I continued to stay with my grandmother for awhile...maybe six months after they were married. When they came to get me, I recall mother telling my grandma they came into some money and bought a ranch. But they never talked about what Randal did before they got married. I know hardly anything about him.”
“Come to think about it, your mother hasn’t said much to me about those years either. But then, I haven’t been too much like kin. I’m sorry I missed that time in your life. It hurts that I wasn’t around to be a good uncle. Working as an army scout, lawman and buffalo hunter for the Union Pacific all those years wasn’t the adventure I thought it would be. I sometimes envied the life Randal built with you and your mother. But as the saying goes you make your bed...”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Jenny interrupted squeezing his arm.
For a few moments they sat together saying nothing, both lost in their own thoughts and regrets. Jenny finally broke the silence, “You know, Randal always seemed to have all the money he needed. He bought out three other ranches in the valley, brought in prime breeding stock and I often heard him talking of building a cattle empire and running for territorial governor. I never stopped to think about what he did before he met my mother. I do know that he wasn’t very savvy about cattle or ranching. He depended on the men he hired and made sure they had cow sense.”
“That’s interesting and something we should look into. That is if your mother will cooperate.”
Silvia stood on the boardwalk outside the hotel sobbing and trying to get control of her emotions. Jonas lounged against the sawed plank wall close by looking helpless, not knowing quite what to say or do. After a few moments she gained some control and turned to him, “Jonas, I want you to pick out five or six of our best hands and track this Walsh down. Don’t bring him back alive, bring him back like he did Randal. Go now before the trail gets cold.”
“Now wait a minute, Silvia. Are you sure this is the right thing to do? You heard Nate and saw the evidence. We need to work through this...to get past it.”
“I think Randal was framed, and this so called evidence was planted by someone in cahoots with Walsh. I just don’t believe he would do something like this.” Her voice took on a hard edge as she faced Jonas, “If you want to continue to work at my ranch, you’ll do this. I’ll even throw in a $500 bonus when you get the job done. Go back to the ranch and get whatever supplies and men you need and get started. Time’s wasting and that killer is on the run.”
Jonas stared at her for a moment undecided then shrugged, turned and walked away to gather Circle C riders from the saloons.
Williams and Jenny walked up to Silvia just in time to hear her orders to Jonas. “Mother, you can’t be serious...tracking that fellow down isn’t right – it’s murder.”
“She’s right, Silvia. You can’t take the law into your own hands. There’s going to be some bad consequences from this.”
Silvia faced them both her face puffy, eyes red and slightly unfocused. “I’m going to make sure the man who killed my husband is brought to justice and since you won’t do anything, I am. Jenny, get your bag, we’re leaving for the ranch now.”
Jenny looked at her uncle with tears and a distressed expression in her green eyes. “Go with her, I’ll come out to the ranch in a few days after the storm calms down and sanity returns...”
“Please do. We’ll need your help,” Jenny said softly and followed her mother into the hotel.
Williams stepped off the boardwalk and strolled down the west side of Main Street. The town was emptying fast and only a few horses remained hitched in front of the saloons. He took a deep breath glad that a vigilante problem he dreaded never happened. Probably because the cowhands had a lot of work to do this time of year rounding up and branding new calves and couldn’t stick around. That Jonas kept a lid on Circle C hands also helped considerably. He U-turned half way to Seth’s livery and patrolled up the east side of Main. Even the Black Widow saloon, the worst dive in town, had few customers left bellied up to its rough plank and barrel bar swilling their cheap liquor.
A half-dozen riders trotted by kicking up a cloud of dust. The lead rider turned his horse out of the group while he motioned the rest to continue.
“Nate,” Jonas said as he reined his horse to a halt and slid out of the saddle, “we need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.”
“It appears we both have a serious problem.”
“We do indeed, Jonas.”
“We both know now that Walsh acted in self-defense. From what you said at the inquest, his story squares with what you found at the gulch. I sure don’t cotton to tracking him down and killing him.”
