“Mr. Stolter, at first light bring your horses up to the corral. I’ll have some hay and feed for them waiting. They’ll be safe up on my place. I have a small buggy in the barn that we can hitch up and if you’ll drive, I’ll steady Griff until we get him to Rio Mesa. There’s no way he could make it all that way on the back of a horse.” She stood up and began to gather her supplies into the carpetbag.
“Thank you kindly, Ma’am.” Stolter helped Beulah mount up.
“Do you want me to ride along with you back to your gate? I’d hate them robbers to try to attack you in the dark like this.” Stolter glanced at Southcott who was watching and then looked back at Beulah.
“I’ve lived here for over twenty five years, Mr. Stolter. I know this area better than any robbers could possibly. I’d kind of like to see them try. As long as I can move a finger, I’ll pull a trigger. Only thing I’ve shot lately is rattlers and they don’t put up much of a fight.” Beulah reined her mare around.
“Goodnight, Mr. Stolter. Take care he don’t break open them stitches in the night.” Both men watched the sassy woman ride out into the darkness.
###
It was an old Jameson buggy with loose springs, worn leather seats and a torn canvas canopy that flapped in the wind. After Stolter had secured his small herd into the corral, he unsaddled and hitched up his horse to the buggy.
The ancient springs protested with a screech over each rut and bump. Stolter laughed and said it could never be a vehicle to sneak up on anyone. It was a twenty minute trot from Beulah’s ranch back to where Southcott lay.
Earlier, she had walked out to the grassy area and put her fingers in her mouth and whistled two long tones. After a few minutes, the hammerhead trotted up out of the wash and right over to her. She fed him two apples as she talked to the horse petting his forelock and neck. Southcott watched her shaking his head.
“Damn horse.”
Stolter chuckled watching the woman and the big horse walk back to the buggy. She unsaddled the horse and stowed the saddle in the back of the buggy. Stolter figured she destroyed a fine, white hanky rubbing down the animal.
Stolter helped lift a weak Southcott into the center of the seat where Beulah wrapped him in a quilt and put her arm around him.
“You need a shave and a bath so don’t go getting no ideas about sundering my womanly charms, Griff.” One of those hazel eyes winked at Stolter who grinned back.
It was a creaking, groaning, protesting ride. She and Southcott took turns looking through the field glasses in case they might spot his mares. Twice, Stolter turned to find Beulah whispering to a closed eye Southcott nestled against her ample bosom.
###
Two miles out the buggy came out a bend between the hills to find four men sitting on horses off the side of the road. Two of them reined their horses nearer while the other two turned their mounts and walked away a short distance.
Just as Stolter started to ask them their business, Beulah called out. “You men know if Doc Brownlow is in Rio Mesa this morning? I got a sick man here.” She waved a soiled hanky and then shaded her eyes. The taller man on the appaloosa started to walk on over, but Beulah held up a hand.
“You might want to stay back. I don’t know if this is catching. These red pustules keep breaking with green pus and blood. It may be the pox.” Stolter jerked around and looked closer at Southcott only to see Beulah stroke his face to shush him.
“Uhh, Ma’am. Yes, Doc’s in town. Hung over but he’s there somewhere.” The man was backing up his horse, leaning trying to get a look at the sick man. Beulah told Stolter to drive on.
“Thank you kindly.” Stolter glanced back at the men after they had gone fifty yards and saw them staring back.
“You know them men, Miss?”
“Frank Mooney. I heard he had been shot and died last year, but I can see that was an exaggeration. He had his face turned away. I imagine he recognized me, but maybe not with this bonnet. The other man was Ricky Steiger. He is a snake belly low disappointment to his father. Started drinking when he was twelve and just could not climb out of the bottle. He actually did four years in the Army became a sergeant. I guess that means he can follow orders just fine. His mother had hopes of him going back east to school and getting a fine education. You know, being something and somebody. Never happened.” Beulah motioned like she was wiping dirt off her slacks.
“Did you recognize either of the other two men, Griff? Were those the men who took your mares?” Beulah helped him sit up straighter as the buggy bounced and jostled.
