CHAPTER EIGHT
Josh walked down the street to the stage relay station. It was just a hunch, but with Waco sayin’ Lem Olsen had run his horse down, and Duke Barrett sayin’ he headed West, Josh wondered if he took the stagecoach.
“I’m Josh Logan and I’m on the trail of a killer named Lem Olsen,” he said.
“I’m Bart Scott, the manager said. “What’d he look like?”
“Well,” Josh said. “He’s a rough, burly sort, with full jowls and a ragged smoker’s cough.”
“I mean, what’d he look like? What else can you tell me about him?”
“He’s a balding man with a hawk-like nose, beady-black eyes and long black hair. You’d probably notice his manipulative, unstable personality, characterized by hostility and fault-finding.”
“Nobody that matches that description got on here,” Bart Scott said.
“You sure of it?” Josh said.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Scott said. “Who could forget someone like that? Anyway,” he added, “why’d you think he left town on the stagecoach?” he added. “Didn’t he have a horse?”
“He had one,” Josh said. “But he rode him down and left him at the livery stable.”
“Well, tradition says if a man’s on the run, he don’t usually take the stagecoach,” Scott said.
“Yeah, I thought of that, but I’ve known it done,” Josh said. “I’ll ask Sheriff Martin if anyone reported a horse bein’ stolen. If he didn’t catch the stagecoach, then he either left town on horseback, or on foot.”
“Unless he sprung wings and flew,” Scott said, jokingly. “But I know for a fact that nobody like him got on the stage here in Blanconia.”
Josh let Concho rest for the rest of the night. Early the next morning he was down at the livery stable feeding and taking care of him when the morning stage rolled into town. A while later when he was saddling Concho, Sheriff Martin hurried down to the livery stable.
“I’m glad you ain’t already gone,” he said. “Someone climbed up in the stagecoach that left out of here yesterday when they slowed down at a sharp curve west of here. The driver didn’t notice it and the man rode it all the way to the next relay station. When the driver saw him, the man jumped out and ran off toward the trees and disappeared.”
“Which relay station was it?” Josh asked.
“It was over at Clareville,’ Sheriff Martin said. “It’s a little place about twenty or so miles west of here. It used to be called Lometa, but they changed it to Clareville.”
“Well, Sheriff,” Josh said. “I ain’t too much interested in the history of the town. I’m more interested in catchin’ up with that crook, Lem Olsen.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sheriff Martin said. “I just thought you might like to know that.”
Josh grinned and climbed up in the saddle and struck a lope toward Clareville. Even on foot, a man can cover a lot of miles in twenty-four hours. But he figured Olsen had probably already stolen another horse by now and he didn’t want to waste time talking about what Clareville used to be called.
The operator of the Clareville livery stable smiled and nodded when Josh rode up to the hitch rack and stepped down.
“I figured someone like you would come ridin’ in here,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Joe Higgins.”
“What do you mean by that, Mr. Higgins?” Josh asked as he tied Concho to the hitch rack and shook hands.
“What I mean is, someone that comes ridin’ in here on a sweatin’ horse and lookin’ like he’s ready to tangle with a grizzly bear.”
“I ain’t ready to tangle with no grizzly,” Josh said. “But I am ready to tangle with the outlaw I’m after. That is,” he added, “if I catch up with him.”
“Probably the same one who robbed the mercantile and stole a horse,” Higgins said.
“Sounds like the one I’m after,” Josh said. “Did you see him?”
“Yeah, I did,” Higgins said. “He came in here wantin’ to buy a horse. But when I said I didn’t have one to sell, he just walked over to the store and robbed it. Then he stole a horse that was tied out front and rode off.”
“What’d he look like?”
“One of the ugliest fellers I ever saw,” Higgins said. “Mostly what I remember about him was his wild lookin’ eyes and long black hair.”
“Sounds like Lem Olsen,” Josh said. “What kind of horse did he steal?”
“A pretty little buckskin,” Higgins said. “It belonged to a young girl who was in the store at the time.”
“Which way’d he go?”
