High Country Rescue

by Michael Skinner

At Sweetwater, the crew was changed again, and the train continued toward Santa Fe. After leaving Sweetwater, he got as comfortable as he could in his seat in the chair car and went to sleep. The night passed quickly. Waking up at 5:30 a.m., he carried his carpetbag to the washroom at the end of the car where he washed up and shaved. While he was shaving the train was pulling out of its fuel and water stop in Raton, New Mexico. Returning his bag to a shelf above his seat, he went to the dining car for breakfast. As he ate, Dan watched the seemingly barren landscape covered with sage and junipers roll by. Even though he hadn’t seen any sign of life yet, he knew the country offered more than it appeared from the fast-moving train. There was enough water and browse to support scattered herds of cattle and bands of antelope. As the train approached Santa Fe, the land changed slowly to tree covered foothills. The train came to a stop at the depot in Santa Fe at 9:50 the morning of the eighth, ten minutes early.

  The Colonel’s instructions had been to travel from Santa Fe to Chama, but there was no train service between the two. His choices were to buy a horse and saddle or take the stagecoach tomorrow morning. Since the stagecoach would arrive in Chama late in the afternoon on the ninth, he chose the stagecoach. Dan walked from the train station to the stagecoach office, which was across and down the street from the train station. After buying a ticket to Chama, he walked up the street to Santa Fe’s main square. There he found a hotel on the east side of the square. He entered the hotel and went into the dining room and had an early lunch. After lunch, he went to the front desk and got a room overlooking the square.

  Taking advantage of the afternoon, he removed the leather from the carpetbag and began to work on the moccasins. He picked up the thicker shoulder leather and laid it on the floor. Then he placed his right foot on the leather and outlined it with a pencil. He carefully folded the leather up around his foot and marked with the pencil where he would cut the bottoms. After cleaning up the rough pencil lines, he cut out the leather bottom. The next step was more difficult, he started by cutting a small rectangle from the thinner leather, this was to be used for the toe and tongue of the moccasin. With his foot, back on the bottom piece, he once again folded up the sides of the bottom and laid the thinner leather over his foot and the bottom. Then he held the two pieces of leather together with one hand and marked the thinner leather with the other hand. He worked his way around the toe of the moccasin marking as he went. Being careful to cut the toe a little wider, he cut out the combination toe and tongue piece. Leaving the toe piece, a little wide would allow him to adjust the fit. Cutting a long rectangle from the sheet of thinner leather he fashioned a piece to attach to the sides and back of the bottom that would wrap around his leg and the tongue. When he was satisfied with the leather for the right foot, he repeated the process for the left side. Using the leather punch, he punched holes in the edges of all the pieces where leather attached to leather. Dan then carefully laced the pieces together and tried them on. He was surprised at how well they fit. He unlaced them and punched a few more holes and laced them up again. He repeated this until he thought he had the best fit he could achieve. When he finished, he put the moccasins and the rest of the leather in his carpetbag. It was late in the afternoon by the time he finished.

  He left the hotel and walked into the town square. He had only been to Santa Fe a couple of times, but he had always enjoyed the town square. The square was a large plaza with the Governor’s Place on the west side and the Cathedral on the north side. Shops and restaurants are along the south and east sides along with his hotel. He was walking along the south side of the plaza looking at the various shops. He was reminded about his reason for being in Santa Fe when he came to the Rio Grande Gun Company. Entering the shop, he was amazed at the number of firearms they had in stock. They didn’t have any 45 auto cartridges, but they did have a large variety of large caliber cartridges including some 45-90 cartridges for his High Wall, and he bought another box of twenty for the rifle. Leaving the Gun Shop, he continued down the boardwalk until he found a restaurant on the square. Following dinner, he returned to the hotel and added the box of 45-90 cartridges to the carpetbag and turned in for the night.