“You’ve worked for Randal for over two years. Anything you seen that could give us something to work on?”
Jonas scratched his several days of mostly grey beard growth. “It appeared Randal paid for just about everything with gold coin, twenty-dollar eagles mostly. I know Silvia worked at the mint where she met Randal, and they were married soon after. I wonder if there’s a connection there somehow.”
“Possibly, but what would cause a man to ambush someone?”
“Well, let see. Blackmail, someone steals your wife, your best horse or a bunch of your cows. That’s about all I can figure right off that would rile someone up that much.” Jonas grinned, turned his horse around and stepped into the saddle, “Got to catch up with the boys. I’ll see ya later.”
Williams continued on and his stomach reminded him that he had skipped lunch when he caught a whiff of Nellie’s cooking at the Green Parrot a dozen yards away. The café was deserted and Nellie was busy cleaning up. She gave Williams her usual big smile when he entered. “How did it go? From what I hear, most everyone rode out right after the funeral or potluck at the church.”
“Ya, that was a big surprise. I thought I’d be facing down a vigilante mob with a double barrel shotgun. But luckily nothing happened.”
Nellie finished up wiping off the tables and sat down next to Williams. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t have to do that. I was worried sick this whole thing would turn ugly.”
Williams tilted back in his chair feeling the tension start to drain away. He glanced at Nellie, her blue eyes centered on him with a worried look. His face suddenly felt hot and his collar too tight. He changed the subject. “I think Silvia has gone loco and ordered Jonas and most of her riders to go after Walsh and do the job she thinks we won’t do. I’d hate to have Jonas after me. He was a scout up in Montana Territory a few years ago after he left the cavalry and from what I hear he and a Cheyenne named Poor Elk could track a tick over slick rock.”
“So I hear. You must be starving. I’ll see what I can rustle up.”
Williams watched Nellie disappear into the kitchen. Somehow that conversation went south fast, he thought a little perplexed.
Feeling better after two bowls of Nellie’s venison stew, sourdough biscuits and chokecherry jelly, Williams took his time going back to his office where he pulled out a quarter-full brandy bottle and filled a shot glass. With his boots propped on the scarred desktop he tried to relax and think.
Walsh doesn’t have a lot of ways he can go. North back through Dry Gulch wouldn’t be good because of marauding Bannocks and armed with only a six-shooter he won’t stand much of a chance. East, the mountain passes are still snow packed and going west into the lava badlands without a pack mule and supplies is pretty suicidal. It’s likely he’ll either camp in the foothills till he can get through the passes or sneak south along the foothills and east boundary of Crawley’s range then through the south mountains. From there he can continue south until he hits the transcontinental tracks or the Oregon Trail.
Next morning Williams sat nursing his second cup of coffee and chatted with Nellie while she cleaned up after early morning customers. He was in no hurry; he liked Nellie and was a little frustrated he couldn’t think of a way to let her know how he felt. Maybe if I ask her on a buggy ride...
His thou
ghts were interrupted by the door opening followed by a clink of spurs on the rough plank floor. He turned, “Jonas, what are you doing back in town so soon?”
“Quit.”
“What do you mean, you quit?”
“I told Silvia I couldn’t go after that young cow puncher and that I thought he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. She blew her top like one of those Yellowstone geysers. We had a few warm words so I told her I quit.”
“Well, Jonas, I need a deputy to replace Justin especially now with roundups starting. The job’s yours. Pay’s not as good, but it’ll tide ya over for a while.”
“Obliged, especially if all I have to do is sit around, drink coffee and make moon-eyes at Nellie,” Jonas said with a big smile aimed at Nellie who blushed and disappeared into the kitchen.
It was early morning at the Crawley ranch; Silvia sat on a red velvet divan. Two young cowhands stood nervously battered Stetsons in one hand and spurs they had taken off upon entering in the other. “Bowley, did I hear right that you grew up in Silver City?”
