Shatto's Law (Perry County Frontier)

by Roy F. Chandler

  Snyder's comment brought laughter, but it was also the riders' first clue as to the target of their great raid. There were some frowns because many had suspected they might overrun Taos, where there was much silver, or perhaps hit and run against Santa Fe itself, or at least a raid on one of the wealthy Mexican owned haciendas close to that town.

  Before speculation could deepen, John P. broke out whiskey and supplies to supplement the rustled beef. His own camp went up quickly and his volunteer horse mingled with acquaintances, some of whom had been long in hiding.

  Other fires were organized and axes bit into dead brush to feed them. As though they had been waiting his arrival, and Snyder supposed that was actually the case, additional riders began trickling into the camp. Before men sought whiskey sodden sleep, a full dozen closed-faced outlaws had appeared and settled into the gathering.

  For the time and place the numbers were impressive, and with some amazement, John P. Snyder studied what he had wrought.

  It was easy to think about one hundred riders, but the sight of those already assembled was almost humbling. There had already been fights, so far, quickly broken up but Snyder knew it would not do to keep these men unoccupied. Undisciplined, untrustworthy, and without conscience his men did not practice patience. Snyder's weapon was their greed, but as powerful as that could be, John P. knew he would still have to make his case and move swiftly. If he was slow or uncertain, his dogs would slink away, or turn on each other. This kind would fight only when the odds favored quick rewards and easy victories. Snyder planned to offer both.

  From his wagon seat, Snyder looked across a great sprawl of encampment. Many had brought additional horses. A huge cavvy of mounts and pack animals was hobbled, staked out, or corralled within trampled down brush. Men slept, some seeking privacy or safety in the undergrowth, but most lying in informal rows, heads on their saddles, only their boots removed. Earlier, a dozen fires had blazed and men had talked, bellowed in argument, and howled in drunken exuberance. Now only coals glowed and few voices were raised.

  Tomorrow, John Snyder decided. Tomorrow he would explain his scheme. He would convince most because he had polished his words for nearly a year. Then he would wait one more day to prepare gear and review the plan. That would allow time for a few men to maneuver into position and surely other long riders would come in.

  The more men he had the better. None of them would share Shatto's gold. Their immediate reward would be the women and whatever else the place held. In the end, that would be all they would get but by then, John P. Snyder would be far away, his appearance altered, and known only by his new name.

  The new name? Snyder rolled it around in his mind, enjoying its elegance. Charles C. Crown might be called C C by his closer friends. He would be a man of some mystery. A war hero, of course, but his fortune should be old money, inherited, with generations of gentility behind it. Charles C. Crown would be a modest gentleman, loathe to speak of his many accomplishments, but occasional lapses might reveal extensive travel and powerful associations. John P. waved away a cloud of early season mosquitoes and dreamed on.

  +++

  Before the sun had fled, Chinca, The Watcher, had seen many smokes rising far to the south where the river curved and where trees grew tall.

  Even with Ted's Eye the distance was too great to see, but many smokes meant many white men. Apache rarely allowed smokes that revealed their presence. Chinca remembered Coyote Boy, who had built large fires that led his enemy to him. When the light died, Chinca remained awake. Seasons before, white soldiers had fought each other, but that had been far away, days beyond Taos, and Chinca had only heard of it. Could the whites again assemble to fight each other? Or, could they prepare a great raid against his people, the Apache?

  Chinca rolled stones to summon women. During the night scouts would go forth. If whites crossed the river, the villages would be ready,

  When the sun again brought life, Chinca would watch. In time, he would understand. Many whites would hold great interest no matter what they did. Chinca tried to imagine how many hands of men would need so many fires. So many that The Watcher considered that a whole village might be moving along the river. Now, that would be a sight even to him and The Watcher waited the sun's return with impatience.

