Two miles east, Stolter heard gunfire. He pulled out the old pistol and made sure he had six shots. Keeping to the edge of the road, he walked his roan farther east. From a trail in the brush up ahead about twenty yards, two men came riding out on the road at a full gallop headed east. One of them was Rafe Winston along with the man called Mike.
After a few minutes, Stolter crept up to the trail and peered in. Down in the brush was a camp. A body was face down off to one side. Stolter’s gray mare was tied to a tree alongside the last buckskin colt.
Stolter rolled the body over. It was Hal Stewardson, one of the men from the camp a few miles back. All the pockets had been cleaned out. There was a trickle of drying blood from the corner of the mouth. The powder burns on the side of the head indicated that it was murder. Stolter could do nothing for the dead man. Then he went to the roan’s saddlebags unfolded a small piece of paper. He wrote down what he thought had happened and who was involved. Then he put down the Windy Ridge Ranch address in Yucca Valley. Stolter tucked the note inside the shirt.
With the gray mare and the buckskin trotting behind him, Stolter rode in the darkening afternoon back to the pintos. George had tried to drag himself about ten feet but had given up. Stolter helped him get up onto his horse.
“About three miles down the road on the right, you’ll find a camp with a dead body. I saw Rafe and Mike ride out of that camp. When you get to Cactus Verde, send someone back to get that dead man. He may be someone’s father or brother.” Stolter stepped back as George’s horse headed for the road.
“And George. If I ever see you again, I’ll shoot you myself.”
It was after sunset with the gray darkness getting closer when Stolter opened the coral gate and brought out his horses. Alongside the road, caught in the impenetrable scrub mesquite and post cacti was an old wooden sign. La Jolla Rojo Ranch.
It was another half hour taking the stock back to yearlings. He built a fire in between the rocks near the water and heated Laurie’s packed dinner. He felt weak as a wet cat with a heaviness in his muscles from the exertion. Through no fault of his own, he had made only six miles that day. He felt alone and defeated.
Later, the fire had burned down to embers. The overhead sky twinkled with stars. Tomorrow Eddie would mail the letters to let them know he was coming home. As he lay in his bedroll he couldn’t sleep and dozed on and off. Exhaustion overtook him at some point and he fell into a deep sleep.
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The red streaked dawn brought a jittery nervousness to the horses. The three yearlings had acted up for the first seven miles. They raced ahead and then lagged behind. Stolter who was still tired from the restless night could almost see the pintos shaking their heads in frustration. It was another mile to water. The chestnuts whinnied and raced by him, following by the pintos and then the yearlings.
As they came around the bend in the road, Stolter pulled up to see three people standing at the waterhole. The woman had a torn dress, messed up hair and dirty smudges on her face. The man jerking her arm had a long red scratch on his cheek. Another heavier man with puffy cheeks and a handlebar mustache stepped out from the other three saddled horses.
“This is none of your concern, mister. You should move along now.”
Stolter shook his head and dismounted. “This waterhole is not on private land. You don’t own it or control it. What’s going on here, miss?”
The heavier man puffed up his chest with importance and said, “This woman is in possession of something I own and I want it back.”
“Miss?” Stolter led his horse down to the water. Beady black eyes under a black broad brimmed hat turned loose of the woman. He took a couple of steps and stood with clinched fists.
“You are interfering here, mister. Leave us alone. Mind your own..” the man gasped and clamped a hand up on the side of his neck. His eyes bulged and he cried out as red blood seeped from between his fingers. He turned and saw the woman holding a bloody knife in her hand. She threw it down and ran for one of the horses.
Just as she rode by them, she called out, “Thanks, mister.”
Stolter was struck from behind by the heavy man. He lifted an arm as he fell and felt a boot kick into his ribs. Stolter grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it as hard as he could and rolled. He was slow to get up and caught a left fist to the temple and was stunned.
“Harry! Stop her! Don’t let her run, Harry!” The wounded man was down on one knee fumbling with a bandanna to cover the wound.
