“That’s interesting. A bunch of cows were watered at Cottonwood springs. Looked like they were being pushed west.”
“I wanted to track down the rustlers, but the two youngsters I had with me wanted no part of it. Had no desire to get into a shootout. Hell, I was dodging arrows and bullets when I was fifteen.”
“I hear ya. By the way, one of the horses had a seam in a hind shoe. Keep your eyes open.”
“Ya don’t say. I found a track like that up in the canyons. Looks like we’ve got a gang trying to clean out Circle C stock. Maybe ya better deputize me again so I can track ‘em down legally.”
“Good idea. Raise your right hand...aw hell, Jonas, you know the words. Consider it done,” Williams said with a grin. “Only bring ‘em in so we can have a trial. Gotta show we’re getting civilized here. Folks are starting to think we should be part of the union.”
Walsh strolled out of the barn and saw Williams and Jonas lounging against the hitching rail. A big smile crossed his lean sunburned face and he angled over. “Howdy, Sheriff. What brings you out among us honest cowboys?
“Where? I don’t see any,” Williams shot back looking around. Then he got serious. “Need to talk to Jenny and you might as well get in on it...you too, Jonas. Maybe Jenny will pony up to two more beers.”
As the three ambled toward the main house, Walsh glanced toward the southeast and noticed three riders coming in. He stopped. “Got some riders making dust.”
The other two turned. “Probably our hands riding in from the checking the south range,” Jonas said. “I’ll catch up with you in a jiff; need to jaw with these fellows about the range there.”
Lorena brought Walsh a beer and Williams went over the letters with him and Jenny. “It looks like your mother worked at the Carson City mint when Crawley or McCabe teamed up with Curren to mint the double eagles on the sly. Curren says McCabe stole the gold from the army, although the letter here from the army says there’s no record of any missing gold shipment.”
“So you think Mother was involved with McCabe in a gold robbery?” Jenny asked her eyes wide with tears forming.
Williams pulled out the letter from the Carson City sheriff’s office and was about to open it when Jonas strode up. “Sorry to interrupt. I think there’s something ya might want look at right pronto.”
Chapter 23
Irish and his two companions, Josh and Rich, approached the corrals weary and saddle sore. They had been in the saddle for nearly 18 hours rounding up Circle C strays. Some they drove into a newly fenced in area on the south range; others they diverted to small canyons rough-fenced a hold a dozen or so head each.
“I figure we have about a hundred head in the canyons plus the twenty head we drove west a couple of days ago. We’ll supply up telling Ruddy or Jonas we’re heading back to the south range for a few days more. This should give us time to move the cows to Silver City then head south and kiss this place goodbye,” Irish said to his companions as he leaned down and undid the outer gate and swung it open without dismounting. Josh and Rich grunted their agreement and followed him through the gate.
Irish hated punching cows. Gunning down Goat had boosted his confidence, and he had been practicing with his six shooter and working on his fast draw. He turned to Josh. “Just a few more days and we’ll sell the cows, get a grubstake and strike it rich prospecting for gold or silver in the Sierras. We’ll be on the road to fat city.”
Everyone followed Jonas out to where the three riders hitched their horses while they filled their saddle bags with supplies from the storehouse.
Williams walked over to the gate and followed the three sets of prints in the soft dirt to the hitching rail. The end horse appeared to be the one with a seam in the shoe. “Sure as water runs downhill that’s the same shoe I saw at Cottonwood Seep.”
“Same shoe I was following in the canyons, by damn.” Jonas confirmed. He reached down and slipped the leather thong off his Colt’s hammer readying it for action.
Irish and the other two cowhands came out of the storage shed carrying supplies when they spotted Williams checking their horse’s rear shoes. “What are you doing with my horse?” Irish yelled hoarsely as he dropped the saddlebags and flipped his coat back revealing his six-gun.
Walsh stepped out and faced him. “Looking at the seam in your horse’s back shoe, Irish. Appears it matches the tracks we found in some box canyons and at Cottonwood springs. Looks like you’re rustling Circle C cows you crooked, yellow bellied son-of-a-bitch.”
Irish hesitated unsure what to do next. His two companions froze, not daring to move. Irish drew confidence from his recent practice with his six shooter that he really was good enough and didn’t have to back down. “You’re going to have to prove that,” he snarled as he went for his gun.
Walsh’s draw was considerably faster and his gun belched flame before Irish could bring his six gun level. The bullet impacted Irish’s arm above the elbow knocking him back sending his gun flying into the dirt. He cursed, lost his balance and fell to the ground holding his arm as blood seeped through his coat sleeve.
Williams covered the other two rustlers with his six gun, hammer back and finger resting lightly on the trigger. They stood ashen faced, well aware the odds were overwhelming they would die if they made a move.
Jonas, who had watched the gunplay with amused interest, moved over to Irish and checked his wound. As he fumbled for his pocket knife to cut Irish’s coat sleeve to get at the wound, Walsh handed him his Bowie. “Damn it, Walsh, I just need to cut his sleeve not take his arm off.”
“Well, it’s a lot sharper than that toy knife you use,” Walsh said grinning.
