by Lou Bradshaw
“When did they leave?” I asked.
“It was right after breakfast… they left the kitchen a wreck and took all the food in the pantry… That’s when I opened the bottle. The next thing I knew, you were dumping me out of my cot.”
“Flynn, would you throw a saddle on the horse they left for Mister Battles?”
Pablo was busy tying Battles’ hands in front so he could get on and off a horse. He’ be on a lead rope, so he wouldn’t need to do anything but hang on. We left as soon as Battles was on his horse.
Chapter 12
They were still heading north, and it looked like maybe they were going for that spooky canyon again. I was sorely tempted to head straight for it and beat them there. But my better judgment told me if I was mistaken we’d be a week trying to pick up the trail again. With a pack horse and Battles holding on to the saddle horn, we wouldn’t be able to move as fast as we needed to.
Following their trail was a fairly easy matter. All you had to do was look down and keep going. There were a few places where they’d try to get mixed up with a small bunch of cattle on the move. But the minute they left the churned up ground, we were on their trail again.
They tried every trick in the book, but between Pablo and me, they couldn’t fool us for long. Pablo had grown up in the wild mountains of Sonora before he crossed the border into the US. So he was used to following tracks and being tracked by Apache and Yaqui warriors. He may not have been as good as Rubio or my wild friend Shadrack Cain, but he would do.
We camped that first evening in a gully, which had seen its walls crumbled and collapsed, leaving for all intents, a nice little sheltered gouge out of the slope of a ridge. We could have a fire and there was grass for the horses. We’d passed a small water hole a short ways back, where we watered the horses. We were each carrying two canteens, so we would be in good shape for a few days. We’d be keeping our eyes peeled for water. There was water on this part of the plateau, but a man had to know what to look for.
After supper, I put Battles to work cleaning the tin plates and the fryin’ pan. We wouldn’t be wasting precious water, so he had to use sand, and he was making a pretty poor job of it. I doubted if the man had ever spent a night without a roof over his head. The headache he’d complained about since I dumped him out of his cot, probably hadn’t made the job any easier. After the second inspection, when I finally judged them clean, he sat down in the sand and flopped back exhausted.
“You’re not finished yet, Battles. Get yourself a cup of coffee, and we’re going to have a little talk.” The man looked like hell warmed over. I had no idea how much he had to drink before I found him. He’d said he opened the bottle but there were several empties in that upstairs room.
He sat up with a groan, and dragged his lanky frame to the fire and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he sat back down spilling some of it on his fine white coat. I had a feeling that coat wouldn’t be worth much by the time he got back to civilization, if he ever did.
Battles was a man at the upper end of his prime in years, but his prime had slipped past him some time ago. I would have judged him at near sixty years, but his hair had little grey and there were few fine lines in his face. He was gaunt from getting most of his nourishment from a bottle. The bags under his eyes, the redness that colored his face, and the sagging skin told of too many years of hard drinking. He was probably no more than forty five or so.
“As it stands, you’re on the hook for this whole horse stealin’ business and for the deaths of those two good men. We take you for the boss of the operation… You see that Mexican sitting there with a rope in his hand? He believes that horse stealin’ is a capital crime, and you should hang… It’s a pretty common ending for a horse thief in the west.”
“Now, I’m a pretty much a live and let live kinda guy, so I’d be more inclined to take you back for a jury to decide. And that wild Irishman sittin’ across the fire… He hates liquor of any kind. He recently destroyed a saloon and left three sinners in need of medical care because of their addiction to whiskey. So with his history, I’d not be surprised if his plans included beating you to death or stoning you because of your life style.”
Battles looked up and saw Flynn glaring at him and Pablo building a loop at the end of his lariat. He choked on coffee and decorated his coat with a few more stains.
