In a single week the wall rose visibly. After a month of Chip's example, they had it head high all the way across. That meant the wall was more than half done. As it narrowed toward the top, progress showed more, and that made everyone interested in seeing how it would look with another layer or two put on.
Heavy work rarely required much concentration. Chip's mind had opportunity to roam, and he enjoyed letting it travel. He knew he was a bit of a dreaming man. Ted was also. A difference was that Ted had turned his dreaming into something real. The years were skittering by and he. Chip, ought to be doing the same.
Since Coyote Boy had hung him from the juniper, Chip had found his thoughts running back to Perry County and the good life they had known. When he dug at the adobe ground he compared it to the limestone richened loam of fields sloping down to the Little Buffalo or maybe ones that edged out along the Juniata. When small twisters blew dust devils of grit and furnace hot air across their work, Chip remembered crisp, cool days in the thick timber along Conococheague Mountain, or maybe one of the smaller ridges, as they hunted deer or turkeys. Sometimes they had run onto Twineys. Twineys were a local name given to wild hogs, said to have gotten away from a pig raiser of that name who was gone from Mahanoy Ridge before Ted and Chip's time.
Chip could feel his hunger for home growing deep inside, beginning to spread roots that he figured were there to stay. Maybe he had tasted about enough of the big country. He could imagine himself on a kind of typical Perry farm, with only enough crops put in to interest him, but never so many that he'd break his back working them.
Farming left people cash poor in Perry County and probably always would. Farmers lived comfortably and ate well, but hard money was difficult for them to come by. Well, with his share of old Bogard's gold he'd not have to worry. There was more than he would ever need. Which meant there was no reason he had to be poking around the wilderness hunting something that would take care of his old age.
Maybe it was time to begin edging toward the sun's rise. Ted and Beth didn't really need him anymore. Might even be good if the big brother left them alone. Lordy but he would miss them though. They had always ridden together—just as far back as he could remember.
Once everybody had thought it would be Chip and Beth Troop that would marry, but he hadn't been interested and Beth had always had eyes for Teddy. It had worked out well, but Chip guessed that when he decided to go he'd just ease out and never say he was going for good. Probably make it easier all around.
Getting himself up to going let Chip look at the ranch with clearer eyes. For the most part he liked what he saw.
The main house had become a home. Already, fast growing cottonwoods softened the building's geometry and shielded the broad front porch from morning sun. Beth had hung her Spanish armor around one tree trunk and its burnished shine caught the eye well down the valley.
Over the porch Chip had mounted an immense cow skull with a horn spread beyond his reach. Water ollas and Beth's plants hung from other rafters and complemented the comfortable lounging seats scattered across the shaded porch.
The inside furnishings lacked the delicacy of Philadelphia's finest, but Mexican craftsmen were not without taste. Their sturdy tables, chairs, and sideboards in oak and local softwoods, afforded rich contrasts to walls stuccoed white with exposed beams equal in size to those supporting a Pennsylvania barn floor.
Ted was specially proud of his tile floors. The tiles had been baked and glazed in a clay oven now used for bread making. The tiles were square and were laid in alternating pattern. Odd tiles were embossed with the letter "S," hand drawn in the slip glazing. Each even numbered tile boasted a finger sketched arrowhead; the Shatto mark used since Quehana, the first Rob Shatto, had carved it into a tree trunk beside the dangling bodies of four Shawnee he had killed. It was a striking floor, tinted in earth tones that calmed senses, even as it marked proudly its owners' heritage.
Of course the children destroyed any hope of elegance that Ted or Beth might have sought. At least one small voice seemed continually at a high note and their jumble of play things was certain to be underfoot. The Indian and Mexican woven rugs that Beth straightened with each passing were usually skidded into a corner or at least formed into tents and forts occupied by assorted small adventurers.
The Shatto boys were abetted in their mischief by an assortment of brown bodied Mexican children that at times made as free with the big house as they did their own more modest dwellings.
Sitting on the porch, letting the household hubbub stream past unnoticed, was truly soothing and Chip saw the trap in it. He could while away hours watching the sun move along the cliffs, changing its colors and determining where and when the gardeners, clothes washers, and food preparers appeared. Men rode about and horses were turned in and out. The dogs trotted behind masters or lolled, tongues dragging, in shaded comfort. Time could pass a man by while he dozed and dreamed. Chip vowed he would not get caught up in it.
+++
Chip said, "Ted, I'm planning on pulling out right soon. I'll likely head north, maybe see what Pap saw among the Nez Perce. Might turn west and poke around the California country."
"Figured your feet were starting to twitch, Chip. I wouldn't mind riding along, but I've more than I can handle right here."
Chip waited a long moment. "Got a favor to ask, brother. I'd like to leave most of my gold here. No sense trying to pack it along. I'll keep my saddle bags full—which'll make me richer than I'll ever need to be, but the rest'll be yours if you need it—or until I put up a holler for it."
Ted started to speak, but Chip went on. "Look, Ted, you and Beth have half of old Bogard's gold but, buying this place and keeping it going, you're using it in fistfuls. How many years will it be before there's a market for cows? Hell, Ted, you could be old by then.