The razor sharp Bowie made quick work of slitting the sleeve of Irish’s coat and wool shirt exposing any ugly wound that was bleeding profusely. “You’re a mighty lucky rustler, Irish,” Jonas said his voice cold with disgust as he inspected the wound. “The bullet went right through and didn’t break a bone. Even luckier Walsh didn’t plug you dead center. Course, had I got the pleasure of shooting ya, I wouldn’t have to patch ya up. You’d be burning in hell right now.”
Williams broke in with, “Won’t argue there. We need to let the law handle these three so we can appear a little more civilized this time. We can lock ‘em in the grain shed, and I’ll take ‘em back to town when I’m finished here so they can get a fair trial.”
Jonas picked up Irish’s pistol out of the dirt and handed it to Williams. “Lookie here, a Schofield .44 Russian. When I back tracked this lying son-of-a-bitch, I found where he and Goat shot it out. I also found a fired .44 Russian case.”
Williams turned to Irish. “Want to admit what really happened out there, Irish?”
“Lots of riders carry Smiths or Schofield .44 Russian pistols. You can’t prove nothin’.”
“Well, Jonas back tracked you and the signs were pretty clear. And we have Walsh here saying he only wounded Steed. It all points to you killing Goat and possibly Steed and lying about it. Ya got two choices: either come clean or we’ll take a walk and let Jonas try out some of his injun truth medicine on ya.”
Irish’s face paled even more. He knew of Jonas’ reputation for knowing the Indian ways. His eyes darted in fear from Williams to Jonas to Walsh. With pain from his gunshot arm starting to throb as his adrenalin powered down, his bravado failed and he dropped his head. “Ya, I shot Goat. He bullied me for months and wanted to hog the reward for himself. I couldn’t take it any longer and drew on him. We traded shots and I got lucky. His Colt is in the bunkhouse. I haven’t even reloaded it. Steed was about dead and died soon after we found him, so I had nothin’ to do with that.”
Walsh stared down at Irish. “Your lying inflamed the situation and made this mess even worse. Then you stole cows from the outfit that hired ya. A hanging rope is too good for the likes of you.”
After Jonas patched up Irish and Ruddy locked the three rustlers in a grain shed, Williams turned to Jenny who stood quietly a little shaken by the quick u
nfolding events. “This should put a stop to losing so many cows. And with that out of the way, let’s get back to why I high-tailed it out here.”
Jonas looked over at Walsh and winked, “Glad we worked on that fast draw. You did mighty good.”
“Obliged…and glad your bluff worked on getting Irish to fess up.”
Williams cut in, “Who said anything about bluffing,” trying to look serious.
Seated again on the porch with Jenny and Walsh, Williams pulled out the letter from the Carson City Sheriff’s office. “It appears the sheriff there, a fellow named W. J. Hanks knew your mother briefly when she worked for a casino owner and dealer, Duane Bliss. She had a good head for figures and was hired by the mint as a book keeper. She was using her maiden name Silvia Hansson then. Interestingly, Hanks only met James McCabe once but heard he was a wheeler and dealer in mining stocks around Gold Hill and the Big Bonanza silver strike area. From what he remembers, McCabe was seen escorting Miss Hansson to several social functions and then in the late summer of ‘70 or ‘71 they both suddenly disappeared. Incidentally, John Curren was later convicted of selling bogus mining stocks and skimming gold at the mint and spent five years in the Nevada State Penitentiary. I suppose when he got out, he figured McCabe owed him and that was an easy way to get a grubstake,” he concluded handing Jenny the letter.
Jonas, who had quietly joined the group unnoticed, spoke up. “I knew W.J. Hanks when he was a lieutenant in the 11th Ohio Volunteer Cavalry that patrolled between St. Louis and Fort Laramie. Good officer and Indian fighter. Wondered what happened to him.”
For a moment no one said anything, each wondering how and if this changed anything. Jenny was the first to speak. “So what does this all mean?”
“Well, as far as I can find out there’s no record of any missing or stolen government gold. The only ones who know about this are talkin’ to Saint Peter. There’s no way to prove anything. All I have is a wild story from a delirious and dying man who escaped from the Bannocks. Thaxton may have been able to tell us more, but he’s pushing up daises. The Carson mint and the US Army have no records of any of this. So, it appears to me you’ve got a spread, some cows, and a few rolls of gold coins to boot,” Williams replied handing Jenny the letters.
A big smile spread across Walsh’s face. “That means, Jenny, with some hard work we can build this ranch into something we can be proud of...”
Williams looked over at Jonas. “You gonna stay on as deputy?”
Jenny interrupted, “Say no. I want you to stay here and ramrod this outfit. You’re getting too old to ride around shooting up the country and gettin’ into trouble.
Jonas looked helplessly at Williams. “What can I say, you heard the boss-lady; I gotta quit shootin’ up the country and nurse cows. I’ll help you take those three rustlers back to Henryville and then resign...hopefully for good.”
Williams stood up and faced Walsh his right hand extended. “Looks like our bachelor days are ‘bout over. I heard from a little tweety bird that Jenny and Nellie are planning a double wedding in town...you up to it?”
Ambush at Dry Bone Gulch Page 19