Ambush at Dry Bone Gulch

by Ambush at Dry Bone Gulch (retail) (epub)

  Jenny looked up at Williams, alarm in her eyes. “Does that mean that we’ll have to give up this ranch...the government will take it?”

  “It’s possible; I don’t know. But I’ll do everything legal I can to prevent that...”

  Chapter 21

  The hot, dry, dog days of summer were starting to taper off a few days into September. Early mornings were cooler although a hard frost was still likely a month or more away in this high valley.

  Williams stood on the porch of Emma’s boarding house and sucked in a lung full of crisp air that carried with it the smell of cow manure and outhouses. In a few days he would be moving to a small house he rented on the south end of town. Not as big as he would have liked, but big enough for two. He did a quick walk a couple of blocks up Main Street through dust inches deep, ground down by horses and wagons until it was as fine as talcum powder. A light breeze from the northwest picked up bringing with it wonderful smells from Nellie’s café still a block away.

  This early the dining area was empty, but banging pans, wafting aroma of Arbuckle coffee and sizzling bacon reminded Williams that he was hungry enough to chew on an old steer’s hindquarter. That any man would trade this for cold nights on a trail chasing rustlers with nothing but hard tack, jerky and beans, must be the dullest knife in the drawer, he thought entering the kitchen.

  Nellie was up to her elbows in flour making biscuits as Williams, stamping the dust off his boots strolled in to her usual big smile. He gave her a peck on the cheek and looked around for an empty mug, but Juanita handed him one already poured. “One week of freedom is all you got left, señor...” she said with a knowing smile.

  “Ya, well you don’t hear me complaining...” he shot back with a glance at Nellie. Finding another line of work had been an ongoing topic the past couple of weeks ever since he had asked Nellie to marry him. An idea that he wasn’t opposed to, but what he hadn’t decided yet.

  The weekly stage pulled up in front of the hotel about noon and the driver tossed a brown canvas mail bag onto the boardwalk. No passengers this trip, just parcels and crates that he quickly unloaded next to the mailbag. A few merchants wandered up to check for their deliveries.

  Williams scooped up the mail bag and took it into the small post office next to the hotel. The part time postmaster arrived and dumped the mail on a table, sorted through it and handed the sheriff several letters.

  Back at his office, Williams sat on the corner of his desk and opened a letter from the US mint in Carson City.

  The director wrote that he remembered Silvia working as a secretary in the winter of 1869-70, but didn’t recall anyone named James McCabe. John Curren did work at the mint from 1869 to 1873 setting up the steam operated Morgan & Orr press. He stayed on after the mint was set up, but was fired and convicted of skimming gold.

  According to official mint records 3,786 gold coins were minted from 1870 to 1878. But, he knew of no gold coins minted during the setup and testing phase.

  Williams tossed the letter on the desk and stared out the window. Obviously, Curren had complete access to the press and it would be a simple matter to mint 2,500 double eagles without anyone knowing about it, especially during the set up phase, he thought as he picked up another letter from the Department of the Army and tore it open.

  The message was short. “No records exist of a Company A, California 2nd Cavalry Regiment assignment to transport gold from San Francisco to Fort Laramie in 1864. After the Civil War, many records were lost or destroyed when that and other regiments were disbanded in 1865-66."

  The third letter bore the return address of the Sheriff’s office in Carson City.

  In the three months since Silvia’s death, Jonas and Walsh had started to whip the Circle C ranch into shape. Walsh’s experience in ranching and cattle along with Jonas’ experience in finding and ramrodding good cowpunchers made a notable difference.

  Jenny’s recovery from the trauma of seeing her mother killed was slow but consistent. Some days she got depressed and had a hard time coping, but they were becoming fewer as she got more involved with the constant demands of running a large ranch.

  And Walsh’s lanky, half-starved six-foot frame had started to fill out with the hard work and exceptionally good grub from the new cook they hired. A fact not lost on Jenny, who spent as much time with Walsh as possible giving the ranch wags something interesting to speculate about.