"Maybe you won't ever need my gold, but having it here will let you know you're not working on soft footing. So, that's how I'd like to handle it, if you're willing."
Ted cleared his throat and took a while answering. Beth had come out to stand behind her husband with her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
"Chip, Beth and I'd prefer it if you stayed on here. Buy in, we'll run the place on equal shares. Put up another big house, maybe on the other side of the waterfall. Find a wife. Chip, raise a family, settle down. This land will grow things if you really want to scratch in the soil.
"We can build a ranch finer than anything west of the Mississippi, Chip. We can dam the river and irrigate ten thousand acres if we're a'mind. Someday cows will sell and money will be layln' around here in barrels. Santa Fe will surely get a railroad and it'll become a big city. There's everything we could want right here, Chip.
"Instead of drifting off, come in with us. You can poke around to your heart's content, but you'll have a place and be part of something special. What do you say, brother? It'd make Beth and me real happy if you took a share."
Chip grinned his appreciation. The offer had appeal, but he didn't feel ready for it yet and, the hunger for Perry County hadn't gone either.
"Your plan's a fine and generous one, Teddy, and I thank you and Beth for it. But look around, this place is yours. It was your idea and your doing that made it blossom. All that you dream about will probably turn true, but it should stay yours and not be splintered by me or anyone else.
"Look, Ted, I'm taking gold enough to buy any place I choose. Providing I don't lose it by letting my horse run off, or something else dumb, I won't need what I'm leaving here until my beard's white.
"You take care of my gold, Ted. Use what you need without holding back. That's the way I really do want it."
+++
Chip rode out, equipped about as he had been when they'd arrived in 1857. More than four years had passed and the only changes were Chip's scars and a new Sharps rifle as a second gun. Chip wore leather clothes and rode the mixed Appaloosa he had straddled when they had left Perry County. The two-barreled muzzle-loading Shuler rifle lay acros
s his thighs and his dragoon Colt pulled at his waist.
Chip looked as indestructible as a mountain but this time Ted got a lump in his throat and it didn't seem as though his brother was just off for another ride.
A wish to run after and make Chip come back grew, but Chip waved a final time and nudged his horse into a trot. Within minutes he had disappeared down the valley, not even raising dust in the well watered soil.
+++
Chinca saw the brother of Ted ride from the Valley of Bones. The day was not young, but the brother trailed a pack animal and appeared started on a lengthy journey.
As he left the valley, the brother paused to look back, as though he might be long away. Then he turned and looked to The Watcher's place.
Through Ted's eye, Chinca saw the brother's teeth smile and when the brother waved, Chinca raised his own arm in answer. It was safe to do because the brother could not see and the brother's wave had been a final one.
It was the hand and body sign of one who might not be seen again.
+++
April 1862
Dear Ma and Pap
We are well. Chip has been gone these many months, longer than usual, so we worry. He was heading north and west and we hope he did not have to winter in the high country. Chip did talk about riding up to see the Nes Perce about Appaloosa horses. That might be where he is now. Must be a thousand miles north of here, but that is Chip for you. All we can do is wait. I will write the moment he comes in.
Beth is fine and NOT expecting. Both boys are growing like weeds and are continually into things. The girls are all sweetness. Little Beth walks, of course, but Betsy is still eeling around on the floors. Their mother's letter will tell you about all that.
Our biggest excitement was General Sibley's Confederate Army taking over Santa Fe. We only hear about it, but a lot of people apparently switched allegiance including our volunteer cavalry. Their Colonel E. R. S. Canby came up with federal troops and whipped the rebels out in Apache Canyon. Fighting was not too heavy and the volunteer horse stayed out of it till the shooting was over. Then they showed up waving the union flag.
So, everybody's a Yankee again. We only got word of these happenings a week ago and the rebels held Santa Fe only two weeks. A lot of folks are busy explaining away their side switching, and I guess the volunteers do not ride around the plaza the way they used to.
Some Mormons came in from their settlements across the mountains. They were looking for cattle markets. The strange part is that I was thinking of riding over there to see if they needed cows!
Wish you could come out and see this place. A few years back the valley was bare dirt. Now it is tall grass. We take a hay crop from it and turn the special herd onto it other times. We have got more than a hundred people living here now. Counting all the babies, there may be two hundred. You should see the gardens. Darn it, you should see the whole ranch. Hope that you will plan on it when this war gets over with.
With affection, your son,
Ted
Chapter 9 - Winter 1863
Despite the war raging among the states, Santa Fe seemed little changed. Sibley's Confederate invasion out of Texas had ended in appropriate ignominy and there was no talk of further attempts to supplant the Stars and Stripes with the Stars and Bars.
Southern sympathizers took heart as the corps of Lee, Longstreet, and Jackson thumped the seemingly bewildered Federal colossus but, behind proud stances and enthusiastic applauding, lurked justifiable fears. Whether courage or cotton, or brilliant tactics and mighty deeds, the southern states poured all that they had into the fray. The North scarcely cared. It kept coming with more and bigger cannon, increased divisions of cavalry, and infantry armies that dwarfed rebel manpower. It was like a small boy kicking valiantly at the shins of a giant—who was slowly beginning to take notice. Once rolling, the industrial might of the North, plus its bottomless human pool, would simply kill southerners until there were no more.
