Both of the men were red-faced, like they had been out in the wind most of the day. They pulled chairs out and sat at a table close to the bar across the room. In loud voices intended to bring a waiter on the run, they said they were ready to put some firewater and caldillo in their bellies. I watched as a waiter came around, and they ordered their supper. They sipped short glasses of whiskey the waiter brought them, laughed and joked with a few men sitting nearby, and looked around the room, apparently sizing everyone up. When Wolf Eyes saw Roy talking to Daddy, his eyes narrowed to a squint as he nodded toward us to catch Hook Nose’s attention.
Grinning, they stood up and started twisting between tables as they moved toward us, Wolf Eyes in front with Hook Nose behind him, grinning like a school bully ready to pick on some little kid. I saw them coming, and when Roy saw me staring at them across the cantina, he glanced in their direction. His jaw muscles rippled as he grew silent. His hand moved off his knee and slid down to ease the tie off the hammer of his revolver. I saw Daddy move his right hand under the back of his coat, and I knew he had it on the handle of his revolver when I heard its hammer click back.
Daddy whispered, just loud enough for me to hear, “Henry, if any trouble starts, move away from Roy and me as fast you can.” I nodded that I understood.
Wolf Eyes came up to the table, a toothpick hanging out of the side of his mouth, and stuck his hand out toward Daddy. He said with a grin, “Howdy, Mr. Fountain. I’m Jack Stone, and this here is Charlie Bentene.”
Daddy’s gun hand didn’t move as he hooked his left thumb into his vest pocket, and, for a few long seconds, didn’t speak. I’d never seen him refuse to shake hands with anybody. Stone’s eyes narrowed as he lost his smile. Daddy leaned forward in his chair a little with his right hand still inside his coat as he continued to stare at Stone.
I could tell by how quiet he was that Daddy was angry. I started looking around the cantina to find a shelter if trouble started. Finally, Daddy nodded at them and said, “Gentlemen? Mr. Tibbets here and I were discussing some personal business. If you want to wait, I’ll be glad to talk to you after we’re done.”
Stone looked taken aback, and he said, “Well, Mr. Fountain, I just hope you ain’t believing anything this old son of a bitch has told you.” He spat the words out as if he’d bitten into bitter weed as he stared straight at Roy. Roy, silent and poker-faced, not blinking an eye, stared right back at Stone and Bentene. His hand rested unmoving and relaxed on his revolver.
I’ll never forget the look on Daddy’s face. His eyes narrowed to slits, and his voice became a hard, flat, threatening monotone that made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. He said, “Watch your foul mouth, Stone. I don’t want this young boy hearing rough language like that. I don’t want to hear any more threats, implied or otherwise, toward us now or later. Understand me?” He was furious, and Stone’s eyes showed surprise.
Daddy’s eyes never left Stone’s. The way Daddy said the words, precisely and slowly with deadly calm, was enough to make any man back away from starting a fight. Right then, I knew I wanted to be just like my daddy—fearless and a man to be feared.
Stone suddenly seemed to relax. He grinned and gave a little nod, but Bentene’s eyes were wide and his mouth open. Stone looked like a wolf showing his fangs trying to keep a grizzly bear off him. He shook his head, held up both hands with his palms out, and waved Daddy off. He said, “Sorry, Mr. Fountain. I didn’t mean no harm, just teasing old Roy here. He’s the da . . . I mean he’s the durndest, wild storyteller a feller can listen to here in Tularosa. I just wouldn’t want you to take anything he told you too seriously.”
Daddy said, “I’ll take it any way I think best, Stone. I’ll use it too, understand me?”
With a twisted little grin, Stone shrugged and nodded. He said, “That’s fine. See ya later, Tibbets.” He turned from our table and led Bentene back to theirs where their caldillo was already sitting with steam rising off the top.
Daddy never moved until they sat down. I’d never seen Daddy stare somebody down like that. In fact, I’d never seen two grown men seem so ready to fight, and my heart pounded for a while as I thought about it. Daddy finally relaxed, and I heard the hammer ease down on the Colt. Roy took his hand off his revolver, but he left the hammer tie loose.
Daddy pitched some coins on the table for dinner and said, “Roy, let’s go over to our room at Señora Esparza’s boardinghouse, and you can show us those hides.” Roy just nodded and followed us out the door.