  Jonas and several new hires rode from dusk to dark rounding up cows and calves that had ranged up into canyons and heavy cover along stream beds. Several times they found groups of cows in small box canyons fenced in with crude brush and sapling barriers. It was becoming obvious that rustlers were taking advantage of the situation and systemically herding small bunches of cows south.

  At one enclosure, Jonas scouted the area on foot looking for sign. “I reckon there’s three of them and one of their mounts has a seam in the back left shoe. That should make tracking a mite easier,” he said as he vaulted into the saddle.

  Well aware of Jonas’ reputation for direct and violent action, the two new hires looked at each other nervously. “Look Jonas, I hired on to punch cows, not hunt down and get into a shootout with rustlers,” said the younger of the two, an eighteen-year old called Spud from one of the small ranches in the valley.

  Jonas stared at him for a moment about to give him a thorough cussing out, but stopped. The sudden realization that one or both of these hired hands could get killed or wounded flashed through his mind. These young’uns aren’t like my kind. They haven’t grown up fighting Indians, rustlers and desperadoes in a kill-or-be-killed land. They’ve never faced a man trying to kill you, his six-gun spitting flame and hot lead whistling by your ear or a Cheyenne in full war paint galloping at you intent on thrusting his lance through your brisket. “You’re right. Let’s round up these critters. I’ll take care of the rustlers later,” he muttered as he reached down and untied his lariat.

  The sun was just starting to peek over the eastern peaks as Walsh threw his saddle over a defiant bay he had been working with the past two days. Nimble and intelligent, the horse showed promise of becoming an unusually good cutting horse. Walsh cinched up his saddle’s double rigging and walked around in front of his mount and almost bumped into Jenny.

  “Going somewhere, cowboy?” she asked showing some disappointment that he hadn’t let her in on his plans.

  “Thought I’d scout the north range. No one has taken a look see at how many cows are still up there for a long time.”

  “Well, it does hold some bad memories, but I still want to go with you. Would you saddle West Wind while I grab some lunch?”

  “You’ve got it...”

  Jenny’s gelding was so tame, Walsh didn’t have to lasso it. The horse trotted up expecting a carrot or hand full of oats and snorted in disgust when neither was forthcoming.

  Walsh and Jenny eased their horses into a cantor as they followed the trail east towards the foothills. The sage and rabbit brush gave way to junipers as they gained elevation, and they spotted a few cows and calves. “As soon as we round up the south range, we’ll need to comb this area. Appears there’s quite a few head in these foothills.” Walsh shouted when they flushed several more cows wild as deer that crashed through the brush and down a dry creek.

  After a couple of hours of tallying cow and calves, they topped a small hill that looked down on the line shack where Jonas took Walsh when he was wounded. He slid off his horse and squatted down studying the area. Jenny stood beside him. Neither said anything, each lost in their own thoughts. Walsh keenly aware of her presence realized how much he had become used to her company and how strong his feeling for her had grown over the past couple of months.

  But reality intruded. Discouraging thoughts hijacked his thinking. What do I have to offer Jenny? I don’t even own a horse or a good saddle. An old Colt and a Bowie knife is all I really have to my name. I’ve drifted from outfit to outfit ever since I was fifteen. Punching cows is all I kno
w. She could do a lot better...

  Walsh abruptly stood up, threw a rock down the slope in frustration and without looking back at Jenny started down the hill on foot slipping and sliding and letting his horse follow. Both start small avalanches of loose rocks and gravel as they accelerate toward the bottom amid a cloud of dust.

  Jenny stood puzzled for a moment, then mounted up and guided her horse down a less steep route to the shack beating them there. She slipped the bridle and let her horse nibble at tufts of grass while she found a shady spot on the dilapidated porch.

  Walsh, dust covered and out of breath soon appeared leading his horse. He plopped down, pulled off a boot and shook out sand and small rocks. Jenny stared at him, waiting for him to say something, but he avoided her gaze and sat with elbows on his knees staring at the ground.

  “What’s wrong with you...you’re acting like you chewed on some loco weed.”

  “I don’t know quite how to say what’s spinning around in my head,” he said giving Jenny a quick glance.