“He spurred that buckskin hard and made him run out of here like someone was after him and never looked back,” Higgins said.
“Well, he’s right about someone bein’ after him,” Josh said. “Did the sheriff give chase?”
“We ain’t got no sheriff here in Clareville,” Higgins said.
“Can you feed and water my horse?” Josh said. “I need to pick up a few things.”
“Sure,” Higgins said. “Take your time.”
Josh didn’t intend to take his time, but he did intend to buy some grub and rifle cartridges. When he walked in the front door of the mercantile, a young girl about sixteen was the only customer in there and she was begging the old gentleman who ran the place to go after Olsen.
“Mr. Perez,” she said. “If you won’t go after him, then loan me your horse and I’ll do it myself.”
“Rebecca, I’m too old and fat to go ridin’ off after a horse thief,” he said. “You know it and I know it. And besides that, I can’t loan you my horse either, ‘cause he ain’t in no better shape than I am.”
Josh gathered up a supply of coffee and jerky and ammunition then smiled at the young girl.
“I’m Josh Logan,” he said, holding his hat in his hand. “The man who stole your buckskin horse is the man I’m after. I’ll try to catch up with him and get your horse back for you. What’s your name?”
“Rebecca,” she said, eyeing the cartridges Josh had placed on the counter. “Will you shoot him for me if you catch him?”
“If I catch him, and if he chooses to fight it out, I’ll not only shoot him for you, but I’ll also shoot him for lots of other people he robbed and killed. He’s a bad man. I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you or Mr. Perez when he robbed the place.”
“I’ll pay you,” Rebecca said, reaching in her pocket. “Here’s five dollars. It’s all I have.”
“Now why would I charge you for helpin’ you get your horse back?” he asked, with a smile.
She smiled back, but didn’t answer.
Josh headed back to the livery stable and saddled Concho. He left town in a hurry and had only ridden about ten miles when suddenly Concho pointed his ears and looked off to the left of the trail.
Standing under a tall cedar tree was Rebecca’s buckskin. He was all lathered up and breathing hard. He’d been completely ridden down. Josh leaned down and picked up his reins and led him slowly back toward Clareville. Rebecca and her father were sitting on a bench in front of the store when Josh rode up.
“Here’s your horse, Rebecca,” he said. “I led him back as slow as I could because he’d been run down and is still pretty sore and stiff.”
“Father,” she said. “Do you have any extra money?”
“Now hold on a minute, Rebecca,’ Josh said. “I told you there’d be no charge so don’t go tryin’ to round up no money.”
Rebecca’s father thanked Josh and pulled out a wrinkled ten dollar bill, but Josh just shook his head no.
“My bet is Rebecca wouldn’t charge me if she found a horse I lost,” Josh said, smiling, and taking a sideways look at her. “Would you?”
She smiled back. “No,” she said, softly. “I wouldn’t.”
“Alright then,” Josh said. “I need to get started.”
“It’ll be dark in a few hours,” Rebecca said. “You’re welcome to come home with us.”
“Thanks,” Josh said. “But I can be a long way down the
road before it gets too dark to travel.”
Later, when the sun dropped down behind the trees to the west, Josh unsaddled and hobbled Concho close to a small stream and leaned back on his saddle to try and get some much- needed rest. This time he heard a small twig crack before Concho did, since Concho had his head down, drinking water from the creek. Josh stood up, drew his pistol, and at the same time stepped behind a cedar tree.
“Hola! Hello, in the camp,” a man said.
Josh was standing in the shadow of the cedar so he hollered back. “Come on in.”
An old Mexican man and his wife limped toward the fire with scared looks on their faces. “We need help,” he said.
Josh stepped around the cedar and holstered his Colt. “What’s goin’ on?”
“We was on our way to town when someone stopped us,” the man said. “He jerked us out of our wagon and climbed up on the seat and started whippin’ our old team with the reins and left us here.”
The old woman was trying her best to keep from crying. “I tried to fight him off but he hit me and knocked me down.”
