Soul of a Gunslinger

by Jim Cox

  After resting for three days in Tucson’s cooler temperature, with the nights cold enough to get a good night’s sleep and preserve the large mule deer carcass hanging from a camp tree that Hide had killed, the men and horses were revitalized and getting an itch to start out again.

  Chapter Six

  Lefty and Hide left their river camp in the morning gray when the temperature was a mite on the cold side. And because of their Las Cruces to Tucson travel experience, the men had done a better job of buying food at the Tucson mercantile. Their bags were now bulging with an assortment of good camp food. They’d also bought a sizeable amount of chewing tobacco and another five-gallon water skin, increasing their total traveling water to fifteen-gallons, plus the two canteens hanging from each man’s saddle horn.

  By mid-morning, a strong west wind was whipping up the hot sand peppering their faces as they rode northwest on the main Gila Trail several miles west of Tucson. Hat brims were pulled low, and squinting eyes peeked out over bandannas tied around their heads and over their noses to block the sand from being breathed. Conditions were fierce, but they kept to a steady pace. Stops were made periodically to wipe their horses’ nostrils.

  Lefty and Hide hadn’t come-to-grips with what they’d be traveling through. What it was really like to ride across the New Mexico desert toward Fort Yuma. They’d soon learn most of the New Mexico desert was below sea level causing two bad traveling problems. The first was the vast salt plains with a briny marsh in its center, and the second was the ever-shifting mountains of sand stretching on-and-on for miles. They’d learn the country was nothing more than a scorched, burning salt plain of shifting hills of sand, whose only signs of human visitation were the bones of traveling men and their stock scattered along the trails who tried crossing it.

  At noon on the second day, they started traveling as they’d done before—holed-up in the shadows of boulders or alongside a cliff during the day, and traveling during the cool nights.

  When they turned west on the Gila trail toward the Pima Indian Villages, the heat became like an oven, sending its rays through their hats and shirts, scalding their heads and bodies. Lefty had been told the afternoon temperatures in this area reached a hundred-twenty-degree, even a hundred-thirty in high summer. It was so hot the water in the skins and canteens was nearly as hot as coffee. Occasionally, bandannas were taken from over their noses to wipe sweat on their foreheads. Sweat ran down their backs, getting their rear-ends wet which stung something awful because of their open saddle sores. Their horses were experiencing the heat too. Their heads hung, and they wobbled some when they walked.

  Lefty tried to think of something pleasant to block out his misery like he did when he thought about Betty Ringer from Pecos. His thoughts went to other girls, but it didn’t work. If he had a girl sweet on him, it might have, but he didn’t. Just wait ‘til I find gold, he thought, things will be different then.

  Days passed slowly like the sun was standing still. The men thought they’d never get to the Indian villages, but they did. They stopped just short of the villages and set up camp on the bank of the river. Like past years in June, the Gila river-bed was dry except for an occasional fair-size hole made by a trickle of water coming from an unknown place. But just as important as the river water were the Mojave Desert trees lining the banks that provided shade. The men were lucky to be alive as their exhausted, dried-out, hungry bodies showed.

  Two days later, Hide and Lefty were back in their saddles, riding on the Gila Trail which stayed close to the river. It was obvious the trail to Fort Yuma was traveled a lot because of the deep ruts and the amount of fresh horse manure. From time-to-time Lefty and Hide would come across folks who were taking a travel break in the shade and they’d stop to talk for a spell, picking up gossip. Sometimes, they’d pass large groups who were traveling at a slower pace.

  The Indian villages strung out for miles along the river trail, and as it got closer to Fort Yuma, where the river emptied into the Colorado, the temperature became more tolerable. They had learned Fort Yuma was an army base without civilian accommodations. However, there were two towns a mile downstream from the fort, one on each side of the river, where town folks lived. The town on the north side of the river was called, Jaeger City, named after the owner of Jaeger’s Ferry which provided river crossings. Jaeger City had an Overland Mail office, two blacksmiths, a hotel, two stores, and other dwellings. The smaller town on the south bank of the river was called Colorado City.

  All-in-all their travel from the Indian villages had gone well with very few problems. They were within a half-day’s ride to Fort Yuma when they spotted a good place to stop for the night with shade, water, and plenty of grass for the horses. They were ready to pull in when they saw a familiar looking man waving to them several yards farther on. It was Shorty.

  “What in the world are you doing here, Shorty?” Hide asked as he rode up.