“The way I see it, I’m the only thing that’s keepin’ you alive, Battles. So you’d better tell me who you work for and how this business shakes out. First off, what’s your real name and how’d you get mixed up in all this. If I even suspect you’re lyin’, I’m gonna crawl into my blankets, and you can deal with my associates.
He sat there for a long half minute. His hands were shaking so bad I took the cup and set in the sand. I didn’t rush him because he had some demons to work around.
“M..My name is Montgomery… Phillip Montgomery…. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. My family was well off before the war… When the war started, I was in school up north and was dismissed because I was from the south. I migrated to New York where I fell in with a group of actors…. None of us wanted to go off and get killed. So we stayed out of sight, and put on shows in empty buildings. Sometimes had to steal to survive.”
“A few of us with no family close by to worry about, took off for the neutral states… First to Kentucky, and then on to St. Louie… The town was booming with soldiers and women and saloons. I learned the acting trade there… After the war I did melodramas on the boats going up and down the river.”
“As time went on, younger and better skilled actors came along and pushed me out of the better roles… I was left with bit parts and then no parts… I… became a… a fancy man…” He broke down and cried with his hands covering his face. “I… I would give my favors to old and sometimes disgusting women for whatever gifts they would bestow.” He broke down again and sobbed.
I looked at the others, and all I saw in their eyes was contempt so I said, “Straighten up, man. If you’re not in charge, you’d better come out with a name, and you’d best be doin’ it quick. My associates have no pity on a cryin’ man… You ain’t built for it… Who’s the boss?” I was practically shouting at him.
He wiped his face on the sleeve of that fancy coat adding to the overall ruin of it and went on, “Daniel Cope… his name is Dan Cope, but I don’t know what name he’s using in Taos.”
“How do you know him?”
“He was a cheap grifter… a con man… in Memphis. He ran a small freight company there, specializing in cargos of questionable ownership going up river or down river. The story goes that he was handling a shipment of some value and small size that never got on the boat… It disappeared and, Cope disappeared with it.”
“I was reciting Shakespeare in Santa Fe saloons for tips or drinks, when he came in dressed like a million dollars… He cleaned me up and staked me.”
“That how you got the ranch and the cattle?”
“No. He had bought the ranch for taxes… he gave me the deed and the name and some money… He said I could retire and make a life there as long as I kept my mouth shut and stayed out of the lime light… Once a month there’s an envelope waiting for me at a shop in town with enough money to buy supplies and some whiskey.”
“I was told that if I ever ran into him in town, I was to ignore him like he was a stranger… I only saw him once, and I ignored him.”
I asked him to describe Cope, but the description could have fit twenty or thirty or more men in Taos. Then I asked about the shop where he picked up his money.
“It’s a dry goods store. I asked the lady in charge about it, and she said it just showed up every month with my name on it. She never saw who brought it. She told me, ‘I open the shop on the first of the month and it will be in the cash drawer… I don’t ask any questions or look inside.”
He went on to tell me about the men at the ranch, Collins and the others. “At first there were five men, and they would go off for a week or so at a time.
When they came back, they would have some fine horses to pasture for a few days. Then they would take them away and be gone for another week or so. They’d come back and leave again.”
“They talked among themselves about some gal in Las Vegas or Alamosa or getting drunk in Santa Fe. Lately, they haven’t been going away for so long, and they weren’t bringing horses back. I got a message in my money envelope to tell the sheriff I had two good mares stolen. I’d learned about thoroughbreds in Kentucky and figured they were pretty fine.
“Now and then, a stranger would come along and stay for awhile. He would just move into the bunkhouse like an invited guest. They demanded food and liquor… now and then they would ask about women. I supplied the food and drink, but there were no women to be had.”
“I asked one man who stayed an extra long time about helpin’ out with some of the work or paying something and he said, ‘I already paid your boss a hunnerd dollars, and I’ll pay more at the other end… so just shut up.’ They were all hard rough men. Sometimes they would wait for their horse to rest up, and sometimes they’d swap it out for one in the pasture… I suspected they were all on the run.”