“Was he a big man with long black hair?” Josh said.
The old man nodded yes. “Yes, and he was very ugly too.”
Josh stirred the coals in his campfire and wrapped his blanket around the old woman’s shoulders. “Sit here by the fire while I heat up a can of water. You like coffee?”
“Si, I mean, yes,” she said, as pain filled her eyes. “We both like coffee.”
“You can speak Spanish if you want to,” Josh said, as he handed them each a strip of jerky. “I speak it, too.”
“It is alright,” the woman said, her voice cracking. “I can speak English. I’m just a little addled right now.”
“What’s your name, sir?” Josh asked.
The old fellow, weak and light headed, placed a hand over his heart. “It is Bonifacio Mendoza,” he said, nervously. “My wife is Paloma.”
Josh smiled and nodded. “Little Dove,” he said, trying to calm the old couple down. “I sure like the name Paloma.”
“When tomorrow comes, would you help us get to Dinero?” Bonifacio asked. “That’s where we was going when the man pulled us out of our wagon.”
“Sure, I will,” Josh said. “How far is it to Dinero?”
“About seven or six miles that way,” Bonifacio said, pointing toward the west. Keeping their eyes steady on Josh, they finished their coffee without a word.
As Josh watched the exhausted old couple, rage took over and scalding anger flooded up in him. “I have been chasin’ that man for a long time,” he said. “And what he did to you folks only makes me want to catch up with him that much more.”
That night the wind got up, and the morning dawned gray and blustery. Josh saddled Concho and led him over to the fire where the old couple sat close together with Josh’s blanket draped across their shoulders.
He kicked sand on the fire and helped Bonifacio up in the saddle then helped Paloma get up behind him. The sun came up beautifully as he took the reins in his hand and led Concho down the road. In the middle of the morning, the tiny hamlet of Dinero came into view.
“This little place was first named Barlow’s Ferry, after E. Barlow, who ran ferries across the Nueces River for local ranchers. Its name was later changed to Dinero, which means “money” in Spanish,” Bonifacio said.
Josh smiled and nodded, but didn’t speak. “People in this part of the country sure like to give a history on their towns,” he thought to himself. The hamlet only had a few residents, but he was glad when he saw a livery stable and a blacksmith shop. Concho had a loose shoe that needed pulled off and re-set.
“There is our team and wagon,” Bonifacio said, pointing toward the side of the livery stable.
Josh tied Concho to the hitch rack and helped Bonifacio and his wife down as the caretaker stepped out to greet them.
“Howdy, folks,” he said. “Looks like you might be needin’ to buy a couple extra horses.”
“No, we don’t’ need no extra horses,” Josh said. “We just need them two that’s hooked to that wagon.”
“This is my wagon and these are my horses,” Bonifacio said as he started to untie the team.
“No they ain’t,” the caretaker said, grabbing him by the shirt sleeve. “I traded a good horse and saddle for ‘em.”
Josh held up his hand and stepped in between them. “Hold on a minute,” he said. “These folks were ambushed outside of town and their wagon and team was stolen. Do you have a bill of sale?”
“Hell, no, I aint got no bill of sale,” the man said. “I just made an honest swap and I got friends who’ll vouch for it too.”
“Then you better round ‘em up ‘cause that outfit was stolen yesterday from Mr. Mendoza, ” Josh said.
“Wait right here,” the man said. “I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later the man returned with two of his old friends. “These are my friends,” he said. “They’ll vouch that I made a fair trade, won’t you, boys?”
His friends nodded.
Mr. Mendoza reached over in the wagon and lifted out a small leather pouch. “There’s a letter in here from my daughter,” he said. “That ought to prove this is my wagon.”
No one said word as Mendoza and his wife climbed up in the wagon and clicked to their team and drove slowly up the street.
“How much was that horse worth that you traded off?” Josh asked.
“I’d say at least thirty,” the man said.
Josh pulled a few bills out of his shirt pocket and handed him thirty dollars. “Those old people stumbled into my camp last night tired and afraid,” he said. “I’ve no proof, but what they told me leads me to believe the man I’m after is the one who robbed ‘em of that team and wagon. So is thirty enough, or do you want more?”
