Cain just Cain (Shad Cain Book 2)

by Lou Bradshaw

  Ben called again and from somewhere below the far edge of the bench came a reply saying, “Down at the barn.”

  Riding on through the yard, we soon saw the roofs of several outbuildings below on the slope. A well worn path led over the edge of the bench and down to a second and larger bench about thirty feet lower. There was a small barn and corral and several sheds spread out on the spacious and grassy bench.

  “How do.” Said a man wearing a broad brimmed hat and well worn range clothes. “What can I do for ya?”

  “Howdy… name’s Blue of the MB connected out of Taos. This is my friend Cain, and we’re in need of some fresh mounts. Kinda hoped you might be inclined to do some dickerin’.”

  “Well, I’m Dave Tuttle, and I never saw a day when I wasn’t in the mood for some horse tradin’.”

  “Actually, we were lookin’ to buy rather than to swap.”

  “Too bad… I could do you real proud for that buckskin.”

  “Dusty, na… I’d almost swap Cain there, before I’d swap Dusty… When he can’t do the job anymore, I’ve got a whole valley he can roam around in… but I’m willin’ to make a reasonable deal.”

  Tuttle led us to the corral where he had about eight horses milling about. One caught my eye and I pointed him out to Ben…. “Old Jimmer’s pony.”

  “How’d you come by that little roan pony?” Ben asked.

  “Ain’t he just a sight… that poor thang wasn’t worth swappin’ for. In fact I just took him off their hands and sold ‘em a nuther horse… Folks came through a couple of days a go needin’ fresh horses… I traded for three and just kept that’n. Figured on just turnin’ him out to pasture or make a couple of dollars if he came around.”

  “I swap horses with all kind of folks on their way to the gold and silver fields… these were pretty well in need of a rest.”

  “Three men and a woman?” Ben asked.

  “Yep, the woman was ridin’ that old fella… sometimes folks’ll even be draggin’ their youngsters along.

  “Mister Tuttle, whatever Guardian Angel you’ve got watchin’ over you, was working overtime when they came through.”

  Ben showed him his Marshal’s badge and said, “That bunch has been on a rampage since they left Texas… We haven’t even begun to do a body count on ‘em. That little roan belonged to a fella that worked for me from time to time… It’s just a miracle that you’re still breathin’.”

  Tuttle was some shaken by that news, but that didn’t stop him from making every dime he possibly could on those horses… We left out of there riding fresh mounts with the buckskin and my roan following.

  “You know what Tuttle told me when we were settlin’ up?” Ben asked. “He wasn’t near as worried about that bunch as he was about us. He said ‘That Cain fella looks plumb salty enough to cure bear meat.”

  I just busted out laughing and said, “That’s no way to talk about a little sweetie pie like me”

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~

  We made camp that night just off the trail where we had plenty of grass and water for the four horses. Our fire was small but adequate for coffee and some fresh venison, complements of a young buck that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. We weren’t overly concerned about someone sneaking in on us. With the four horses and Dog standing guard, any intruder would have to be not only good but odorless. And there just weren’t many in these parts who can claim to have no scent at all.

  Sitting by the fire, with me whittling and Ben leaning back against a tree, there wasn’t much conversation between us. There didn’t need to be.

  “Shad… You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  I knew what he meant but I said, “Oh I know, I don’t have to do it, but it gives me something to do with my hands… and besides they pay me cash money for my whittlins.”

  He chuckled and said, “Seriously, this is my fight now, you’ve done more than could be expected, and it sure was appreciated.”

  “Oh I know, and gettin’ the boy back was the main reason I got involved, but they cut me in when they gunned that old man… Jimmer down…. He died while I was tendin’ him and I buried him. They made it my affair. After seein’ what they been doin’ to folks on their little romp, I figure to do what I can to get ‘em stopped.”

  “Well, I just wanted to let you know how thankful we are, Patty Anne and me, for what you’ve done for us.”

  “Pshaw.” I said and waved it off. “Now pass me a handful of them dried apples.”