Southcott cleared his throat. “I fought Indians in the Dakotas and Wyoming. The most Ricky ever fought was that little paper wrapper on the top of a whiskey bottle.” They all laughed.
Southcott said, “Either man sporting a bandage on their arm like they been bit?”
“Nope, don’t think either one had a bandage,” Stolter commented. Southcott shook his head.
“I’d hazard a guess that we ain’t seen the last of them,” said Beulah.
###
The buggy swayed hard to the left as it slid into a rut and then pulled back out. Around the corner past the brush a building came into view.
“Ah, here we are. The beautiful, thriving metropolis of Rio Mesa.” Beulah gestured to the left.
“The general store claims to carry French wine but that bottle was emptied over ten years ago. The town claims an art gallery but the only art are three paintings in the restaurant someone did to pay for dinner. The Mayor, who is long gone, boasted a center for the performing arts would be built for Rosalie Amundson, our fair songbird.” Beulah rolled her eyes.
“The last time I heard her sing, Larry Conroy’s three blue tick hounds wouldn’t stop howling for half an hour.” Southcott started to laugh and then caught his hand over his wound as he chuckled.
“Cultural bastion of society, is it?” Stolter looked at Beulah who laughed into her hand.
The bleary eyed doctor complimented Beulah on her small, delicate stitches considering the raw irascible patient. Stolter was amused to see Beulah blush at the kind words and batt her eyelashes at the distinguished white-haired physician.
“You want me to see if I can get a room for you at that hotel or should we just lay you out in the hay loft at the stables?” Beulah fanned herself grinning as she looked at Southcott.
Doc shook his head. “Ain’t no hay in the hayloft. We’re waiting for Genoli to bring in a wagonload. ‘S’posed to have been yesterday, but you know how open bottles tend to get in his way.”
“Ah. Well, that idea goes up in flames. The hotel it is then. What do you figure, Doc? Two days flat on his back? Three days?” Beulah looked at the doctor who had been admiring the fit of her slacks.
“Hmm? Oh. Two days to get up and walk around. Three days ought to be alright. Just don’t be trying to scale any mountains or square dance in the saloon.” Southcott nodded and ran his fingers over the tight white bandage around his belly.
After paying the doctor, Southcott put an arm around Southcott and Beulah and walked twenty five yards to the hotel who had a convenient first floor room available. Beulah and Stolter helped Southcott undress and get into bed.
“Can you rustle up some food? My belly is growling,” Southcott said.
Beulah put a hand on her hip and gave Southcott a saucy look. “Beef bourguignon, baby asparagus, pomme fritte and topped off with tiramisu?”
Southcott’s mouth fell open. “Beef what?”
“My fine cuisine palette gained in the exquisite dining establishments in Chicago, Philadelphia and New York is just lost out here in the wilderness of Arizona.”
Stolter laughed with gusto.
###
Frank Mooney and Ricky Steiger looked at each other with a knowing stare. Mooney nodded with a slowness like he was thinking.
“So how do you know that woman in the buggy?” A thin man with pasty white complexion and lank black hair creeping down the back of his neck eased his horse nearer
to Mooney. With sunken cheeks and deep set small eyes, the man had a white-skinned pallor about him.
“Beulah Vallarian. She inherited a run-down ranch with little water from her husband died of some disease few years back. She’s spunky. The hired hand and his wife live in a cabin on the northwest side of the barn. You don’t wanna mess with her, Ray. She’s a good shot with a Colt and like anyone else, she’ll kill you with that shotgun,” Mooney said.
Ray Beadle coughed and spit off to side. His eyes darkened as he watched the jouncing buggy amble up the rutted, dusty road. The narrow back was hunched as he leaned on the saddle horn, biting his lip in thought. He had drove cattle up the trail from Texas four times, ridden freight wagons to Los Angeles twice and now had a blossoming career in highway robbery so he could afford new boots.
“I didn’t recognize the man driving the buggy. Maybe he was friends with the sick man in the blanket. Brothers, maybe.” Steiger moved his horse around the other side of Mooney, away from Beadle. There was something about the grimacing sour expression that Steiger didn’t like so he moved away.
