by Lou Bradshaw
The trail led to the saddle, but instead of moving on to the connected mountain, it went across the saddle and down the other side. They were heading south. I figured they had something set up on the back side of the bigger mountain, but I figured wrong. They took to the low marshy valleys and stayed there moving steadily south.
I camped that night in a canyon, where I could have a fire. The walls were clad with juniper and brush, so the chances of light reflecting off the walls were slim to none. Along about midnight Dog gave me a warning. He started to growl deep and threatening. Something or somebody was out there and coming my way. “It’s alright, boy… I hear ‘em.” I whispered. Crawling out of my blankets, I slipped on my boots and hat. The six-gun was in my hand by then, and my rifle was right next to me. Pulling back into the junipers, I listened. Dog was right next to me and I counted on his ears to be a touch better than mine.
They were, and he tensed as if ready to spring. By then, I could hear the sound of a horse walking slowly and aimlessly toward the fire. It came into view and I could see that it carried a man slumped in the saddle.
With my Colt in one hand and hatchet in the other, I moved into the fire light with hammer drawn back. The man was almost laying on the horse’s neck… he looked hurt real bad. I’d seen about every trick the devious minds could think of, and if this was a job of play acting… that was one good actor.
Moving around the fire, I got to a place where I could see the man well. His saddle was bloody and so was his left pants leg. Sticking the pistol behind my belt, I went to the rider and started to pull him down. When I was close enough to lift him off, I saw that his shirt was bloody, low and on the right side. As I started to lift him out of the saddle, I noted that his left hand was tied to the saddle horn.
I quickly cut the rawhide he was tied with and got him on the ground beside the fire. He had been shot in the left hip and the right side. Neither wound would normally be enough to kill a healthy man, but with all the blood he had lost, he was no longer a healthy man. Going through his pack I found an extra shirt, which I ripped up to make bandages with. I knew I didn’t have any cloth in my kit. Buckskin was my wardrobe.
Plugging his holes as best I could, I went about making sure he was covered and warm, and then I started making some broth from jerky. He’d need liquids, if he was going to live. He was an oldish man, maybe not as old as Rubio or Sam, but he was past fifty. His hat was gone, and his hair was gray and thinning. His face was so pale and drawn that it would be hard to nail his age down within five years either way.
No matter what his age, he was in some kind of bad shape. I was able to prop him up enough to get some broth into him, but not a lot. I added more to the fire hoping to keep him warm if nothing else. I was afraid; he’d lost way too much blood. From the looks of the scabbing and the dried blood color, he’d been shot sometime earlier in the day.
Unsaddling his horse, I took it to a little branch that run through the canyon and got it watered. Then I put it on grass with the Dusty horse. I was up and awake, so I kept the fire going and went through my mystery guest’s saddle bags. I found a couple of very old letters addressed to James Mochen, General Delivery, Taos, New Mexico.
He had the look of a prospector, with those low heeled boots and calloused hands. Whatever he was, he had worked hard most of his life. His horse wasn’t much more than a plug, but it was well cared for. If he was a prospector, he may have a claim up here somewhere or a cabin. I might never know.
I put on a pot of coffee, and had myself a cup, and then I pulled my saddle out of the firelight and rested my head on it. When I woke up, the coffee was good and strong not to mention hot. I added a little water and checked on the patient.
He was still alive, but not conscious. I propped him up again and got some more beef broth in him. All the while I was trying to save that fellas life, I kept thinking how I would hate it if he was one of them I was following. I just had to put that out of my mind, and besides, he just didn’t look the part.
The moon was gone and the stars were fading as the sky seemed to show a little bit of gray, when the wounded man started to mumble and make some noise.
He was trying to push himself up, but I held him down saying, “Hold on there, friend. You ain’t got no place to go. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you still ain’t out of the woods.”
His eyes came open a little bit and fluttered, and then he was able to almost drag them open… he was that determined to wake up. “Who are you… and where am I?” he asked.