  Chapter 12

  We rode into South Fork the next morning. There wasn’t much there except a stage station, which doubled as a post office. There were a few tables for passenger meals and a little rest while the horses were changed.

  The railroad had built an office there, but it was the end of the line. They were planning to run the line up to Creede to haul out silver ore, but at that point the only thing they’d put in was that shack and a telegraph line.

  Stopping at the stage station, we learned that the Dooly gang had come through the day before. When Ben asked the station operator what time they came through he said, “It wasn’t dark, so it had to be sometime between the morning east bound and the afternoon west bound. Other than that, I just sit here and look out this winder at nothin’ but them hills and that creek… Shore couldn’t tell you any closer than that.”

  “Can you give us an idea which way they went?” I asked.

  “I can almost guarantee they went toward Del Norte or Creede… unless they took off cross country, but them’s the only two trails, except the one you just came in on.”

  Standing there looking from one trail to another, it struck me…”Ben, they’re headin’ for Creede. They just hit a big silver pocket up there, and their shippin’ ore.”

  “But they can’t use ore.” Ben said. “I don’t know much about mining, but I know that raw ore is useless until you extract the silver.”

  “The ore’s goin’ out, but money’s comin’ in… They’re goin’ for that little bank.”

  Ben stuck his head inside and called to the station manager, “Fix us up a couple of sandwiches that we can eat ahorseback, while we switch saddles.”

  It was just a little over twenty miles up to Creede, and we had well rested horses under us. I didn’t expect them to blow into town, hit the bank and run off, but with this bunch… who knew what they’d do. The trail had become a road, not a good road, but a road none the less, and we were traveling at a gallop.

  Eight or nine miles out of South Fork we came upon a teamster hitching a new team to an ore wagon. There was a buckboard pulled up behind it heading the other way, with what looked like two blanket wrapped bodies in back.

  Pulling to a dusty sliding stop, Ben called out to the teamster and asked what had happened. The teamster, at first ignored him, but Ben Blue is a hard man to ignore. From his saddle he reached down and got a handful of collar, and pulled the man to his tiptoes.

  “Mister, when someone asks you a question, you should at least have the courtesy to answer… Especially if that person is a Federal Marshal in pursuit of a gang of killers.

  “Hold on, Marshal,” the man from the buckboard called out, “he’s a grumpy old bugger, for sure, but I had to drag him out of a saloon on his day off… He ain’t fit company anytime, but this is worse than normal today. I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  The man doing the talking, said he was the one responsible for ore shipments, which included going out to pick up the bodies. “This was our third wagon out this morning, and one of the locals rode in a little bit ago to give us the message.”

  “It looks like somebody just got down right mean. They stopped the wagon and shot the two men in it…then they shot all six mules… they didn’t just shoot ‘em they riddled ‘em… I think that’s what’s got him so mad. We had to get ‘em out of harness and then drag ‘em off the road… You s’pose it was Injuns, Marshal, I mean that ore ain’t worth nothin’ like it is… it just don’t make sense.” />
  I looked at the side of that wagon where if read “Creede Silver Mine”. That would be enough for the Dooly bunch excited… and then mad. Taking a quick look around, I saw where they had come out of the brush and stopped the wagon. There had been four horses milling around. The tarp covering the ore had been cut enough to see what looked like blue gray dirt underneath. That must have been what got ‘em going crazy.

  “Marshal, it’s them. We better go.”

  Ben left the wagon and mule man still talking as we lit out for Creede. It was still about ten or twelve miles away, but we had gained considerable time on the gang. Having no idea what was going through Dooly’s head, we wanted to get there ahead of them or close behind them. I had switched our saddles to fresh horses while Ben had been talking to the man with the buckboard.

  We took off leaving nothing but dust where we’d been. Just as we laid spurs to the horses I heard the company man yell, “Marshal, what’d he mean ‘It’s them?” He didn’t get an answer… all he heard was hoof beats going away.