“Yes ma’am. My father still lives there working in the Dividend mine.”
“Good. How long would it take you to ride there?”
“Most of a day with a good horse.”
“Good, I want you and Marcus to take this letter to Will Thaxton in Silver City as fast as you can get there. He’s probably living at one of the better hotels. You can ask around or the postmaster should know where to find him. Tell him you work for me, and I asked you to personally deliver this letter. Say hello to your father, and we’ll plan on seeing you back in three days. Take what supplies and extra horses you need for the trip, here’s two double eagles, one for each of you as a bonus. Let me warn you, stay away from Silver City saloons; you’re likely to get knocked over the head and robbed.”
“Yes, ma’am, we’ll be careful,” Bowley said as he took the letter and put it in his leather vest pocket. “We’ll leave within the hour.”
Silvia walked into the study, “Oh, and take these with you in case you run into trouble on the trail.” She opened the gun cabinet and handed each one a ‘73 Winchester and box of .44-40s. She gave them a dazzling smile that could melt any cowpoke.
Bowley and Marcus saddled their mounts then loaded supplies on a pack horse and secured it with a diamond hitch. It was just couple of hours past sunup when they left the ranch at a fast trot heading south.
“What’s in the letter, Bowley?” Marcus shouted maneuvering his horse closer.
“Beats me, it’s sealed, but it feels like it’s a couple of pages thick.”
Chapter 7
Walsh made good time putting as much distance between him and Henryville as he could in the remaining daylight. Riding east, he reached a string of low foothills as a bright orange orb started to sink below the western horizon behind him. Brilliant yellow and red flares created a spectacular light show coating the foothills and towering peaks ahead of him with a rose-colored glow.
Another time Walsh would have paused and enjoyed the unusually colorful sunset, but not this time. He had no doubt that Silvia Crawley had already unleashed her ranch hands and anyone else she could find to track him down. His only hope laid in staying ahead of them and getting out of the territory fast.
In fading light, Walsh found a secluded camping spot next to a large rhyolite outcropping surrounded by scrub oak that was starting to leaf out. He staked his horse, built a hat-sized fire and emptied his saddle bags. Luckily Nellie gave me some beans, flour, jerky, coffee and a small sack of root vegetables, enough grub to last a week or two if I take it easy and pick off a few rabbits or squirrels. I’ve been in a few tight spots before, but never this serious, Walsh thought trying to fight down a dark cloud of discouragement.
It’s also a good thing Nellie urged me to get out of town. I sure didn’t want to attend a necktie party in my honor with all the Circle C riders around. And I’ll bet if Williams knew she helped me out, there would be hell to pay. Walsh smiled at the thought of how Williams would handle that situation.
In the glow of his small fire, Walsh checked his Colt. Five cartridges with the hammer over an empty chamber plus 18 left in the belt. That doesn’t give me much room to miss. I’m kinda glad now that pa used to kick my butt when I missed a shot. Told me over and over a good hunter rarely misses if he takes his time and focuses. Hope he’s right.
Walsh fixed a simple supper of jerky and coffee, then gathered dried leaves and grass into a layer of insulation over which he spread his saddle blanket, poncho and bedroll. He nursed the fire more for comfort than warmth and started whittling on a dry oak branch to help him think.
Riding south appears to be the best bet. I’ll be passing along the eastern edge of Crawley’s range, but if I can make it through the mountains and high desert I should eventually run into a Union Pacific track and can flag down a train. Nellie said not to go North, too many Indians raiding up there or try to cross the high mountain passes to the east –- deep snow doesn’t melt until mid summer. Behind Walsh, night crept up the mountain sides extinguishing the sunset’s rose glow until even the tallest peaks grew dark. An evening wind picked up and moaned through nearby trees and canyons bringing with it the strong earthy smell of juniper. In the high clear air, night came quickly.