  +++

  Standing on his wagon, John Snyder studied the small army gathered to hear his words. They were a brutal bunch, scarred and battered by lives best left in shadow, Snyder considered that the world would be measurably better if the earth opened and devoured them all. To a man they were losers and misfits, drawn to another last hope. Another chance to score big through little effort. The moment of introspection hardened Snyder's resolve. He would make the great play and he would succeed. When this game was over, he, John P. Snyder would be the big and probably the only winner. Snyder raised his hands for silence and the rowdy clamor quickly died. Everyone, it appeared, was ready to get on with what counted.

  "All of us have come here to take part in something that will bring fat rewards." There was a rumble of agreement.

  Many of you know me. You've drunk across my bar and you've seen that I do what I say I'll do. Some of you know that I am so sure about what we're going to do that I've sold my place and dumped all I've got into making this scheme work. That's why you're here and that's why you've persuaded others to come."

  Snyder walked the length of the wagon, driving his heels in hard so that he looked certain and solid.

  "Now get this part straight. What we're going to do is brutal and final. We're going to kill a lot of Mexicans and I'm talking men, women, and children. When we ride away, none can live to bear witness.

  "If that's against your way of doing, ride out now. Ride out before I speak more because once you've heard, you'll be part of it. Ride out now, or ride with me all the way through."

  Silence hung shroud heavy with men seeming unwilling to breathe. Then a lean and ragged man wearing a pistol and two knives stood up. He asked, "How many Mexes are you talking of killing?"

  The question sparked like heat lightning but Snyder faced it. "Maybe a hundred, maybe more."

  The man took the answer in silence before nodding shortly. Then his face twisted in a crooked smirk and he said, "Reckon that'll do. Just wanted to be sure there was enough to be worthwhile."

  Men roared with laughter. They beat thighs and some kicked at the dirt. John P. Snyder bellowed along with them and tossed the ragged man an unopened bottle of whiskey.

  The charged moment had tied his men together and Snyder wished he had planned it. He worked at quiet and began again.

  "Look around; look at the bunch of us. Everybody here needs a stake. Some need one real bad. Well, everybody will come through this with enough federal dollars to start over, as far away as they care to ride.

  "We're going to do a thing that others've only dreamed of. Most likely, this raid'll be whispered about as long as people have memories. Being part of it'll mark every man willing to admit to it. That'll please some and annoy others, but it'll be like that no matter what."

  Snyder pulled at his own whiskey bottle, rolling the alcohol around in his mouth before spitting it aside and wiping his face along his sleeve. He looked across the crowd, seeing no one heading for a horse, gratified that he had judged them right.

  "Seeing no one's riding out, it's time for details.

  This is how it's going to be." Snyder again raised suspense by striding the length of his wagon box.

  "Back east, almost to the Mississippi, two men are waiting for us. They've each got gold. They've got a lot of gold." Snyder grinned evilly. "They've also got a lot of men guarding or we'd just ride back and take what they've got without pokin' around."

  The listeners appreciated the sally. It showed that John P. Snyder thought like they did.

  "One of those men is P.D. Balsworth and some of you'll remember him from Santa Fe. P.D. represents the North and he has a cavalry troop with him. The other is a Confederate and I'll not say his n
ame. He's holding Yankee gold and has Rebs guarding it.

  "What these men are waiting for is cattle. Lots of cattle. Thousands of head of cattle. Almost all the cattle anyone can drive in. They're not interested in a hundred head here and another fifty there.

  "Fact is, P.D. Balsworth is set to butcher three hundred head a day and have the meat going to Grant's army as fast as it's cut loose. The Rebs figure to drive to wherever they've a need."

  Snyder cleared his throat and shook his head as though about to explain a situation so unique it approached disbelief.

  "Now here's the important part. Both North and South are bled dry. Beef can bring almost anything asked. P.D. Balsworth isn't intending paying six or ten dollars a head. He's got real contracts. Grant's army has to eat. Balsworth will pay . . . " Snyder held them " . . . fifteen dollars a cow." He heard their in-sucked breaths like a wind across a canyon.

  "Balsworth'll pay that much if . . . we bring in a herd big enough to let him launch his scheme."