The single remaining southern hope was that England would join with the Confederacy. It was supposed that the English cloth mills' hunger for southern cotton would sway the statesmen. Until then, the South was in short supply of everything.
Beef on the hoof was needed and there was money—real money, not Confederate scrip—to pay for it, provided, and the provision was powerful, that the western animals were delivered alive to the Mississippi. There they were slaughtered and the meat crossed despite Yankee gunboat patrols.
Cattle came from the Floridas by the thousands, but that source was dwindling. Texas beef had been trailed east but now the Texans were gone to the fighting and cows multiplied without hands for driving.
Of course a man couldn't just round up anyone's cattle and start east, but if a rancher had cattle, and his politics allowed it . . . well, there was a market waiting.
John P. Snyder knew where there were cows, cows with the brand of the contested De Castella grants, but even more cows burned deeply with the mark of the arrowhead.
Snyder also had drivers. His volunteer horse company numbered nearly forty. Most were wild spirits who could be persuaded to try any scheme promising truly fat rewards. Delivered to the Mississippi, steers would bring at least ten dollars a head. Could they successfully trail three thousand head for one thousand miles? John P. had ridden the Santa Fe route and saw no impossibility. Thirty thousand dollars loomed hugely with men working for three hundred dollars a year.
Of course there were the Shatto men. Until they were removed, rustling even a few arrowhead steers could be dangerous. North of Taos, the Shattos were their own authority. Without the Shattos' direction, their ranch hands would not stand, and any complaints or accusations by Mexicans would be ignored anyway. Twice before, Snyder had moved against the Arrowhead Ranch. Once he had lost a hand and nearly died. The second attempt still puzzled him.
Jed Gooley had come from meeting with his Apaches confident that Chip Shatto was finished. Snyder had no doubts that his lieutenant was right. Against a dozen Apache bucks, Shatto would have no chance. That night John P. was liberal in satisfying Gooley's perpetual thirst.
Later Gooley returned to his cabin to await delivery of Shatto's scalp, which would reward Coyote Boy's band with another whiskey keg and perhaps a few red blankets. Coyote Boy did not appear and it was nearly a moon before word came that the whites from the Valley of Bones had killed Coyote Boy and all of his band. There was no mention of Chip Shatto.
John P. Snyder was exasperated. It could be that Shatto had been killed before the Coyote was finished. Snyder preferred that speculation, but he could not be sure.
P.D. Balsworth's return from his attempt to claim the Shatto place amused and satisfied John P. Snyder. Snyder could have warned him, but Balsworth would not have believed, and it was important to Snyder that the Shattos, and their gold, remain in place. Such a land grab might succeed against farmers or shopkeepers, but ranchers were their own law and Balsworth's brag of eastern influence would not help when rifles and pistols came into line. Snyder pretended sympathy and gained information from Balsworth's saloon brawler.
"Mister Balsworth's heading east. That Shatto slapped the guts clean out of him."
Snyder asked as casually as possible, "Was that the big one called Chip or Ted that owns the place?"
"Ted was the one, though he's also bigger than most. Held Mister Balsworth with one hand and slapped him back and forth till he wet himself."
John P's spirits lifted. Perhaps Chip Shatto was gone under. Then the brawler went on.
"'Course, I just heard about some of it from the cavalry." He touched a split eyebrow and a hugely swollen cheek. "The big one you mentioned clubbed me while I wasn't looking, so I missed most of what went on."
Snyder's head began to ache. Chip was out there and the Shattos were still undiminished. Snyder's stump throbbed the way it had for months after his ruined hand had been chopped off.
Some things were changing however. Word drifted through the Mexican community that Ch
ip Shatto had traveled north and had been gone so long that the ranch guessed he might not be coming back. That suited John P. Snyder and he began more serious consideration of how he might end up with the great trail drive and, of course, Ted Shatto's gold.
Since their side switching during Sibley's attempt to make Santa Fe Confederate, Snyder's horse company had lost favor with the town. Captain Snyder still found it disgusting that the Confederates had lost to Colonel Canby's regulars and had fled back to the safety of Texas. Snyder put the best face on the volunteer's activities that he could, but the responsible people of Santa Fe were not to be fooled a second time. Desirable doors closed and Captain Snyder's social position reverted to saloon keeper.
Instead, Snyder courted the hard bunch. Men on the fringe of the law came and went. Snyder's saloon became their stopping place. John P. collected their names and bought himself favor with free drink and occasional money assistance. The long riders remembered and Snyder expected that if he ever chose to move in force, he might marshal eighty to one hundred fighting men. The thought warmed him because all of the fast firing guns around couldn't save the Shattos from that size of an army.
Still, with Chip absent, only Ted Shatto stood between John P. Snyder and easy picking. Snyder began another plan, one that could not fail. All he had to do was keep Jed Gooley close and wait until Shatto came into town.
Shatto's Law (Perry County Frontier) Page 11