  “Well, just spit it out and we’ll see what it looks like.”

  Walsh said nothing for a few moments, his face got red as he struggled to make eye contact.

  “Jenny, I’m not being forward; I’m just miserable because I like you so much and know I don’t deserve a lass as good and beautiful as you...” Walsh said in rush.

  Jenny stared at him for a moment. Tears welled up in her eyes. “That’s not true. Jonas says you’ve got sand and even Uncle Williams says he’d ride the river with you. If those two vouch for you it doesn’t get any better.”

  “But, Jenny, I don’t have anything to offer you; I’m just a broke cowboy. All I’ve ever done is ride for a brand.”

  “Well, we’re in the same boat then. Uncle Williams said the government may have a claim on the ranch and if that’s true, I’ll end up broke and homeless.”

  “I guess we would be like thousands of other people moving west. Find a spot of land and build a farm or ranch from little or nothing but hard work and grit,” Walsh replied starting to feel that maybe he could do something worthwhile with a gal like Jenny at this side. After all, he knew a lot about cows, ranching and range.

  Jenny slid next to Walsh, leaned over and kissed him. “Now you know how I feel, cowboy. No more sulking around like a lost doggie...”

  Walsh jumped up and let out a whoop. “Wow! I’m luckier than a banker gettin’ into heaven,” he shouted as he grabbed Jenny and gave her a bear hug. Holding hands they walked around the shack talking about how they should fix it up because it was such a scenic place with juniper, towering Fremont cottonwood trees along a small year-round stream and a panoramic view of the range. They came upon a fresh grave. “That’s one of Thaxton’s gunmen. He tried to ambush Jonas and met his maker for his efforts. Jonas or one of our hands must have come back and planted him. Should have left him for buzzard bait.”

  Chapter 22

  Williams tore open the letter from the Carson City sheriff’s office noting the stationary’s fancy masthead in gold and silver ink. Just because you gotta government mint and the Comstock kicking out silver doesn’t mean you have to flaunt it with fancy paper and ink, he thought with a touch of envy as he read the two page letter.

  A half-hour later Williams left a light dust trail as his horse settled into an ambling gait that ate up the miles toward the Circle C. As much as he disliked riding in the heat of midday, he didn’t want to wait until the next morning to talk to Jenny. About half-way to the ranch he stopped at a grove of cottonwood trees clustered around a seep that ranchers had dug out to create a small pool big enough to water a few dozen cattle.

  From long habit, Williams circled the seep reading tracks and sign looking for anything unusual before watering his horse. The edges of the pond were trampled and still muddy from about two dozen cows that had watered a couple of days ago. He noticed a wide cow trail coming from the east then continuing on west toward the badlands.

  Williams widened his circle looking for clear horse tracks and once beyond the confusion of cow tracks found what he was looking for. He noticed one set of tracks had a seam in a rear shoe. That I’ll remember, he thought as he turned his mount and rode back to the Circle C trail. Mighty suspicious, I’ll bet my best saddle these are rustlers, but right now I’ve got bigger fish to fry...have to get back to this matter later.

  It was late afternoon when Walsh and Jenny rode in to the Circle C, their horses lathered and heaving from a hard run. “Thought ya could beat me didn’t ya, cowboy,” she said tauntingly her green eyes flashing.

  “Only by a horse length or two,” he returned grudgingly.

  “More like three or four.”

  “What do you expect with a pampered Arabian and a lighter rider,” he shot back feeling a little heat creep up the back of his neck. She’s one competitive gal; I may be in for a real rough ride...he thought as he pulled the saddle off his mount and threw it over a corral pole.

  They were nearly finished rubbing down their horses when Jonas and his two new hires rode in. Hot and dusty, they led their horses to the trough. While they drank, Jonas plunged his head into the other end of the trough and then wiped the water off his face and neck with a bandana. He then ran an old comb through his thick graying hair and that made him feel much better.

  Sauntering over to where Walsh was working on his horse, Jonas leaned on a corral post and took out the makings for a smoke. He rolled one, flared a match with his fingernail and lit it. Neither said anything for a few moments observing that peculiar western habit of taking their time acknowledging each others presence.