  “I’ve got a camp set up with coffee on in the trees over yonder,” he said pointing in the direction of his camp. “Let’s get you settled, and coffee poured, then I’ll tell you what’s going on.” Both men nodded.

  Shorty had built his fire several feet upwind of his sitting log to keep the fire’s smoke and heat away. After Lefty and Hide were seated, Shorty poured coffee and started telling his friends why he had waved them down. “I was hankering to get my hands on a good shot of whiskey when I got here two days ago, so after I set up camp, I headed for Jaeger City to find a saloon. I’d had my allotted two shots, and was standing at the bar shooting the breeze with some bystanders when two well-dressed men walked up beside me and ordered a bottle and two glasses. I didn’t pay much attention to them ‘til they signaled for the bartender and started talking to him in a low voice. It was obvious they were trying to hide something, so me, being a nosey sort of a person, started paying attention. I was close by and heard every word. They asked the bartender if a gunslinger by the name of Lefty Newman had been in the saloon.”

  “They called me a gunslinger and was asking about me?” Lefty asked in shock.

  “Yaw and I heard ‘em tell the bartender you killed their brother. That you must have shot him in the back because their brother was fast and had never been beaten.”

  “That’s a lie! We were head-to-head, and he drew first!” Lefty exclaimed. “What else did they say?”

  Shorty took his time. He even topped-off their coffee which wasn’t needed. “They said they were gonna shoot you dead, no matter how long it took ‘em to find you. I heard later, they knew you were on your way here from Tucson, and they were intending to stay around waiting on ‘ya.”

  The men became silent as they thought on the matter. Nothing more was said about the subject at this time. After another cup of coffee, Lefty and Hide unpacked their horses, took them to water, and then hobbled them in a patch of grass. The grass was rather sparse at this location, but it would have to do. Shorty, being the self-appointed cook, took over fixing supper. He fried a couple pieces of bacon to get some skillet grease before cooking several pieces of venison and a skillet of potatoes. Hide had found a patch of wild onions, so Shorty added them to his dishes for added flavor. The meal was delicious. Afterward, as the trees were casting long shadows, the dishes were taken to a water hole and washed, and another pot of water was dipped-up for coffee.

  “What would you suggest we do, Shorty?” Hide asked after they’d gotten back to the sitting log.

  “Been thinking on it,” he answered. “If I was in your boots, I’d light out tomorrow and bypass the towns altogether. You need to be careful and stay out of sight because someone might see ‘ya and spill-the-beans to those brothers in town.” Hide and Lefty both nodded, and Shorty continued, “I’ll go to the mercantile first thing in the morning and buy you some groceries or whatever else you need. After getting the groceries, I’ll go to the saloon and spread the word you were held-up getting here from Tucson because one of you got bit on the leg by a poisonous snake. That tale ought to keep the
brothers around here for several days.” All three men smiled.

  “I ain’t gonna be traveling with you ‘cause I’m catching a riverboat at Jaeger City that goes to Panama. From Panama I’ll be on horseback, going overland to the Pacific where I’ll catch a ship heading to Las Angeles. I’d like for ‘ya to come along with me but I know you’re saving your money and will be riding your horses.” Both men nodded.

  The eastern sky was starting to show a bit of light the next morning when Lefty and Hide rolled out of bed, shook out their boots, and put on their hats. They were rolling their bedding when Shorty walked up. “Thought you was gonna sleep the day away,” he said as he handed each of them a cup of coffee that would float a horseshoe. Skillets of potatoes and venison were frying, and on a flat rock along-side, was the coffee pot. “Go relieve yourselves and get washed-up at the river while I finish cooking these ‘taters…they’ll be ready in a minute or two.” Shorty squatted and stirred the potatoes to keep them from burning.

  After breakfast and during their second cup of coffee, Lefty and Hide told Shorty what they needed from the store for the next leg of their trip, each handing him two-dollars. Shorty already had his horse in camp and saddled, so not long after he finished his coffee, he headed for Jaeger City.

  Near mid-morning, Shorty was back to camp with a feed bag full of groceries, and two-bits of change for each man. He’d bought five pounds of beans, a peck of potatoes, four cans of hominy, a bag of cornmeal, flour, ground coffee, and three slabs of bacon. There were also two pouches of chewing tobacco. Hide and Lefty had brought their horses into camp while Shorty was gone and readied them for their trip, so after repacking the food items into their own food bags and fastening then on their pack horses, they were ready to say their goodbyes to their friend and head out, but Shorty stopped them. “I got some directions from an old timer in Jaeger City on the best way to get to Las Angeles and it ain’t through San Diageo. He said he’d been to Las Angeles twice in his younger days. Thought you might be interested in what he had to say.”