Neither he nor Daddy ever looked back toward Stone, but I did. Stone was watching every move we made as he slowly spooned up his caldillo.
Roy disappeared into the cold darkness while we walked over to our room. He showed up with a roll of hides under his arm just as we were entering the boardinghouse. We walked single file down the narrow hallway to our room, with Roy’s spurs making a pleasant jingle as he moved behind Daddy and me. When we got in the room, Roy unrolled the two hides and spread them out on the floor.
Even I could tell the Bar F brand had been changed to a Circle Eight. Daddy looked at them and grinned. He said, “Now we have enough evidence to arrest those thieves. Two of them are sitting in the cantina right now. Roy, you’ve earned your pay for this one, my friend. I’m sure Mr. Fremont will be grateful.” Roy just squatted by the hides, nodding and grinning all the while, as if he had struck the mother lode.
Daddy said, “Roy, I’ll keep these hides and show them with the one Les Dow is bringing. If you find out about any more anywhere in the next week or two, let me know. I’ll be in Lincoln for the next two or three weeks. For your safety, I think you need to get on to Lincoln soon. Why don’t you ride along with us? Two guns are better than one anytime. We’re leaving about an hour before sunup. I’ll call you before the grand jury in the next two or three days, and then you can get on back to Fremont’s.”
Roy took out his tobacco sack from a vest pocket and started rolling another cigarette. He said, “I was just thinkin’ the same thing, Mr. Fountain. I’ll ride on over to Lincoln with y’all and tell my story, the sooner the better. I’ll be glad to hang around Lincoln and ride back to Cruces with you, if you want. Y’all are gonna have to be real careful goin’ back, ’cause the cat’s gonna be out of the bag.”
“No, that’s all right. You can get on back to the ranch after you testify, because I have a first-class bodyguard right here,” Daddy said, squeezing my shoulder.
“Then I’ll go on back to the ranch as soon as you’re done with me. If I find any more of these hides, I’ll let you know. Wisht I had a bodyguard like you do. I’d feel a sight more safe.” Roy looked in my direction and winked, and I wished mightily I were a cowboy so I could ride with Roy. I was ready to go anywhere with that man.
As Roy was clinking out the door, Daddy said, “We’ll be fine on the ride up to Lincoln with our friends, Colt and Winchester. I expect to have my work finished soon. Good night, Roy. See you in the morning. You’re a great help.”
Roy nodded and touched his hat with a two-fingered salute before he disappeared in the dark. We got settled to bed, but I didn’t sleep well that night because I kept seeing Jack Stone’s eyes boring into mine and feeling that he was about to do something bad to us. Daddy appeared to sleep easy, but I wasn’t sure he was really asleep. I usually heard him snoring at home when he was sleeping in bed with Mama. He was mighty quiet in bed with me that night.
Way before sunup, Charlie Esparza served us up a big breakfast of huevos rancheros. Then he harnessed Sergeant and Buck and brought the wagon around for us. When we finished breakfast, Roy was waiting outside sitting on Claude and had his Winchester across his saddle pommel.
Daddy loaded up our Winchester, lunches, trunk of papers, the valise, and Roy’s hides. We said adios to the Esparzas and headed down the dark road to Lincoln in the dark, freezing air, Roy’s horse trotting along beside us. It was still over an hour before sunup. I sat next to Daddy, wishing it would get light soon so
Stone couldn’t jump out of the bushes and start shooting without us seeing him first.
CHAPTER 6
JACK STONE
The tall, tree-covered mountains, ominous and scary, rose around us. I knew some gang of outlaws and murderers was going to charge us out of nowhere shooting and yelling as they filled us full of holes. It didn’t relieve my fear any when Daddy kept that loaded Winchester across his knees. I figured Roy could get to his pistol quick enough if he needed it.
While we were passing a wide meadow where the chances of attack, or so I estimated, were low, I asked, “Daddy, who’s Jack Stone?”
Daddy shook his head and said, “He’s a mean, no-good, greedy son of a bitch.” Again I delighted in having him talk to me just as if I were a grown man. “He owns a small spread in a canyon over on the San Andres side of the basin. He has a few cattle, and I’ll bet nearly all of them are stolen. He’s a greasy thief, a murderer, and a con man who talks a great line about how all the small ranchers in the Tularosa Basin have to stick together if they want to survive. He keeps talking about open-range law.”