It sounded to me like this man Cope, if he was the boss, had a nice little business going. When we get the Don’s horses back, I’d talk the whole thing over with Sheriff Nelson. Whoever was running the scheme had kept everything well under cover. I had no notion of it until they run off with my horses.
Battles or Montgomery, sat there with his head down and his knees drawn up looking at the sand beneath his not so polished boots. I stood up and walked to the fire, where I sat back on my heels.
In a low voice, I asked, “What do you think?”
“Run the worthless bastard off,” Flynn volunteered, “or let me take care of it. I think he’s bloody English with a name like Montgomery.”
Pablo looked up and said, “Si. I would like to hang him, but he is nothing… he will slow us down.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way back to the ranch. But don’t even think about stopping there. Salvage what you can there and keep on going. If you’re anywhere around Taos when I get back, you’ll be arrested for accessory to the murder of two of Don Carlos’s vaqueros and horse theft. Don’t stop in Santa Fe, either. That’s where those men called home.”
We left as the sun was coming up the next morning as soon as it was light enough to see tracks. We left Battles asleep. His horse and saddle were nearby, along with his pepperbox Derringer. It wasn’t the best weapon for the wild country, but it was a little better than a stick. He’d either get through or he wouldn’t. He was a grown man, and a man has to walk in his own boots.
Northeast was still their chosen direction, and the way I figured the course they had chosen would take them to the cliff house valley. If that was the case, we could have saved some time by cutting across country. Well, I couldn’t go back and undo that; I’d just have to live with the mistake. I didn’t think I had been too cautious… just cautious.
Stepping up our pace, we reached the main canyon with the islands of stone in late afternoon, and the sun was below the rim as we finally cleared the long narrow crack and into the entrance of the valley.
“Blue, tha’ was the creepiest rat hole I’ve ever been in.” Flynn said, as we spread out with rifles in hand. “Holy Leprechauns and Pixies… look at this place!”
“There’s more to see, but keep an eye open, they may still be here. There’s another part of this little valley. The ground and the grass are so beat up, it’s impossible to tell whether they’ve already gone or not… We can only assume they’re still here.”
I led the way along the east wall of the valley past the water hole, and then moved to the west wall to make the turn. Making the turn, I could easily see we were too late. The area we were looking at could be taken in with a sweep of the eye. There were no horses nor was there any sign of a fire.
The waterfall was there and the stream running down across to the valley… and the cliff houses.
Pablo’s eyes were wide and a little frightened… I’d hunted wild horses with Pablo, and we’d shot it out with rustlers, but I’d never seen any trace of fear in his eyes before.
“This is where you find the horses, Benito?”
I told him it was, and that Juan’s horses had joined mine. They had run wild together in another time and the kinship had been there.
“Mother of….! Squire, they’s little fairy houses built into the cliff.”
“When you get up close,” I said, “they’re not so little.”
“I’ve got to get me a better look… I canna’ believe what I’m seein’.”
“No.” I said, “We’ll not go up there. Those people lived and died here thousands of years ago… It’s sacred ground. I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a Banshee up there somewhere. I tried to enter one of those houses and something stopped me.”
Flynn took a few steps back and crossed himself. Pablo did the same. I didn’t want to tell them about the spirit dream for fear that I might find myself alone in this valley. They would respect the dwellings and the valley.
“You think they will bother us here, boss? I mean, they won’t come screamin’ down here a rippin’ our throats out… will they?”
“No, I think they’ll peaceful as long as we respect their homes. I spent the night here with only the horses for company… that was where my camp fire burned… I never heard any screamin’ and my throat’s still intact.”
As Flynn was rubbing his throat I said, “It looks like they spent the night here and left sometime this morning. We’ll get out of here as soon as we can see… We can give the horses a good rest, and some grain. I brought some along, and I think they’re gonna need it. If you two will get a fire and coffee going, I’ll take care the horses.”