  Jonas took a long drag on his cigarette and finally broke the silence, “Beat ya bad, did she?”

  “Damm it Jonas, ya don’t have to rub it in. Besides she got a head start.”

  “Well, you better get used to it...you got lassoed and hog-tied by that little philly before you even knowed it was happening,” Jonas said looking at him with an ear-to-ear grin.

  “Suppose you never had a gal hot on your trail?”

  Jonas thought for a moment with a faraway look in his eyes. “Ya, about twelve years ago there was this Arapaho gal I met at Fort Kearney when I was a scout for the Seventh Iowa Cavalry. We lived together for about two years and had twin girls. The twins died from phenomena in December of ‘66 and Sopana died the next spring from the pox. She was the easiest going woman I ever met...a real delight to be around.”

  Jonas paused, the look in his eyes turned to pain and sorrow as he turned and strode off toward the barn. Walsh swore silently to himself for putting his boot in his mouth and returned to rubbing down his horse.

  Williams neared a small rise overlooking the ranch. He paused on the shady side of a large juniper tree and wiped his brow with a faded blue neckerchief. Last time he had ridden by this tree, gunshots reverberated from below when Silvia was killed.

  A desire to get out of the lawman business had gnawed at him lately. But he also felt a conflicting obligation.

  The only way this land will ever become civilized was if men with my skills stay with it. The country’s changing and changing fast. Soon the law of the fast gun will give way and I look forward to those changes. If I’m going to settle down, I don’t want to be constantly on guard with a rifle or six gun on my hip. Like others settling here in the West, I want to create a place where it’s safe to raise a family. He mused. Snapping out of his reverie, he urged his horse forward.

  Riding into the corral area, Williams saw Jenny leading her horse toward the barn. He whistled and she spun around. Seeing her uncle, she broke into wide grin, dropped the lead rope and ran up to him. “About time you rode out to see us. How’s Nellie doing?”

  “Driving me plumb loco with all her plans for the wedding. Thought getting hitched was easy, but it’s more like lassoing a mountain lion,” Williams said dismounting. He led his horse to a watering trough and removed the saddle and bridle.

  “So, what brings you riding all the way out here this ti
me of day?”

  “Well, got a couple of letters I need to go over with you...kinda important.”

  Jenny gave him a puzzled look as she turned his horse into the corral. “Let’s go up on the porch where it’s cooler and we can find you a beer to wash down the trail dust.”

  “That’s mighty tempting offer...”

  Williams dropped down on a weathered and scarred wooden bench as Jenny’s new housekeeper appeared with a tall mug of cold beer. “I see that spring house still keeps beer nice and cold.”

  “I think the biggest reason they built the house here was because of that artesian spring. It’s so cold it must be fed from snow melt on the eastern peaks.”

  Williams took a long swig savoring the cold dark amber liquid. He put the mug down on the bench beside him and took a packet of letters out his leather vests inside pocket. He handed Jenny the letters from the Department of the Army and the Director of the Mint in Carson City. “You may want to read these over first. The army has no records of a missing gold shipment from San Francisco that was supposed to be delivered to Fort Laramie during the Civil War. The other one is from the mint. The director did remember your mother; I think you’ll find it interesting.”

  As Jenny read the letters, Williams quietly sipped his beer. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Jonas walking toward the house leading his horse. “Back in a moment,” he told Jenny and walked out to meet him.

  Jonas gave his reins a flip around the hitching rail and spotted Williams approaching, “Howdy, Sheriff. Good to see ya out among us hard working folks.”

  Williams smiled. “Well, had to come and make sure you cowpokes were doing it right.” He leaned against the corral and took out his tobacco tin. Jonas joined him and neither said anything for a few moments as they enjoyed their smoke.

  Jonas flipped his cigarette butt into the dirt, doffed his hat and wiped his brow with a blue kerchief. “Ran into two bunches of cows rough fenced in box canyons. Appears some rustlers are planning on making a drive soon.”