm Ted Shatto. Welcome to our ranch. My brother's catching a siesta but my wife and I welcome visitors. Not many pass by."
Shatto had turned to gesture toward the broad porch and John P. Snyder thought he could probably whack him with his musket butt. It wasn't his way to jump at chance, however. The dark window holes staring at him left Snyder wondering if the brother might not be sighting along a rifle barrel pointed at his tender breastbone. John P. dismounted and stepped forward, still doing his best smile.
Ted Shatto gave no tours of his home but from the porch Snyder could see that living was done on the ground floor. Shatto's woman heated meat and beans over a fire lit in a sort of miniature outside fireplace. Being outside kept the fire from heating up the house and, having the fireplace chimney beat circling a campfire to stay out of the smoke. Snyder judged the Shattos an innovative tribe that did some thinking. That made him look closer at what his bunch would be finding when they swept in on the place.
The big hole out front would channel riders and Snyder wondered if he should split his men and send some in from each side? Better to just rush 'em under on foot, he guessed. Without warning his men should be in the windows and doors before shooting started anyway.
Chip Shatto came padding in. He looked like a big old mountain wolf, Snyder thought. Chip wore leather and had a Colt pistol and a knife hanging off his belt. Men were starting to wear revolvers on a hip these days, so Snyder wasn't surprised by Shatto's gun, but he also reckoned that, during the raid, the older brother would get a shot or two off before he went under. That did not bother John P. When his raiders came in, he would not be out in front.
From the house top, the Shattos watched Snyder ride away. They hadn't yet discussed the man but there wouldn't be much doubt between them.
Ted spoke first. "He ain't right, Chip."
"Nope, he ain't."
"One man just riding through? Only a blanket and a poncho behind his saddle? No pack animal, just what he's got in saddle bags? He doesn't look that woodsy to me."
"He's a town man all right, Ted. Of course a man ignorant of this country might not ride prepared for hot days and cold nights. Could be he's a dead shot with that musket and takes game any time he likes. Maybe he doesn't know about Apaches laying for easy targets like him?" Chip's lips quirked. "You believe any of that?"
"Nope."
"What's his game then?"
Beth came through the roof hole to lean across the parapet beside them. She said, "That man did not act lonesome and he didn't eat hungry. He has company out there somewhere."
Ted nodded agreement. "Question is, what's he got in mind?"
They thought about it before Chip filled in. "Might be his friends are wanted and didn't dare come in."
"Lookout said he came up from the river alone.
Wherever his people are, he made a long ride just to see this place."
Beth added, "He didn't hardly look at the waterfall, which I'd think would be most exciting."
"Sure looked at everything else though."
Ted slapped the thick adobe he leaned across. "We'd best have the lookout keep track of where he goes."
"He'll likely watch his back trail so following him won't be sensible," Chip said. "We'll just have to keep our eyes peeled."
Ted stretched and started for the ladder. "I'll give Juan Santos word on this. We'll all do a little watching for the next week or so."
+++
When they were close to the valley entrance, Snyder's men dismounted and walked their horses. A pair of his Mexicans scouted ahead in case a guard had been placed in the narrow opening but they found no one.
Ghost quiet, the raiders walked deeper into the valley's silence. Here no birds or rabbits were startled. Occasionally a horse snuffled or crushed dwarf mesquite beneath a hoof. Otherwise, their passage disturbed nothing.
Near the first Mexican tents the horses were held by two men and the rest went forward. Now guns were made ready and even the seasoned killers felt tension bite hard. They moved swiftly along the canyon's right side, away from the horse corrals and penned cattle. They stayed together, prepared to charge if discovered, counting each step gained toward the darkness that marked where the big house lay.
Maria Lopez and Manuel Garcia had slipped from their families' places. They met beyond the tents and sought privacy where no one would hear.
Where in an empty valley, devoid of even trees, could a courting couple secret themselves? They huddled within Manuel's blanket, a hundred steps from the nearest shelter. Beyond soft endearments they too were as silent as the earth, until the sibilant whisper of many feet and strong breathing seemed to envelop them. Astonished, Garcia poked his head from the blanket, almost against a marauder's hip. Half-panicked, the outlaw cursed and instinctively slammed his pistol against Garcia's skull. An instant later, Maria Lopez's horrified screams flung the Valley of Bones into uproar.
+++
Chinca believed the attack was too soon. From his place he saw pinpoints of muzzle flashes spark in the depth of the Valley. Light was marching down the distant mountain peaks but it
would not reach the valley for a time. The raiders should have delayed longer so that they could see their work.
Like tiny fireflies the gun flashes appeared and were gone. Chinca wished that the sound could reach him, but it was too far. Too long also had the fighting gone on. Chinca's lip curled. Despite their advantage, the attackers had not easily overcome those who lived in the valley.
Before dawn was full in the canyon the shooting had finished. Chinca waited with patience—as did the Apache band already in hiding at the place The Watcher had said would be right.
+++
Ted came out of their blankets like a shot, leaving Beth uncovered and scrambling for her own rifle. The woman's scream had ripped the night like no thunderclap could have and there were questioning shouts in Spanish even before Ted reached a window.
A pistol's crack turned Ted's head in the right direction and though still shaking sleep from his eyes he could see figures running.
Dawn's first lighting barely backlit a mass of figures charging past the end of the dry pond. Ted hesitated an instant, fearful that the runners could somehow be his own Mexicans, but another pistol flashed and the ball chipped adobe near his head.
He heard Beth on the ladder to the second floor and felt relief even as his rifle settled. It was too dark for sights but he pointed the gun into the grouped figures and stroked his trigger.
The Volcanic had no recoil. The pistol-like charge in a heavy gun gave no kick. Ted worked the lever and fired again. With machine-like speed he emptied the rifle's thirty bullets into whatever he could see. Figures dove and fell away. A drumroll of gunfire was returned, bullets sledged the window casing and a few came in.
Ted was already gone. He dove for the ladder to the second floor and went up it in a series of frantic bounds. Beth knelt by a window and he heard her rifle speak as he hoisted the ladder behind him. From above, Chip's gun was adding its more deliberate cracks and Ted's grin was lupine as he imagined the consternation among the attackers.
Shatto's Law (Perry County Frontier) Page 5