I frowned and asked, “What’s open-range law?”
“Well, Stone claims the unwritten open-range law says that if you find an unbranded calf on your property, then it’s yours, regardless of the mother’s brand. Naturally, he says, if you keep the calf and its mother is there, then you ought to keep its mother, too. He likes to say, ‘That’s the way it is in Texas, ain’t it?’ And folks think, Well, if that’s the way Texans do it, then we should, too.”
I frowned because his idea conflicted with what Mama had taught me from the Good Book about doing unto others as you’d have them do unto you. It seemed to me if someone’s cow had a calf on your property, you should give them both back to the owner. Stone’s idea of open-range law just didn’t seem right to me. “Why would people think that way, Daddy?” I asked.
Daddy handed me the reins and let me drive while he lit a cigar, but instead of taking the reins back, he looked to our friend and asked, “How can I explain that, Roy?”
Roy laughed and said, “I reckon you know better than me.”
Daddy sighed and said, “The drought that started in eighteen ninety is still hurting all the ranchers, big and small. It’s dried up most of the water supply and, with too many cattle already on the open range, it’s wiped out the gra’ma grass. Ranchers who are about to go under will listen to anybody who says it’s right to fight any fight to keep cattle that aren’t their own or even to kill in order to keep what little they have. Stone got several of the small ranchers to form an association. They all agreed to put money in a pot to help Stone fight against what they felt were illegal and unwarranted attacks against them by the big ranchers and their attorneys.”
I frowned and asked, “You mean they gave him money to hire a lawyer?”
Daddy shrugged and said, “I doubt he’s hired a lawyer. I think they use the money to pay thugs to—” Instead of finishing the thought, Daddy said, “Regardless of that, I know Stone just wants to steal cattle to build his ranch into a major operation. He’s been accused several times of killing or running off range detectives that were nosing around small ranchers’ herds. Whenever the sheriff tried to develop evidence to bring Stone to trial, the association ranchers all kept quiet and made sure their ranch hands kept their mouths shut. For all I know, association members might have helped him with the killings. If I don’t put a quick stop to the rustling, there’ll be a major shooting war between the big and small operations, just like fifteen years ago in the days of Billy the Kid, and if the shooting starts, a lot of blood is going to be spilled.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” muttered Roy.
By this time, the sun had come up, and I felt safer, being able to scan the woods around me. It made me proud to be out with Daddy helping to set wrongs right.
Sometime late in the afternoon, when the lunch Mrs. Esparza had fixed for us was long gone, I was ready to start chewing on cactus, I was so hungry. Daddy was hunched down in his army coat with its big collar turned up as high as it would go, and I was shivering from the cold, but Roy just loped along beside us and casually rolled his cigarettes whenever we stopped to rest Buck and Sergeant.
At one of our stops, I kept rubbing my hands and slapping myself to keep warm. Roy grinned and asked, “You cold, Henry?” All I could do was nod. He said, “Aw, it ain’t so bad. Why you’d get used to it quick if you was a-cowboyin’ out here for a month or two.” For the first time, I thought, Maybe I don’t want to be a cowboy after all.
CHAPTER 7
MRS. DARCY’S BOARDINGHOUSE
When we got to Lincoln a little before dark, Daddy rented a room at Mrs. Darcy’s boardinghouse on Main Street, almost right across from the two-story courthouse where the grand jury met. Roy helped us unload our gear and carry it to our room. Then we drove over to the livery stable, and Roy stabled his mustang and said he was headed for a saloon. Daddy said, “Be careful not to drink too much, Roy. I need you to testify in a day or two, so you have to be clear-eyed and sober.”
Roy raised one hand as if he were being sworn in at a jury trial and said, “Mr. Fountain, I ain’t no drunk. Just want to warm my innards with a meal and a little shot of good whiskey. You can count on me when you need me.”
Then Roy turned to me and said, “Get on down to the boardinghouse and get big on Miz Darcy’s good cookin’, Henry. I’ll see ya ’fore I leave.” He slapped me on the back and took off down the street toward the saloon.
Mrs. Darcy was a widow lady, generously broad across her backside and big in the bosom. Her gray-streaked, blonde hair rode in a big twist on top of her head, and she was as gracious and kind a person as I’ve ever met. She took a shine to me right off.