After supper, we sat drinking coffee and tending our weapons and gear by firelight. Each of us alone with his own thoughts and tasks. I was in the middle of reloading six-gun after cleaning and oiling it. I’d wiped the cartridges clean of dust or dirt that might have found its way on them… real or imagined it had to go. I was just getting ready to give the cylinder a spin, when I looked up.
The strange Indian stood across the fire, but it seemed that he was standing in the middle of the fire. I knew that couldn’t be, so I convinced myself that he was on the other side. He looked me straight in the eye, lowered his head as if to nod and said, “RáwT-hawné.”
I said, “We’ll respect your home.” And nodded to him.
“What was that, Squire?” Flynn asked as he and Pablo both looked up at me.
Looking at the Indian, I saw him smile and fade back into the darkness, seemingly without moving his feet. “Uh… nothing,” I said, “just thinking out loud.” If they hadn’t seen him standing there or heard him, nothing I could say would make much sense.
Chapter 13
We left the valley early the following morning. Although the main canyon floor was mostly rock, we were able to pick up recent tracks of the horses leaving. The entrance to the hidden valley was chewed up pretty bad, so we really couldn’t tell for sure what was coming or going. By the time we left the main canyon, we had a trail to follow.
They had pointed their horses northwest through the San Juans. We didn’t waste any time setting our course the same direction. Low ground seemed to be what they favored, and that was alright with us. We’d gained a little time on them, and we intended to close the gap. It was easy to see they were heading toward the plain at the western edge of the mountains.
The plain, when we reached it was familiar to me; it was northern Rio Arriba County. It was just a little north of where Pablo and I had hunted wild horses, and had captured most of my breeding stock. Pablo looked around off to the south. I caught his eye, and he smiled and nodded… he knew where we were. He remembered.
But we couldn’t waste time reminiscing at the time. We had some killers and horse thieves to attend to, and we had some mighty important h
orseflesh to return to its rightful owner. Fortunately, the horse thieves had knowledge of the value of Achilles and Athena, and they set a pace that would lessen the chance of either horse getting seriously injured. I suspected this Dan Cope, or whoever those men were working for, wouldn’t be very happy having one of those animals shot due to a broken leg.
There were definitely four riders in that bunch and four riderless horses. It looked as if two of the riders had taken fancies to the two dead vaquero’s horses and were riding them instead of the ones they had begun with.
On the second day after leaving the cliff houses, we reached the crossing of the San Juan River. Most seasoned travelers prefer to cross a river before they set up camp, in case there’s a sudden storm and the river rises. So when we reached the other side, we found a nice little trading post waiting to tend to any needs we may have… for a price.
When I called it a nice little trading post, I put the emphasis on little because nice really didn’t exactly fit. I’d been in more raggedy, rundown rawhide outfits… once or twice. But we weren’t picky, and we were in need of a few things. Pablo took the horses to shade of a small shed, while Flynn and I slapped some of the dust off our clothes with our hats. Looking at the other two, I had a pretty good idea what image I was presenting. No matter, as rough as we looked, we still looked better than the trading post.
“Howdy, gents, what can I get you?” came a call from behind the counter.
I looked around and found him behind a stack of army surplus blankets. Those blankets looked like they could have been in use at any of the major or minor battles of the Civil War… or the war of 1812 for that matter.
“We could use some bacon, flour, and coffee for sure. If there’s anything edible in the stew pot we’ll take three bowls of it. If we can eat it, we’ll probably want more and some coffee unless you got cold beer.”
“Haw haw haw,” he laughed,” Red, you’re a caution… I ain’t had no beer here for two years, an’ I don’t remember the last time I had cold beer… but I do pride myself on having fresh meat in the pot. You’re in luck today. A worn out old cow crossed the river three days ago. Before that, you’da been eatin’ coyote… but it woulda been fresh coyote.”