  We were digging hard to get to Creede before that gang could hit. I figured Ben had a trap setup already working in his mind. He’s a planner, and he can put a plan together quicker than anyone I ever had dealings with. We didn’t try to break any speed records or kill any horses, but those horses weren’t lollygaggin’ on that run either.

  Riding into Creede, we could tell by the folks milling around the bank that the Dooly bunch had already been there. So we made straight for the crowd. As we slid to a stop, I tried to see, through the dust, looking for the town marshal’s face. He was a reasonably competent lawman, but he had come here from the plains and wouldn’t have a lot of experience tracking that bunch into wild country. He was nowhere around.

  Chances were that he’d led a posse out after them. That’s the last thing I wanted, and I was guessing that Ben felt the same. The only thing a posse of miners and town folk could accomplish in these hills was muddy up the trail.

  Finally I spotted Mr. Carroll, the bank president. He was doing some explaining to some mighty unhappy folks. I pointed him out to Ben, and told him who the man was. As he started to step down from the saddle I told him to hold on. Pulling my Colt from its holster, I raised it and let her fly.

  It suddenly became quiet as a graveyard and I said, “Folks, just shut up a minute. Those of you that know me know that I don’t say much… so you just better listen up when I do talk…. This gent next to me is US Marshal Blue, and we been chasin’ that bunch for a couple of weeks, and this is the closest we’ve come to them.”

  “The Marshal is going to talk with Mister Carroll, and the rest of you just back off and shut the hell up for a few minutes.”

  We both dismounted and the crowd separated like the Red Sea did for Moses, and we just walked right on through. When we reached the boardwalk, the banker motioned us inside. I closed the door behind us and things all started buzzing again on the other side of it.

  The banker told the story of how the woman came in first, and before they knew anything she had put a bullet in one of the tellers, and the other two had the room covered. They made off with about twelve thousand dollars. “Marshal,” Carroll said, “this building is old and small, and the bank just wasn’t ready to handle so much money. It was just a little small town bank, until that last silver strike… the new vault won’t even be here before September.”

  They talked for a few minutes. We learned that the town marshal had taken a twelve man posse out in pursuit of the bank robbers. Well that was bad news for us. He told us that the teller wasn’t too badly wounded and should make a full recovery, and that was good news for the teller.

  We walked back out on the boardwalk and the folks started crowding around again. I told them to back off and let the marshal talk, and I went to take the horses to water and switch the saddles. While I was at the trough, Dog came loping in. We’d left him behind, but I knew he’d catch up… he always does.

  “Folks,” he said, “I’m Special Deputy US Marshal, Ben Blue, out of Taos, and I’ve got as much reason to catch this gang as anybody. Two weeks ago, that bunch kidnapped my three year old son.” You could hear the breath going out of the lot of them.

  “Fortunately, Mister Cain, here, arrived at my ranch shortly afterwards and took out after them. He was able to bring my boy home, and is responsible for the demise of two gang members… and sent another running for California.”

  “This gang is led by Frank Dooly and his wife Rita. They have left a string of bodies between here and West Texas. We don’t even know how many they’ve killed yet…there are at least five that we know of. They’ve got nothing to lose, so please be careful…. As soon as we can switch saddles, your neighbor, Shad Cain and I will be returning to the hunt. We’ll do all we can to catch them and make sure they are brought to justice. And hopefully, we can do so before they start spending any of Your money.”

  Dang! That big red haird boy sure could talk. As a small depositor in the bank, I was much relieved that we were on the job. I just might see if I could get him to go talk to Angelina Baca. She might look a little closer at me, if he spreads some sweet words on my behalf.

  We left shortly after Ben finished talking to the crowd. With a twelve man posse ahead of us, we didn’t have any trouble picking up their trail. We took it at a lope. About three miles out, I saw something that gave me a reason to slow down and have a look. There was just a hint of an old unused side trail, taking off to the right.