  Dan awoke and checked his watch, it was just past five-thirty. Since the stagecoach was scheduled to leave at eight o’clock am, he took his time. He shaved, dressed, checked his gear and then went downstairs for breakfast. He had oatmeal, stewed apples, toast, and hot tea. Afterward, he returned to his room and picked up his gear. Leaving the hotel, he headed for the stage station. As usual, Dan was early, and the stagecoach was late. He boarded the stage and was joined by two men traveling to Chama on business. Finally, about eight twenty the stage rolled out of town and into the rolling hills north of town. The distance from Santa Fe through Espanola to Chama is only a little more than a hundred miles, but with changing the horses several times and traveling over the mountain roads, it took most of the day. The ride in the coach was rough and noisy. He could only hear parts of the conversation on the other side of the coach. They were talking about cattle prices. Under other circumstances, he might have joined in, but he decided to just watch the scenery as they traveled. Dan began to think they would never get there and the dust was terrible. About two o’clock in the afternoon, a rain shower settled the dust and cooled the air. They reached Chama a little after five o’clock p.m.

  Chama was a small railroad town. It was just a short walk from the stage stop to the Foster Hotel, which was across the street from the train station. After getting a room in the hotel, he went down the street to a Bath House to wash away the day’s dust. He returned to the hotel and asked the desk clerk how late the restaurant served supper. The clerk said until nine o’clock.

  Since he had the time, he went down to the rail yard and looked over the maintenance equipment. He had heard about the new rotary snowplows the railroads were using in the mountains, but this was the first one he had seen. Even in a size made for the narrow gauge tracks, it was impressive. This was going to make winter travel faster.

  He returned to the hotel shortly before nine o’clock and had supper in the dining room. There were only a few people left in the dining room when he entered, most were finishing dessert or that last cup of coffee. Dan ordered a bowl of beef stew and cornbread for dinner. He was the last one to leave the dining room. He crossed the small lobby and went upstairs. In his room, he took a few minutes to review his gear and make a few changes in how he had the carpetbag packed. He would need to tie the carpetbag to his saddle tomorrow afternoon, and he wanted it to lay as flat as possible against the horse. After one last look around the room, he turned and blew out the light and went to bed.

  As Dan stood on the front porch of the Hotel, drinking a cup of hot black tea, he could see the faint trace of smoke up the valley, and thought, ‘The train would be on time for a change.’ He returned to the dining room, just in time for his breakfast to arrive. He was in no hurry; the train was not scheduled to leave for Durango until nine-forty this morning. Chama was a division point on the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad. This would mean changing crews, servicing the locomotive and adding and dropping cars as needed.

  He finished breakfast and returned to his room. It wasn’t much of a room, only eight feet wide and ten feet long, with a bed on one wall and a small dresser on the other wall. He used the bowl and pitcher on the dresser to wash up, and then began getting his things together. Taking his carpetbag, he went downstairs to settle up with the front desk.

  Dan crossed the street to the Station and bought a through ticket to Durango. He boarded the train a couple of cars back from the locomotive and walked up through the train and found a seat in the rear of the combine car. The combine car is a car that is a freight car in the front half and a passenger car in the rear half. Being closest to the engine it would attract the most amount of smoke and the least number of riders and give him some privacy.

  It was a six-hour trip to Durango, with only two stops for water scheduled; while the 20 tons o
f coal would get the train there, the 8,000 gallons of water would last only two hours before it would require replacement. As the train moved steadily west through the open country, he observed the changing landscape, wide valleys of grassland divided by wooded hills. He was amazed by how many ranches had been fenced off since his last trip through the area a year ago. The train made occasional stops along the way at ranch houses built near the tracks to drop off or pick up passengers. As the train turned north toward Durango, the valleys became smaller and the hills larger.

  He approached the Conductor and said, “If no one else has asked, I need off at Dutchman’s Siding.”

  “So far, you’re the only one to ask, but we stop there regularly. It will be after the next water stop. You’re in the Combine car?”