  Snyder paced some more. "Before we count cattle, think for a minute about that Rebel waiting there with his gold and his people starvin' for beef. Way it is, we've got 'em whipsawed. One gets stingy, we drive to the other. They'll pay, boys. They'll pay and smile while they're doing it."

  It was time to get through the story now. The men were hooked and it was just a matter of laying it out.

  Snyder said, "We'll drive east with at least five thousand cows. It'll be the biggest and easiest drive in all history. We won't worry over keeping 'em fat or how many we lose along the way because our cows will be free and we'll likely scoop in as many as we lose from ranches along the route. There'll be too many of us for locals to challenge and we'll be through while they're still wondering. We'll drive hard and sell fast. Less than two months will see us finished, paid off, and riding far.

  "Now some of you boys won't want to bother with all of what I've described. That's good because we won't need everybody for the drive. Those that don't want a part in the drive'll have their fun and get their payoff a few days from this sitting. 'Course, the rewards'll be less. You'll get two hundred per man from me and whatever else you find for the taking.

  "To make that money, you'll have to do a little shooting and you'll have to help get the cattle together. A week from now the herd will be moving and those not coming will be riding out."

  Now it came, the real part, the meat of it all, the killing part that made Snyder's stump throb and turned his voice silken.

  "Tomorrow we organize. The next day we ride for the Arrowhead Ranch. We go in and we take what we want. Which is everything. The ranch house is mine. Everything else is yours.

  "Now, don't sell your share short. This ranch pays its Mexes regular hands' wages. Some of them people ain't left the ranch for six years or so. They've got gold and they've got silver. I'm guessing that there will be more per man than I'm offering.

  "When we ride out, nothing will be left standing and no one will be alive to bear witness.

  "Now for those who haven't heard, this ranch is a box canyon. We hold the entrance and we've got 'em all.

  "The Shattos, that own the place, will have some money. I'll take it and some men to ride to Santa Fe and buy all that we'll need for our drive. The rest of you will round up and get started. We'll meet at a place I'll point out and go on from there. Till then, you'll have these wagons and whatever supplies the ranch has.

  "Now boys, we're going to sweep over them people like hail on a punkin patch. Thereafter, the living will be good. We'll spend big on this drive, eat and drink like men ought to. It'll be a time, boys, and it'll pay right for all of us."

  Snyder climbed down amid fierce shouts of approval. A few guns went off and loud discussion surged. Snyder signaled a few chosen accomplices and drew aside. After the initial enthusiasm, his few would circulate. They would talk things up and tell how fine it would all be. Later, he would explain just how they would take the ranch and assign men to their tasks.

  Inside, John P. was laughing. Pay for this and pay for that? Like hell! P.D. Balsworth knew nothing of any cattle drive and was probably busy with his real estate dealing. There was no Rebel buyer waiting. While his fools gathered cattle, Snyder and Shatto's gold would disappear. Many would wonder and finally assume John P. Snyder had died somewhere. Probably due to foul play, a cause they would know about. The mob would disperse and that would be the end of it.

  As much as he would enjoy his new place in life, Snyder believed he might take equal pleasure in destroying the Shatto ranch and, perhaps slowly finishing off the Shattos. Maybe then his stump would quit twitching and burning. He supposed his only dissatisfaction would be that he could never exact payment from the Apaches who did the mutilating. On the other hand, Shatto's gold would ease some of that discontent as well.

  +++

  With daylight, Chinca saw the many stalks of smoke reappear. They blended into a thin cloud that drifted slowly with the tiniest of morning breeze.

  By now Apache scouts would be close. They would be weary from an all-night trot but they would draw on strengths inherited through a hundred desert generations. A few corn kernels, perhaps a length of dried meat, and swallows from a hidden seep would prepare them. Undetected, they would slip close to see and perhaps hear.

  Chinca focused the Eye of Ted on a distant point known to all. When the scouts had word, one would position himself and signal with a metal mirror. Then he would use hand signs to tell The Watcher what he should know. Chinca in turn would send that word to the jacals that should be told.