“It’s enough,” the man said. “I was just afraid you was tryin’ to take ‘em away from me. I’m Seth Pillins.”
“I’m Josh Logan. I was on the trail of a big man with long black hair who is a murderin’ thief. Does that sound like him?”
“Yeah, it does,” Pillins said. “Don’t it, boys?”
His friends nodded.
“What kind of horse did you trade him?”
“It was a long-legged black and white Pinto,” Pillins said. “I’ve had him a long time, ain’t that right, boys?”
His friends nodded.
“I ain’t doubtin’ it was a fair trade, Mr. Pillins,” Josh said. “Since I don’t see no cantina or saloon here in Dinero, I bet the man didn’t linger, did he?”
“No, he didn’t,” Pillins said. “He just mounted up and headed west. Didn’t he, boys?”
His friends nodded.
“He just got on and rode away?” Josh said.
“All he asked was how far it was to Laredo,” Pillins said. “When I told him it was about a hundred miles with little or no water, he just said a few loud cuss words then got on and high-tailed it out of here. I was glad to see him go, too,” he added. “He had a mean look in his eyes, didn’t he, boys?”
His friends nodded.
“Well, my horse has a loose shoe that needs to be pulled off and nailed back on,” Josh said. “Is the blacksmith around?”
“You’re talkin’ to him,” Pillins said. “Lead him in here and I’ll tack it on for you.”
“How big is Dinero anyway?” Josh asked as Pillins went to work re-setting the shoe.
“Hell,” Pillins said, as he untied Concho and handed the reins to Josh. “I bet there ain’t no more than fifty people here, is there boys?”
His friends nodded, again.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Two dollars.”
Josh thanked him and handed him a five. “I apologize for the mix up, but those folks swore that was their team and wagon.”
“No doubt about it,” Pillins said. “As soon the old fellow reached in the wagon and pulled out that leather pouch with the letter from his daughter in it, I reali
zed it sure enough was their rig.”
“Is there a lot of traffic on that road west?” Josh asked.
“No, there ain’t,” Pillins said. “Hell,” he added. “There ain’t much of anything out there to be goin’ in that direction for anyway, is there boys?”
His friends nodded, and smiled.
Josh climbed up on Concho and followed the road west. Seth Pillins was right about there not being much traffic on the road because there was only one set of tracks. He figured it was Olsen.
After about thirty or forty miles going straight west, he came to the banks of the Neuces River where the road turned slightly, following the shore line toward the southwest. Since the day was so far gone, and it was harder to keep the tracks in sight, Josh stopped and pitched camp. He picketed Concho in the green grass near the water’s edge and rolled up in his blanket and leaned back against his saddle.
He hated the fact that he’d let himself get so involved in chasing after the Wolf Gang. Ana had left Austin without leaving word where she was going, and here he lay out under the stars in the middle of the desert on a cold night. It didn’t make no sense at all. But he knew he couldn’t stop now, not with only one member of the gang left to track down.
The next day, after traveling another twenty miles, the Neuces River turned toward the northwest. The road kept a westerly direction toward Encinal, a small village of no more than two or three frame buildings, cattle pens, and a store, some twenty miles away.
Josh figured this might be the last water he’d see until he got to Encinal so he stopped and pitched camp close to the river, and unsaddled Concho. Early the next morning, he saddled up and hadn’t ridden more then a mile when suddenly a man stepped out of the trees with a rifle in his hand.
“Hold on there, Cowboy,” the man said, stripping back the hammer on his Winchester. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”
With no chance to draw his pistol, Josh stopped and pushed back his hat back and grinned. “I’m goin’ to Laredo to see my sick mother.”
“Yeah, well, she ain’t there,” the man said. “So get down.”
Suddenly there was silence.
“If you’re plannin’ on robbin’ me you’re out of luck,” Josh said, finally. “Because I ain’t carryin’ no money.”
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