“My name’s Cain, and your horse found my camp. Are you James Mochen?”
After thinking about that for a few seconds and said, “I’m him, but folks just call me Jimmer.”
“What happened, Jimmer? How’d you get shot up?”
He gave that a little more thought and then told me, “I come on that bunch down this side of the river along Blackmon’s Creek.” I let him take his time. “There was six of ‘em…an they had Ben’s boy… I’d know that little red headed feller anywhere… I always call him ‘Little Boy Blue.”
For a few more minutes he was still, and I was afraid he was passing out, but his eyes opened again and he said, “They had Missus Blue’s helper woman with ‘em too… didn’t make no sense… I worked roundup with Ben, and had some meals there and slept in his bunkhouse a time or two… Blue grub staked me, and I’ve yet to pay him back.”
He was starting to wander in his thinking, so I had to get him back on track. “Why’d they shoot you, Jimmer?”
Dragging that question around in his mind for a little bit, he finally said, “I called out to the little feller, ‘Hey there, Little Boy Blue… Where’s your pa?’… and two of ‘em shot into me. The last thing I knowed, I was tryin’ to stay on my hoss.”
Sleep overtook him after a few more spoons of broth. I wasn’t holding out much hope for him to last out the day. He looked almighty pale.
I drifted off counting on Dog to be my ears for a little while. The next time I opened my eyes, the sky was a light gray and trying to find some color. I checked on Jimmer and found him still breathing. Then I went to building up the fire and adding coffee and water to what was in the pot. I sliced up some bacon and made some fresh broth for my patient.
A voice that was damned weak called out, “Cain… keep the coyotes offa me, would ya? And there’s a map an papers to my claim… tell Ben Blue it’s all his’n… he staked me….ain’t showin’ much….”
I started to tell him that he still had a chance, but he’d have never heard me. I just closed his eyes and covered him with his ground sheet. A little later I carried him back against the canyon wall, rolled him in his blankets, and piled rocks on him. It wasn’t anything fancy, but I didn’t suppose old Jimmer would have wanted anything fancy.
After saying a few words over him, I wished him a good journey. I kind of felt like, he knew I had to go get that boy and just quit living so I wouldn’t have to make a tough decision.
Chapter 3
Not knowing what to do with Jimmer’s things, I just threw the saddle on his horse and brought the whole kit and caboodle along. I figured that I might need an extra horse when I got the boy and the woman out of there. When I was figuring out that thought, the word “when” came to mind instead of “if”. I was going to get them out… one way or another. I just didn’t quite know how yet.
Coming down out of that canyon, I rode on down into the narrow valley that ran between the mountains. There was a swift running stream meandering through the valley like a big wet snake. The valley itself wasn’t a half mile wide at any given point, and much less than that, for the most part. The towering mountains of the Sangre de Cristos formed a crooked twisting V as far as the eye could follow.
The stream was fed from here and there by smaller steams or branches coming from the higher reaches. Depending on how much room there was, the open ground was covered with tall grass, which was greening up real nice. I’d have to say, it was a sight to look at. There was n
o problem following the trail because that tall grass just bent over and would stay bent for a few days. It looked like somebody had come through there with a scythe and mowed a trail down. I could see where Jimmer’s horse had roamed back and forth.
I didn’t know Blackmon’s Creek from the Mississippi River… well maybe if they were side by side, but otherwise any stream or creek in New Mexico could be Blackmon’s. I’d just have to find it when I got there.
I put the buckskin into a lope and we made good time running down the valley. I kept an eye on the rambling path made by Jimmer’s horse, and after a couple of hours it straightened out. That told me we were getting close. When Jimmer was shot the horse must have bolted and took off up valley.
Now, that horse didn’t look like it had a whole lot of run in it, so I figured to be getting close. It wasn’t long till we were on a down slope, and that little stream was fairly chugging along. Then I saw the willows and cottonwoods at the bottom of the slope. They were much bigger than what had been growing along the stream I’d been following. I kinda figured, we were getting close to Blackmon’s.