“What do you say, Bob? We can ride out to that ranch, see if there’s anything there worth having,” Beadle said.
Anyone could see that Bob Moss was a big man, well over six foot tall with a barrel chest and powerful arms. He wore his kinky, curly light brown hair short up around his ears. His dark eyes were hooded with bushy eyebrows. Someone had caught a lucky punch somewhere as the pudgy nose had been broken which would cause him to lose any future beauty contests.
“The west is infested with those dirt-poor farmers all the way to the Pacific Ocean. They have a good year with their stock or crops and come into money. Then they’re poor for ten years and barely survive,” Moss sneered. Steiger took out his makings and rolled small cigarette.
Moss watched him light the smoke. “Her entire net worth is probably that horse and buggy. Or maybe some silver doo-dad that her husband gave her years ago. No, I’d say that there’s probably nothing there for us. Unless one of you boys has been inside the house?”
Mooney and Steiger shook their heads almost like twins. Moss chuckled to himself as the two men seemed to be working on becoming professional criminals.
“Uh, no, I’ve never been any closer than the barn. I helped deliver a load of boards for the old shack they were building a couple years ago.” Mooney sat down to pull off his boots. There were holes in his socks. Moss shook his head and looked at Steiger. Ricky shook his head and put his eyes on the smoldering cigarette in his fingers.
Beadle coughed and spit again. “That was a good lookin’ hammerhead tied on to the back of that buggy. I didn’t see any brand on him either. Might be able to get a couple of dollars for him at some stables down the road.”
“That’s the difference between you and me, Ray. You think about getting enough money to get you through the night. I think about getting enough money to get me through the year. You think too damn small,” said Moss. The heavy man flexed his shoulders as he looked back up the road.
Beadle wiped his face with a dirty faded green neckerchief. “Is there a stage that stops in Rio Mesa?”
“No. The stage stops over in Red Springs, about eight miles north of there. It used to stop in here twice a week when the town was bigger. Business died out. People moved away. Stage stops up there at Red Springs now.” Steiger watched the smoke drift away on the light breeze.
Moss looked at Mooney and Steiger noticing the threadbare clothes, worn down heels on their boots and laughed to himself as he figured neither one had more than five bullets. Moss had run a mighty successful stagecoach robbing venture starting up in Missouri eight months ago. Mooney and Steiger had teamed up with Beadle and Moss on the last job north of Santa Fe. Mile by mile he was moving towards the west coast and the lure of gold. The sooner he lost these two local yokels, the better off he and Beadle would be.
“We’re gonna split up here tonight. You boys go find someplace to bed down for the night. Ray and I are gonna ride on into Rio Mesa. See what we can find that’s worth finding. We’ll catch up with you tomorrow back at that wide bridge over the river.” Moss urged his horse into a walk out onto the road headed west.
“We still gonna ride over to California, Bob? I was looking forward to seeing those sandy beaches and getting elbow deep in gold.” Mooney had a wide-mouth grin. Beadle waved and trotted after Moss who ignored the question and had focused on the mission ahead.
The two men plodded along the road in silence. Beadle and Moss had ridden together for close to five years now and their relationship over time had become unspoken. Beadle was quicker to anger and violence and Moss was more thoughtful planning to avoid gunplay. There had been several corpses in Abilene and Dodge City. Moss still had a slight limp when he walked from getting a hard kick to his left knee during a fight in Denver.
Beadle gestured to the left ahead. “That looks like that buggy from earlier. Them are the horses there in that corral. Maybe they’re still with the doctor.” Stolter’s black was chewing on hay in the corner of the corral and the hammerhead stood looking at the men riding into town.
“This is a God forsaken run-down town. That saloon has maybe twenty dollars to its name. Looks like it could have had some big crowds at one time, too. It’s not even dark yet and the general store is already closed and locked up tight.” Moss nodded at the rusty iron gate that was padlocked across the front door of the store.
At the corral they dismounted and let the horse’s water. “What are you thinking, Bob?”