  “Yes”

  “Be ready, and I will give you a warning before we get there.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  About a half hour after the water stop the Conductor came into the car and said to him, “We will be stopping in about five minutes. Do you have anything in the Baggage Car?”

  “No, I have everything in this bag.”

  “Do you have someone meeting you?”

  “Yes, someone from the ranch is to meet me.”

  “Good, be ready when we stop.”

  “Thank you.”

  The train slowed and came to a stop at the siding. Dan’s feet had barely hit the ground before the train was moving again. Someone was meeting him, but not from the Dutchman’s Ranch. The Dutchman’s Ranch was a large ranch, but the Dutchman did not like barbed wire, and still ran his ranch as an open-range ranch. He had a large number of wranglers, with a high turnover in his crews, no one would think anything of seeing a strange face. He walked over to the loading pens and watched the train disappear around the curve at the end of the valley. Dutchman’s Siding was a siding with loading pens located in a small valley south of Durango. Later in the fall, the area ranchers would ship most of their cattle out of the high country, either to market or to ranches at lower elevations. Except for some of the more sheltered valleys, the cattle could not make it through the winters.

  At first, he was unsure, but slowly he could see some movement in the shadows at the base of the mountain to the west. Finally, he could make out two horses and one rider. After about ten minutes Joe rode up to the loading pens.

  “Hello, Joe.”

  “Hello Dan, how was the trip?”

  “The usual, long and dusty.”

  “How are you?”

  “Older.”

  Joe was Joe Greywolf, a full-blooded Apache, he was about sixty, but he looked much younger. He had been with the Colonel since the Colonel was a young boy. Dan knew they had been through a lot together, but he had never heard them talk about their earlier times together. Joe was always quiet and under spoken.

  Dan asked, “Do you want to rest before we start back?”

  “We can rest when we get there.”

  That is what he expected Joe to say. He knew there would be time for questions later about what was going on.

  “How long will it take to get to the ranch from here?” Dan asked.

  “If we push hard, with a little luck, we should be there in about five hours.”

  As Joe urged his horse into a trot and Dan’s horse matched it, he knew ‘push hard’ was going to be just that. They traveled at a steady trot as they moved north from the siding, covering the grassland of the valley quickly. Staying east of the railroad tracks they slowed to a walk as they entered the foothills, that the railroad tracks had turned west to avoid. Dan and Joe traveled over hill and valley, changing from a trot to a walk and back to a trot, until after an hour they stopped at a small creek to water the horses.

  Turning to Joe, he said, “We cannot push these horses like this for four more hours.”

  “No, we can’t, but I wanted to cover as much of this easy country as quickly as we can, so the sun will be as high as possible when we cross the Black Bear Creek. Because we will pass by Durango on the east side, we will have to cross Black Bear Creek where it passes through a narrow canyon east of town.”

  “Is the creek crossing that bad?”

  “No, but the trail down to it and back up the other side is very hard and not used by many people these days.”

  After a few minutes for the horses to water, they moved on through the tree-covered hills and mountains at a steady walk. They followed an old trail, which was well worn but slightly overgrown. The trail generally ran north but followed the creeks and ridgelines when possible. About an hour later, traveling along a ridgeline running north they intersected another ridgeline running east and west.

  As they stopped at the top of the ridge, Joe said, “Black Bear Creek Canyon.”

  It was a deep canyon, at least 400 feet deep and less than a half mile wide. The south wall of the canyon was covered with dark timber, and the north side was covered with Ponderosa pines and rock.

  Dan said, “This is an old trail, but who would choose to cross Black Bear Creek in this canyon?”

  “Those people who don’t want to be seen traveling north.”

  “Then this is an old warrior's trail for attacks to the north.”

  “Yes, since before the white man came.”

  Dismounting they started down the trail to the creek below. Moving down the steep slope through the fir trees was made easier by the switchbacks, but the trail was steep enough and the headroom low enough that the horses had to be led by hand all the way to the bottom. Crossing the creek this late in the year was accomplished without incident. The north side was far more difficult. The sunlight could reach the north face of the canyon, and the undergrowth was thick in the open areas. The trail was so steep in places that they had to let the horse go first and hold on to their tails and let the horses pull them up. About an hour and fifteen minutes later, they topped out on the other side.