Then I saw it at the bottom of the slope. It was moving along right smartly until this little stream joined it, and after that it was a fair ripper as it headed for the Rio Grande. I must have crossed it when I first started out heading north. Of course as far as I was concerned it had been just another nameless creek.
Walking the horses, I let Dog move on ahead. That big homely brute would know if there was somebody around long before I would. He trotted right on out into the open without a care in the world. So I crossed the stream and aimed myself to a point upstream of the confluence and just short of the willows. Dog disappeared into the brush, but shortly he came back out.
I saw where Jimmer had crossed and came out of the water. The others had been coming pretty much the way I had, and wham, they ran into each other face to face. The outlaws didn’t seem to worry too much about him because they never gave any chase at all.
There was a bit of milling about among the riders and a couple got down but were soon in the saddle again. The whole bunch turned upstream of what I took to be Blackmon’s Creek.
I try to always pay attention to what I’m doing and where I’m going, but between watching the trail and old Jimmer coming in to my camp, things got a little bit confused. So I just took myself a little look around at the landscape in all directions. What I saw, kinda made me confirm what I had been stewing about for almost a day now.
Those folks had made a big hook and come back to almost where they started from. Those hills and mountains that I was looking at to the south of me were the ones that bordered Ben’s valley at the north end. Right then, suspected that I wasn’t more than twenty miles from Maria’s cook stove. All I’d have to do was climb over a few ridges and scale down a couple of cliffs and I’d be chest high in MB cattle.
They spent about three days setting up a smoke screen. It almost worked if Dog hadn’t smelled out where the boy stood and wetted that tree. Now I was mad… plum mad. I was mad because they took Ben’s boy and that woman. I was mad because they saw fit to kill a man who wasn’t doing anyone any harm. And I was doubly mad because they had put the Blues through all that grief, not to mention them wasting my time riding in a big circle.
Well, they were just gonna have to foot the bill for causing so much trouble. I turned upstream and started following their trail. I had a hunch they weren’t too awfully far ahead of me now. They would have a place to dig in up a ways, so I’d have to move with my wits about me.
Getting myself out of the tall grass, I moved on upslope at the base of the mountain. If any of them came down this way, I didn’t want them to think they were being tracked. So I got up above the aspens and into the pines. The aspens were just leafing out and I could see the river and their trail from where I rode.
I followed along with that Jimmer’s horse following right behind. I didn’t even have to use a lead rope. He was just happy for the company. The day was warm, but the sky was over cast. I could expect to get a little wet. But these buckskins shed water pretty easily. The biggest problem was that I’d have to get back down to the valley to see anything.
About an hour later, I felt the first few drops of rain, and I could see the clouds bunching up and getting darker. It wasn’t long afterwards that I started edging my way back down the slope and into the valley.
By the time I was on the valley floor, the mist had set in and visibility was down to nothing. A man couldn’t see more than fifty or sixty feet. The rain was a steady drizzle making everything wet and soggy. The temperature had dropped so that being wet meant being cold and wet. I started looking for someplace to hole up.
A ways up the valley, I spotted an overhanging shelf about ten or twelve feet above where I was at the time. So I turned the buckskin back up hill. We got under that overhang, and I stripped the saddles off those horses and stowed them back out of the weather. There was no need in keeping them saddled, since we were going to be there a while.
The next thing I did was gather up the makin’s for a fire. There was, as usual in these parts, plenty of deadfall all around. For the most part, it was a little damp, but shortly it would be plenty soaked. I had a feeling that we were in for a real toad strangler.
Normally, I try to find only dry wood that will burn with little smoke, but with that mist and fog hanging thick, a little smoke won’t mean a blessed thing. After I got the fire going good, I dried off my weapons making sure that everything would work when I needed it.