When Daddy and I got back from the livery, she said, “Now you gentlemen just go right on to your room and get comfortable. I’ll be serving dinner promptly at six o’clock, so come hungry. There’ll be plenty for everybody, especially Mr. Henry.”
After hanging our clothes up nice and neat, we washed up, combed down our hair, and slapped the dust out of our riding clothes. We walked downstairs to stand by the fire in the dining room as the other boarders were coming in.
Mrs. Darcy had a full house, and every place at the dinner table was taken. There was a rancher from over near Roswell who never took his hat off, inside or out; a Methodist preacher who rode a circuit between Roswell and Las Cruces; an army lieutenant with wavy, black hair and a droopy little mustache from Fort Stanton; and an old-timer with bright, dancing eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses. The old-timer sat next to me and extended his hand for a shake and said, “Howdy, young feller. I’m Rufus Pike. I own a small ranch up in the Organs behind Tortugas Mountain.”
I liked him right away. I shook his hand and gave it a couple of pumps saying, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pike. I’m Henry Fountain.”
“Just call me Rufus, son.” Rufus talked to me all through a dinner of pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions. He and Mrs. Darcy were the only ones in the room who actually paid any attention to me.
I learned that he and Mrs. Darcy’s husband had ridden in the same company of dragoons in the days before the Civil War, when the militias were fighting Apaches all over the southwest.
About halfway through our meal, I told him I was helping my daddy bring thieving cattle rustlers to justice. Then I asked, “What brings you here, Rufus?”
“Why this lady right here,” he said, hooking a thumb toward Mrs. Darcy. “Two or three times a year, I ride my big, gray mule, Sally, over to Lincoln and make repairs on Miz Darcy’s house in exchange for her good cooking and some extraord’narily fine hospitality.” He had an extra twinkle in his eye when he said this, and Mrs. Darcy blushed like a schoolgirl.
Most of the folks staying with Mrs. Darcy were gone in a day or two. The preacher was there until Sunday, when he held a church service somewhere in town, and then he moved on. The rancher was gone the next day, and so was the lieutenant. I
was glad Rufus stayed around for a few days because he was fun to talk to. Since I didn’t know anyone my own age in town, I offered to help Rufus with his work while Daddy was at the courthouse. Rufus grinned and said, “I reckon I can use all the help I can get, especially from a strong, young buck like yoreself.”
It wasn’t long before we were great friends. I followed him around like a pup, listening to his stories and helping him repair fencing and other stuff around Mrs. Darcy’s place. His stories were the first I’d ever heard about the Apache wars from somebody who’d actually fought the Indians. My daddy wouldn’t talk about his soldiering days. Rufus had an unlimited supply of stories, and he was a great storyteller. We’d work a while, and then he’d get a cup of coffee and relax before refreshing the wad of tobacco he kept in his cheek. While he was resting and drinking coffee, he’d tell me about his past adventures.
CHAPTER 8
RUFUS’S STORY
The first Sunday after we arrived, Rufus had seen Daddy with his Winchester and commented on what a fine weapon it was. Daddy told him we’d be going out shooting later that morning and invited him to come along and try it out. Rufus thought that was fine idea and said so several times. Soon we hitched up Buck and Sergeant and drove a couple of miles outside of Lincoln for target practice in a little canyon that fronted the river. Rufus watched closely as Daddy cranked a couple of cartridge loads through the Winchester, never missing anything at which he pointed. Then Daddy let me shoot a load while he and Rufus encouraged and coached me. After I managed to hit four targets out of twelve shots, I was beginning to feel a bit cocky as Rufus nodded and winked at me. Daddy just stood behind me with his arms crossed, looking serious.
When it was Rufus’s turn to shoot, he hit every target at every distance available. He was a better shot than Daddy, and Daddy said so. Rufus had one round left in his load after turning a rock the size of his fist twenty or thirty yards downriver to dust, and in one smooth motion, never pausing to aim, he whipped the Winchester up and killed a grackle sitting on a bush cussing at us at least fifty yards away. After the shot, there wasn’t anything left except just a few black feathers floating to the ground. It was a remarkable shot, and Daddy asked, “Where’d you learn to shoot like that, Rufus?”
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