Walsh let the fire burn down to coals and rolled up in his bedroll. He laid on his back and looked up at a dense carpet of stars that appeared so brilliant and close that he felt he could reach up and grab one. If I can avoid running into Crawley’s hired hands, I should be able make it out of the area in a couple of more days. Arizona or California is looking better all the time, were his last thoughts as an exhausted sleep overtook him.
Hours later, Walsh woke up cold and shivering in the grey dawn. Even late spring temperatures in high mountain valleys often fell well below freezing before sunup. With shaking fingers, it took several attempts and used up several matches from his meager supply before he could get a fire going. The warmth felt good and after a few minutes thawing out, he put his coffee pot – a battered quart tin can – over some hot coals and chewed on a strip of jerky.
Half-hour later, Walsh was warmed by coffee and a rising sun fed his horse a handful of oats and saddled up. Hopefully I can put a lot of miles between me and this pain-in-the-ass territory by sundown, he reflected pointing his mount south.
Steed Barlow stood awkwardly before Silvia, hat in hand. Tall and thin with angular features and a full head of unruly blonde hair, he looked more like an Appalachian farmer than a cowboy. “Steed, as you’ve probably heard, Jonas quit. You’ve been with us for over five years and you’ve done a good job. Our other riders say you’re a hard worker who doesn’t give up. I need you to take over as foreman...and, of course, there’ll be a $10 a month raise. Think you can handle the job?”
A big smile spread over Steed’s face, weathered and deeply tanned from living most of his life outdoors. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, “Sure can, ma’am. When do I start?”
“Right now, but I want you to do something special for me,” Silvia purred softly. She turned on her considerable charm with a dazzling smile, her blue eyes wide and expressive. “That Walsh fellow who killed my husband and took off during services at the cemetery. I don’t want him to get away because the law refuses to do anything about it. Some of our cowhands I’ve talked to feel he’ll likely ride south to the Oregon Trail or a UP track. That means he’ll have to pass through or close by our eastern range. I want you to take whatever men you need and ride along the foothills and see if you can pick up any sign. If you bring him back over a saddle, there’s $50 dollar bounty for each of you and $100 for the one who actually gets him.”
Steed’s eyes lit up. He relished hunting and tracking either two or four-legged quarry. Rumor was that he rode with the notorious Quantrill’s Raiders during the Civil War and barely escaped the Union ambush that killed Quantrill near Taylorsville, Kentucky.
“We’ll get started
right away, ma’am.” Steed said. He turned to leave and one of his spur’s rowels caught in the carpet. He shrugged and jerked the spur free leaving a small tear and continued out the door.
Silvia scowled but said nothing. Not long ago any cowboy wearing spurs into the house would be chewed out royally or even fired. But for now, Silvia had other priorities and turned to go into the study when she noticed Jenny standing at the bottom of the stairs a shocked expression on her face.
“Mother, what are you doing? We need all the men we can get for rounding up and branding spring calves. Now most of our riders will be out hunting Walsh. We have to move beyond this and keep the ranch going. Hunting down and killing this man won’t help us find out what happened.”
Silvia’s face hardened and her eyes grew cold. She avoided eye contact with her daughter, “Stay out of this and let me handle it. You don’t know what’s going on....” She brushed past Jenny and stalked into the study slamming the door behind her.
It didn’t take Steed long to pick two hands to aid him in the search. Men like himself who would rather make money an easier way than punching cows whenever possible. Packing enough supplies for five days, they planned to ride northeast to the foothills and then zigzag south hoping to cut Walsh’s trail.
Walsh traveled slowly and stayed close to the foothills and used scrub oak, junipers and pinons for cover as much as possible. Occasionally he was forced to detour around small hills and down washes to avoid silhouetting himself against the skyline. It slowed down his progress considerably, but it was a caution he felt necessary because he had no doubt that Crawley riders were on the lookout for him. And they had the advantage of knowing the country better than he did.
Ambush at Dry Bone Gulch Page 7