  John Snyder's plan was simple. A few men with good rifles were already riding for the cliffs above the Valley of Bones. A scout would make sure the gate was unguarded. The main body would ride through. A smaller band would enter by climbing an end of the wall where it touched the cliffs. Even if one group met resistance, the other could sweep along the inside of the wall and destroy its defenders.

  Once inside, the army would ride up the valley. They would wipe out anything in their way until they reached the big house at the valley's end. Snyder had to pause to lick his lips before he rolled out P.D. Balsworth's only connection to the raid. Balsworth's hatred of Ted Shatto had prompted his gift to John P. Snyder, who, he was sure, would use it as he had described.

  Assembled out of sight and kept covered until now, just the showing of it would be worth fifty extra rifles. When Jud Carp jerked away the canvas, a vast sigh again whispered across the gathering. Men began to hoot and then to howl. Guns fired and voices yipped as though driving steers from underbrush.

  The cannon was bronze. Polished to eye-hurting glitter, its stubby bulk rested on thick-rimmed wheels and the black of the bore looked big enough to use a head for a projectile.

  Snyder had positioned the gun on a wagon bed where all could see. While his army thrilled with the power of having such a cannon, Snyder had Jud Carp heft one of the weapon's black iron balls. The thing was melon size and Carp's thick arms bulged with the weight of it.

  Carp held the ball while the mob quieted and Snyder's voice reached the furthest of them.

  "When all that are left hole up in that 'dobe house, we'll roll up our little surprise. Then we'll just drop all them bricks down on top of 'em so's the finishin' off'll be easy."

  Carp dropped the cannon ball and its thud on the earth added an exclamation to Snyder's words.

  Again pistols and rifles popped and war cries were loud. There wasn't much more to be said. They'd ride close on the morrow, wait out the night, and blow the Shattos and the Arrowhead straight to hell before the next morning sun got hot.

  +++

  Chapter 13

  The sun was barely high when a scout stood at the signaling place. When a mirror flashed, Chinca did not signal in return. He was The Watcher. It was known that he would see.

  The scout's hand talk spoke of many whites with many horses. Chinca's lip lifted. Those things he knew. Many smokes meant many whites and whites always rode horses. Next, he supposed,
the scout would announce many guns. Chinca nearly groaned as he received that signal.

  The whites were North Americans not Mexican. They wore no uniforms. Their chief had only one hand. The whites had a great gun the color of the sun.

  The Watcher had trouble with the last of the message. In his middle days men had spoken of cannon but Chinca had never seen one. The old men had laughed at the huge guns. Their roar was said to equal the thunder. A cannon hurled away mounds of earth and broke great stones, but it killed no Apache.

  That this cannon might be of copper or gold did not surprise Chinca. Whites had many wonders. He counted the Eye of Ted a greater marvel and certainly more useful than a cannon.

  The scout had no more. He and his companions would watch. When the whites moved they would again signal.

  Though he had learned little, the thin fare gave direction to Chinca's thoughts. Despite some curious actions, whites were not always fools. In Chinca's youth, the Apache had ruled far. In those times others fled before his people's anger. Now it was changed and the Apache lived in the mountains and left them with caution. If there was fighting, in the end it was his kind that escaped into the safety of twisted lands. Whites were many and when they moved as one they possessed great power. Whites were like their cannon. Slow and ponderous in movement but heavy with their blows, The Apache need only fade before them but such evasions withered the souls of his people and left them weakened.

  The Cannon must have importance. It could destroy jacals at great distance, but what did that matter? Stones and twigs could be rebuilt. The great gun must have other use. Because he thought first of his own people, the shadows had become short before Chinca found the answer.

  As he did each day, Chinca turned his eye to the Valley of Bones. The sight of many at work and the changes that were made rarely failed to excite him.

  Of course, he now knew them all. To most, he had given names. He had seen the woman of Ted grow large four times and deliver two sons and two daughters. Chinca recognized the families and he had detected dalliances among the young that had begun new families. When he chose to consider it, Chinca realized that he knew the people of the Valley of Bones better than he did his own.