It would be dark before I could travel on, so I just went ahead and made an early camp. I went down to the valley and braved the rain so I could cut some of that tall grass for the horses. Dog wouldn’t find anything out there tonight for his supper, so I’d share with him. He usually takes care of his own needs, but I didn’t want to be kept awake listening to his stomach grumbling.
The rain continued to fall and the longer it fell the harder it was coming down, until it was coming down in sheets. It was still daylight, but it may as well have been midnight, for all a person could see. Everything was gray, but the gray was getting closer and closer to black by the minute. It can get dark in the blink of an eye in some of these valleys, and that seemed to be what was happening.
Spreading my groundsheet, I sat down and leaned back against Jimmer’s old saddle. With a cup of coffee to warm my hands and my insides, I just sat back and listened to the rain fall. I could hear that creek splashing and churning. It would be lapping on my front porch come morning.
“Halloo the fire.” Came a call out of the wet darkness.
“Come on in.” I hollered back. “Just be sure you come in slow and friendly.” I added as I jacked a shell into the Winchester’s chamber.
A figure came out of the dark and into the firelight. His shapeless hat hid most of his face, and water ran off in all directions. He was wearing a black slicker that seemed to have seen better days. In other words, he didn’t look any better or worse than I did.
“Whooee!” he yelled as he climbed down uninvited. “I shore was proud to see that fire a burnin’…. She’s plum nasty out there… an that crick is a risin’.” He prattled as he put his hands to the fire.
“Go ahead and get your animal out of the rain, and then get yourself some of this coffee.” That was the first thought he’d given to his horse.
He looked to be just another puncher… a puncher who didn’t know enough to look at the sky now and then. He pulled his hat off and I could see his face. I’d have said that he was in his mid twenties or a little older, but I didn’t need to look to close to see he wasn’t the smartest cowboy in the bunkhouse.
“You must have had someplace you really wanted to be, to go out on a night like this.”
“Waal, it weren’t my idear, but the boss sent me to go down to Taos… so’s I could mail a letter for him…. How ‘bout you, Mister…?”
“Cain.” I said… “Just Cain.”
“Well what bri
ngs you out to this God forsaken place on this God forsaken night, just Cain?”
I watched him as he asked the question, and as he moved his lips, it seemed that every part of his face moved with them. It was like his face was made out of clay or cheese. When he formed a word his mouth, jaws, and cheeks slid all over the place. I decided not to watch his face, but concentrate on the third button of his well worn shirt because that’s where I’d shoot him if the need arose.
“Oh I was just headin’ up creek to see if I could fetch me some meat, but the rain drove me in here.” I told him in answer to his query.
“You may not want to go up that crick too far. We got us a minin’ claim up thar, and the boys are a bit skittish when strangers come pokin’ ‘round… Fella might catch some lead up thata way.”
“I’ll keep that in mind… How far up is it… just so I don’t accidently run into it.”
“Oh, she’s a good seven or eight mile up the valley… I’d be you, I’d just go find you some other place to hunt.”
“Well I just might do that.” I told him.
“Boy, I cain’t wait to git down into Taos. I got me a couple dollars saved up, and I’m gonna git me some whiskey and a woman…. Whoooeee!”
“Now, I figgered a big outfit like you got would have brought a woman along… for cookin’, washin’ and other stuff.”
“Waal, we got us a woman, but she ain’t no good to none of us but the boss. She’s married to him. Hell, man, she is the boss…. She runs the whole damned outfit.”
“Say, Cain, wherefore did you git that hoss? Not the buckskin but the other’n?”
“I come across him up the other valley a ways… he was just roamin’ around. There was blood on the saddle, so I reckoned a cougar or somthin’ got the rider… The blood washed off.”
“Yeah,” he said, “that feller come on us just after we turned up this valley. He was gettin’ a little too nosey with the… someone we had with us, so we kinder run him off with some bullets.”