Harry lunged to grab Stolter. The horseman was a little faster and sprung up and turned to the right fast. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry shift his weight and bring up his right fist. Stolter’s fist came around with the momentum of his turn and slammed into Harry’s temple. The heavier man was stunned and his knees started to buckle and then his hand went for something in his boot. A slender steel knife glinted in the light and caught Stolter’s sleeve and then Harry swung the blade in a wicked rip at the horseman’s head. It would have been a devastating gash in his flesh.
Stolter came out of a crouch and bowled himself into Harry’s legs. The knife flew off into the dirt and Harry went face down in the dust.
“Harry, stop! Help me! We can’t let her get away! Let him be, go after her! Stop!” Pleading, the wounded man begged Harry. Panting hard, the heavier man staggered to his feet. He clenched and unclenched his hands and swore.
“Can you ride, Dash?”
“I think so. Help me get on my horse.” Harry put an arm around Dash and helped him over to the saddled horses.
Stolter saw that they were planning to race out after the woman. Thinking fast, he shoved his fingers into his mouth and gave out two whistles trusting his horses to obey the command. The yearlings were the first trot in close to Stolter, expecting a treat. Then the chestnuts came in. The Appaloosas crowded around and made it almost impassable for the two men to get to the road.
Harry swatted and kicked at the yearlings. One of the colts drew back its lips and came away with a good piece of torn jeans.
“Well, maybe we helped her get a head start, fellas.” Stolter cut up apples from the saddlebags and fed the animals. He dipped the bandanna in the water and washed his face. The side of his mouth was tender and there was a lump above his eye. At least when he got home, he’d start to get healed up.
His watch read 1:30 in the afternoon when he came to the outskirts of Nuevo Vargas. Griff had made a mark on the west side where to stop with the horses. Eddie had made a small square on about one hundred yards to the south side of the town for a camp and water.
At the south camp, there was a Mexican man, a woman and a small boy cooking over a small fire. They were all slow to stand up when the horses walked in.
From the road, Stolter yelled, “Buenos dias. Estoy amigo di Ofelia Romero Pelayo. Con permiso?” The Mexican man stood up with a smile and beckoned him into the clearing.
As the horses watered and grazed, Stolter and the couple communicated back and forth in broken Spanish and English. Zeke and Maria Rodriguez and their young boy of three years, Omar. He shared one of the tins of food and the woman made several tortillas for him.
They were waiting for their ride south into Baja. They had been up in the Nevada territory and had come from seeing relatives along the way. Stolter told them as best he could about Eddie, Juan, Chita, Emmie and Icksy. At the sound of the mustang’s name, the man sat up straight and with great animation talked about Fuego. He said the word several times and Stolter shook his struggling to understand. Then as if light had struck him, eit hit Stolter. Fuego and Icksy were friends.
No, not amigos. Hermanos. Brothers, like Eddie and Juan. They all smiled and Stolter felt like he had uncovered a secret.
When Stolter unfolded the map, Zeke pointed out four more camps ahead. It was more like a big station map showing where to get rides. Everybody in the family travelled. People organized their time and work so they were ready when a ride came along and then they went. Stolter thanked t
hem for their generosity.
Six miles and an hour later, he tied up at the rail behind the corral. The horses milled around in the grass and began browsing.
Stolter stood outside the small trading post and brushed the dirt off his pants. His upper left arm reminded him of the wound when he reached to take off his hat. He stepped into the store.
“Good afternoon, sir. Are you looking for anything in particular?” A round, shiny balding man with little glasses perched on his nose greeted him with an open-mouthed smile.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, I need ammunition for my revolver.” Stolter laid the old pistol up on the counter.
“I see you have a Paterson. We don’t see too many of those around. Lots of people buy the new guns.” The clerk turned around to a tall case behind him and ran a finger over the small boxes.
“You’ll get my last two boxes until supply comes in. That’s four dollars. Anything else?”
“I need a little tin pot for coffee. Mine must have come loose and it’s laying back on the trail somewheres.” Stolter shook his head. The clerk laughed.