“I think we get ourselves a good dinner and some rest. About midnight we’ll see who has what in their pockets and trot those two horses right on west with us. We may need some rope to tie someone up if they give us any trouble,” Moss said. “How about you?”
“I was thinking it was too bad that lady was caring for that sick fella. She looked like she could have been some fun. I like my women plump and feisty like that.” Beadle chuckled. Moss grinned and shook his head. They unsaddled and turned their horses into the corral. The men gave a quick once-over to the other horses in the graying evening light just to make sure of any markings. The hammerhead snorted and kicked the dirt when Beadle tried to run his hand down the flank.
The saloon gave them two plates of chili con carne with thick slabs of yellow cornbread and cold beers. The bartender busied himself with washing glasses and plates in a pan of soapy water behind the bar. The two men ate in silence with occasional glances at the door and the man behind the bar.
###
“Well, this has just gone from bad to worse.” Stolter had found an old Phoenix Gazette newspaper from last month and had been perusing it. He turned around to see Beulah rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her long auburn hair was disheveled and wild.
Earlier in the afternoon Stolter had crept downstairs and rustled up a pot of coffee from the kitchen cook. In his sleep he had dreamt of running horses, Marianna shouting something, and the approaching edge of the mesa. It had brought him out of a sound sleep. The cook had slipped a couple of sandwiches onto a tray for them along with a handful of cookies. Back in the room, the horseman poured a small cup and set it on the nightstand next to the woman.
“Thank you, kindly. I’m not known for getting up real early.” She lifted the cup and sipped the hot liquid. Stolter turned back to the newspaper he had been reading. He could hear clothes rustling behind him and he kept his eyes averted.
“How did you come to be in Rio Mesa, Ma’am?”
“We raised a few head of whiteface cattle. My husband built freight wagons as a business. Those big, long heavy ones that are pulled by draft horses. All of his tools and equipment is still out in the barn. I haven’t touched it.”
“My husband’s lungs got weaker and weaker. He had finished a wagon the day before and decided there was no reason to go out to the workshop. Marcus Gray, that’s the man who helped him build the wagons, he stayed on with his wife. He built on the big rooms on the side of the barn.
”
“Most women around here move away to a more comfortable life in a bigger town or city. I’m the unusual one. I left the city to get out to peace and quiet. This is what I get!”
Stolter looked thoughtful for a moment. “I met my wife at a rodeo in Denver. When we married, I moved in to her family home with her and her mother and father. After five years we decided to buy a place of our own and moved up to Yucca Valley where we found a ranch. We raise and train cutting horses.”
“Why Yucca Valley? Why not near to her parents?”
Almost without realizing it, his shoulders slumped and his voice cracked. “We had a tragedy befall our family. Our boy, Charles Rafael, died from sickness and there was nothing we could do. The land, the area reminded Marianna of what had happened so we moved away from where Charley had died. He’s buried there, on the ranch, under the big tree he loved to climb.”
Southcott nodded and said, “My folks had horses over just south of Tucson. I was 14 when my pa died. His heart gave out. I never knew him to be sick a day in his life. My ma died of pneumonia four years later, the doc said. I think she died of a broken heart, myself. They had known each other since they were young kids. Sort of knew they would get married one day.”
“I was at a grange dance with a couple of my buddies. They were eyeing the local girls but I just wasn’t interested. Julie Myerson’s cousin, Jennifer, was visiting from New Orleans. She took a shine to me and I thought I was the luckiest man alive. We wrote back and forth for almost a year. I went back there and met her folks. I tried to tell her that a ranch life is a hard life. On the train coming out to marry me, she met a rich man that swept her off her feet and she was gone.”
Stolter was quiet for a moment. He stood up, stretched and said, “This past year has been pretty bad. Not too many people have bought horses. People buy them from other ranches now, other trainers. We still go up to the big rodeos and compete. People know our horses and we’re priced along with others. It’s just been real tight. We had hoped to go out to San Francisco with the kids this summer and play tourists. We just haven’t sold the number of horses we should have.”
Nick Stolter Page 7