  I motioned to Ben to hold up a bit; I wanted to take a closer look. I got down and scouted around. At first look there was nothing to be seen, but it didn’t look right. I have to hand it to Blue, he was a patient man because I may have been chasing shadows and wasting time. It was indeed an old trail heading off to only God knew where.

  Then it hit me, and I walked on farther down the old trace. There wasn’t anything close up to the main trail but under brush and cedars, but that old trail was covered with pine needles. Those needles had been scattered around sort of hap hazard. If those cedars had been pines, I’d have never noticed. Those cedars, or junipers to be accurate, just don’t lose much of their greenery, and pine needles simply didn’t belong there.

  I walked on about eight or ten yards and saw where the tracks started. I also saw where they had scooped up needles a little farther on. It was a good trick with poor execution.

  Getting back to Ben I said, “They’ve split up… Two of them have split off.”

  “I got to ask, even though I know the answer… You’re sure it’s them and not some boys off on a fishin’ trip?”

  “Nope, I been lookin’ at both sets of tracks since they swapped horses… it’s two of them. Don’t know which two, but it’s our bunch.”

  “How do you want to do it?” I asked.

  “Your call… You wanna follow these two, and I’ll stick with the other two?”

  “That suits me… I got a hunch these two are planning to meet up with the others somewhere… Chances are they ain’t had time to make divvy yet, and these boys are gonna want their cut.”

  “You go ahead and stick to your two, and when I get my pair rounded up, I’ll cut back to the main trail. If I don’t find your sign, I’ll back track till I do… Don’t worry, I’ll find you… and, Ben, be double careful… this bunch is plumb unpredictable.”

  “You do the same, Shad.” And we were going our separate ways.

  Chapter 13

  We each took two horses and split the supplies. I wasn’t worried about Ben, he wasn’t a born woodsman, but he was a country boy. And besides that, he’s been on many a trail with some of the best trackers, like old Rubio… and… me.

  I hadn’t gone a half mile when the trail took a hard turn to the right and down. It gave every impression of going around a big corner, which is what it was doing. The trail had turned into an old water course with a bottom made mostly of loose rounded stones of all sizes. Some of those stones were the size of watermelons, but others were no bigger tha
n my thumb.

  Water had come rushing through here for centuries. It had cut a channel through a hogback on my left and a substantial bunch of hills on my right. The hogback was covered with pine all the way to the top, but the hills were less covered. From what I could see the hills were mostly tall grass and rock. There were places where I couldn’t see anything but the walls of the water course.

  The trail of those two wasn’t very easy to follow because of the rocky bottom, but there weren’t many places to get out there. If they’d left that ditch, I’d have known it. When I got past the ridge that made up the big corner, I came to a place where the streambed wasn’t going down so much as it was going… straight down.

  What had once been a real nice waterfall was now, a hundred foot leap into space, if a person was so inclined… which I wasn’t. Like I’d said earlier, this was an old trail, and folk had used it to get somewhere in another time. So they had worked all that out years ago with a trail leading off to the right.

  It went up the bank and over the hill, and then it worked its way down to where a river had ripped and roared its way through these hills. That might have been hundreds or even thousands of years ago. It couldn’t have been much more that that because smart folks tell us that the earth has only been around about ten thousand years.

  This particular river had run southeast and probably worked its way to the Arkansas at one time. I didn’t know why that river quit running. Temperatures change, rainfall and snowfall amounts change…well things just change.

  Reaching the old riverbed, I found myself going upstream and to the east. I’d found their tracks on the detour around the dry waterfall, so they had at least entered the riverbed. The question was, were they going northeast or were they going southeast. If they were going to meet up with the others, I couldn’t see them going southeast. So I turned left.

  A quarter of a mile upstream, I found scratches on some large stretches of limestone table rock. It was flat sheets of limestone that stretched for a hundred or so yards at time. Those scratches were almost certainly made by iron horseshoes scraping on smooth limestone. That porous rock will collect layers of dirt, dust, and pollen until it turns gray. So those scratches show up like a headlamp on a locomotive.