“One of the freighters will find it and pick it up, I’m sure. We have one man that comes through all the time on his way into New Mexico. Tells me stories about the things that people toss off to the side of the road, or like you, it works its way loose and jumps for freedom.” The clerk laughed again and cleaned his spectacles. The store door opened up and a younger man leaned in.
“Hey, mister? These your horses out here? I think they’re waiting on you.” He pointed out to the front and Stolter stepped over to the doorway. The three black yearlings saw him and whinnied. Stolter laughed.
“I bring ‘em to water, make sure they have grass to graze and feed them apples. The darned things follow me around like happy puppies.” Stolter shook his head and walked back into the store.
The clerk handed the ammunition and supplies to Stolter. “You selling them head? Mighty fine looking yearlings.”
“No, sir. I breed, raise and train cutting horses up in Yucca Valley.”
The clerk looked alarmed and gripped the counter when Stolter said the name of the town. “Yucca Valley? Right?”
“God in Heaven! Jimmy! Run get Miss Belle quick! We found the man from Yucca Valley!” Jimmy stood with his mouth hanging open for a couple of seconds and then ran out the door.
Stolter stopped and frowned. “You been looking for me?”
The clerk offered a hand, “Mr. Nick Stolter? From Yucca Valley?” Stolter took the hand and shook it with a suspicious look on his face.
“I’m honored to meet you, sir. I’m Dave Richards. I own the store. Let me say, I am so very sorry for your loss.”
Stolter took off his hat. “How’d you know about that?”
“We’ve been following the telegrams of your family trying to find you. Well, I should say Miss Belle has. She has them all for you here. We thought you might come through so we’ve been keeping watch. Come on out to the front where there’s better light, Mr. Stolter.”
To the left down the boardwalk, came the young man Jimmy leading a hurrying young woman in slacks and a knitted colorful sweater.
“Mr. Stolter?” It was a white, pretty smile.
Stolter took a step backwards. “Yes, what is this about?”
“My name is Belle Del Grande. I help run the Western Union office here for the town. Your family has sent a couple of messages for you. I brought them.” She handed six sheets of white paper with fine penmanship written words. Richards ushered Stolter to a broad wooden bench.
The first message was from Doctor Collins in Yucca Valley about Marianna’s death. The second message was from an attorney, Merle Doyle of Bradford, representing Kelly, Lola and Colton Stolter. The third message was from Kelly Stolter and it said that everyone was healthy, safe and waiting for him to send word.
The fourth message was from the First National Bank in Tucson confirming receipt of deposit. Stolter frowned and rubbed his head. He had not made any bank transactions in Tucson. The fifth message was from a name that he had not heard in years, Mary Rideout, and it said for him not to worry and safe travels. The sixth and last message was from the initials “KLC” and it said that they had moved to new home at Flint Hills.
Stolter had an incredulous look on his face. “How did you come to get these, Miss Belle?”
The young woman smiled and in a rush she said, “Often time folks don’t know where people are, so they send a telegram to general delivery. That means all the stations get the message. Some station masters get so many that they just let them pile up. We don’t get that many and as they came across the wire, I’ve been writing them down.” She blinked several times and smiled as she wrung her hands.
He staggered with weariness. He still bore the old wounds, had taken a beating, not slept well and had been on edge for miles and days. And now the news of home felt like a hundred pound weight had been added to his shoulders. Stolter leaned his hip against the counter. “What does this mean?”
Richards cleared his throat. “Well, the way we have been thinking on it is, after your Mrs. passed on, this attorney, this Merle Doyle was brought in to help the children. But now, you see the town where the attorney is at, well, that’s over 135 miles to the south of Yucca Valley. We looked it up.” The clerk nodded.
Jimmy leaned against the rail and scratched the ears on one of the black yearlings who nudged against him. “It took us a couple of days to figure out that it must be your wife’s family who is in Bradford. But they didn’t write, it was the attorney. There must have been papers telling your children to contact that attorney if anything bad happened.”