  Joe said, “We’ll give the horses, twenty minutes to rest and water at the next creek.”

  The creek was two ridges over, but was a good place to rest the horses. The creek flowed out of a small canyon into a broad grass-covered valley. On the far side of the valley, Dan could see a group of mule deer grazing.

  He looked at his pocket watch and noted it was six-twenty p.m., and he heard Joe say, “About another hour to the ranch house.”

  “How bad is it?” He asked.

  “Colonel John is very worried about something, but whatever it is he hasn’t shared it with me. I knew he would not just sit still and do nothing, but I wasn’t sure what he was going to do until he sent for you.”

  “I hope I can handle whatever he has planned.”

  “He thinks you can, or he wouldn’t have sent for you.”

  Dan shook his head and said, “Let’s go and see what the Colonel has in mind.”

  Mounting the horses, Dan and Joe headed on toward the ranch house. They traveled at a steady walk, crossing grass-covered valleys and small hills. Turning west they traveled until they came to the road to Durango and turned north. After a couple of miles, they turn west onto the ranch road. They followed it up a broad valley, sloping up toward the mountains in the west. At the head of the valley set the ranch house, a large two-story house facing east toward the rising sun. A large barn and associated corrals lay to the southwest of the house with a creek running behind the barn complex along the foot of the mountain.

  They rode to the corrals where Joe called to one of the wranglers, “Jose take these horses and be sure that they get a good rubdown before they are put in the barn for the night.”

  They entered the house through the kitchen door and were greeted by the Colonel, Colonel John W. Simms, USMC Retired.

  “Dan, it is good to see you again. I appreciate you coming, and I hope Joe didn’t make the trip here too hard on you.”

  “It is, as always a great pleasure to see you and Joe again, and I thank you for

  your invitation to come for a visit.”

/>   Taking Dan’s hand, the Colonel said, “We will talk about your visit after dinner, but now, I know you and Joe have had a hard day, and I am sure you want to clean up before dinner. Will thirty minutes be enough time for you?”

  With a quick look to Joe, Dan said, “That will be Fine.”

  The Colonel replied, “Then we will meet in the dining room in thirty minutes. By the way, Dan, just use the same room you had last time you were here.”

  Dan went upstairs and using the bowl and pitcher on the dresser, washed up. Removing a clean pair of pants and shirt from his bag, he dressed and went back downstairs. He walked out onto the back porch, the sun was well below the mountains to the west, but the sky still had some light left in it. He saw Joe walking over from his cabin near the barn. Joe didn’t stay in the bunkhouse with wranglers, because he didn’t keep regular hours and worked directly for the Colonel.

  As Joe came up the porch, Dan asked, “When did you leave here to meet me?”

  “Yesterday morning before light, I knew we would be pushing hard, so I took all day yesterday to move the horses down to just west of loading pens, made camp where there were water and grass for the horses and waited.”

  “I thought as much but wanted to confirm it, horses don’t think about tomorrow so you must.” Turning toward the kitchen door, Dan continued, “Let’s go in and have dinner.”

  Dan and Joe passed through the kitchen into the dining room. The dining room was a large room on the front of the house with a service door to the kitchen and a pocket door to the hallway. In the center of the room was a long table that could seat twelve, but there were only three places set. Dan and Joe were looking at a painting on the east wall when the Colonel entered the room.

  Joining them, the Colonel said, “Good evening, I am sure you are hungry, take a seat and let’s get started.”

  The Colonel went to the head of the table, and waiting for him to be seated, Dan and Joe sat on either side. The cook, Maria, brought in a platter of beef steaks, bowls of boiled potatoes and green beans and a loaf of fresh bread. Dinner passed with general conversation about Dan’s trip out and things around the ranch.