Stolter looked at Jimmy. “So when she died, they wrote a letter to the attorney. You’re right. My wife’s family is from Bradford. But her father died many years ago. There’s nobody left there. I think Doyle must have gone to see the children to help them.”
Belle said, “The message from Kelly, we figured that was your daughter, said that they were all fine and just waiting to hear from you. There’s no trouble or difficulties so we figured the attorney did talk with the children and did help them.”
Richards again spoke, “When we saw the Tucson bank wire, we figured you had been successful in business, because of the deposit. That’s when we decided to speculate and say that you were most likely on your way home.”
Jimmy said, “So that meant all we had to do was keep an eye out for you to pass through.”
Stolter rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t understand why Mary Rideout would send a message. She is a friend of Marianna’s family. Maybe she was acknowledging Marianas’s passing.”
Jimmy had scratched all the ears on the yearlings and they had been nudging him with their noses. “They like you, Jimmy. You must smell good to them. They usually bite.” Jimmy laughed and ruffled their manes.
Stolter looked at the last telegram. “Why would they move from Yucca Valley to Flint Hills? We were buying that place.”
Richards said, “Mr. Stolter, there is an attorney involved with the welfare of your children. I would hazard a guess that he is making sure everything is done proper. Attorneys are that way.” He paused a moment and then looked at the horses.
“You’ve got more questions and only your children will have the answers. Moving that distance is a big job and a lot of work. I’m sure that attorney would not have let them move unless it was vital to their safety and security.” Belle and Jimmy both nodded in agreement.
Stolter stood up. “I guess I better get on the road. Thank you Belle, Jimmy and Dave, for keeping watch for me. I don’t feel quite so alone now.” There was a tightness in his chest because of the genuine concern strangers had for him.
Belle took a step towards Stolter and started to reach for his arm and then drew back. “With your permission, I’d like to send word to your children that we found you and you are on your way home.” She looked somewhat worried.
“That would be right kind of you, Miss. Can I p
ay you for the wire?” Stolter started to fish coins out of his jeans. He stopped when she shook her head.
“The way you can pay, Mr. Stolter, is to send a wire out once you get home. Just put on it ‘home safe and sound.’ Send it general delivery and we’ll know you made it.” Stolter smiled and stepped down into the dusty street.
The yearlings followed him as he walked down to the corral. Stolter cut up apples for them and then mounted up. It was then that he noticed the lone wire on poles along the road. He thought about the message that would soon be in the hands of his children. What he didn’t notice was the two men on horseback sitting on a ridge watching him move his herd west.
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“Who is he, boss?” The man with the field glasses followed the herd until it disappeared into the curve of the low road. After he put down the glasses, he looked at the other man. Bob Moss held up his pocket watch and looked at the time. He shook his head pursing his mouth with a quick grimace.
“It’s coming up on 4:30 and I’d say he’s headed for Camino Pequeno. We might have to run them head all the way back to Yuma to find a buyer. Unless you know someone who buys, no questions asked.” Moss put the watch into his vest pocket.
Harry Clark had an angular chiseled face with mean, dark gray eyes. The thick set man with a scant beard claimed to be from the north of England and held his emotions and tongue in check. His black broad-brimmed hat was streaked with dirt and dust and sat pushed back on his head. Clark walked back to the big buckskin and stowed the field glasses in one of the saddlebags.
“I was doing a job with a fella out of Tucson. Name of Beadle. I’d done some things with him up in Kansas City. He told me about an easy hotel job and I’m not the type to take my business indoors. But he was very convincing. He’d come up out of the Gulf and was headed for San Francisco.” Moss stopped to rub his eye.
Clark adjusted the bridle on the buckskin. “So what happened? Where is he?”
“Dead. Shot in that hotel in Rio Mesa. Beadle said that it was full of old timers, widows and drunks. Told me we could slip in and out without anybody missing a snore. It was all going pretty good until we got to the third room. That man down there with them horses. He was in that room, along with another man and a woman.”
Nick Stolter Page 24