  Hide piped-up, “I thought there was only one way and it was through San Diageo.”

  “Not according to this man. He said there were several ways to get there, but according to him, the one he told me about was the best and shortest way. I ain’t sure I can remember all of the places you’re supposed to turn or all of the water holes along the way, but I’ll try.” Short paused, “Let me fill my cup first.” Shorty sat down on the camp log and started giving the directions, “The old man said after you cross the Colorado River to follow the mesquite thickets past Pilot Knob for a few miles and then turn southwest into the Mexican desert. After you’ve traveled for a half-day, you’ll reach water at Cooke’s Wells, some four miles below the Mexican border. The old timer said the well is on the left side of the road, down a steep sandy bluff and the last time he was there, there were bones of a mules alongside the path. He said the water was good. After Cooke’s Well, he said there would be two more water stops, each being a day’s ride before crossing the border back into New Mexico and reaching New River. From there, you’ll travel a day across barren, rocky wilderness to Vallecito Creek. He said this location was generally thought to be the end of the worst portion of the desert journey. You’re to follow Vallecito Creek northwest to Palm Springs. He said you’d pass a few other towns before crossing the coastal range into Las Angeles.” When Shorty finished, Lefty and Hide asked Shorty a few questions about the directions, and then shook their friend’s hand, and said their goodbyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Lefty and Hide felt confident they’d gotten across the Colorado River into the mesquite thicket without being seen. The morning was cool with a slight breeze brushing their faces, causing the horses’ gait to be a mite spirited as they walked on the firm ground along the riverbank. Both men knew the coolness would be short-lived because the bright sun was climbing through the cloudless sky, signaling another hot day was on its way.

  Day-after-day they rode. The weather never seemed to change; cool nights and extremely dry, hot sunny days with temperatures reaching well over a hundred-twenty degree. They followed the directions the old man had given Shorty and found water in the exact places they were directed too. The water holes served as maps to the next location that often-time took them through deep sand, creosote, mesquite, and waterless landscape. It was a land of disbelief, a land to be avoided if, at all possible, a land like none other they’d ever seen, a land the world had forgotten. Their bodies were exhausted, drained of their strength, nearly to the point of calling it quits like the men and women had done whose bones now lay along the roadside, but they continued, one step at a time. It was hard to believe anyone would live in these miserable conditions, but both men had learned the Cauhilla, Kumeyaay, and Quechan peoples had lived in this harsh region for centuries.

  The road Hide and Lefty rode on showed not only signs of its use, but also its brutality. It was evident the road was highly traveled by its worn down, deep ruts and manure piles. Its brutality showed from the bones of hundreds of animals and even a few human skeletons lying beside the road. There were abandon articles littering the roadside. Articles that had fallen apart or proved too heavy or cumbersome for the travelers’ weary teams. It must have been heart-wrenching for folks to watch a member of their family die, or even see one of their animals die, and to watch belongings dumped along-side the road. Lefty thought. For miles, the men saw broken wagons, furniture, articles of clothing, tools, and even weapons along the roadway. On two occasions, they passed men from Sonora who were putting picked-over items into their wagons as they drove horses and mules for sale to Argonauts who desperately needed replacement animals.

  Five days after leaving Shorty at Fort Yuma, Hide and Lefty arrived at Vallecito Creek which appeared to be heaven compared to what they’d been riding through. The men were completely used up. They were staggering and held on to their saddle horns to keep themselves up while being pulled along by their worn-out horses. Both Lefty and Hide looked like walking dead men, and their horses looked no better. However, a spark of encouragement rose up when they eyed the area’s clean flowing water and shade trees along the creek banks. The temperature was even cooler.

  After resting for three days beside the creek, the next four-day trek across California to Las Angeles was fairly easy compared to their previous travels. There were a few hills, but the horses climbed them without much difficulty. The rivers were running shallow this time of the year or were even dry and presented no problems.

  At the outskirts of Las Angeles, they set up their camp along a tree-lined stream and rested for a day. They broke camp early the next morning and rode to the bank of the mighty Pacific Ocean. Neither Hide nor Lefty had ever seen an ocean before and were awe-stricken by its vastness. They walked the sandy beaches with seagulls flying overhead looking at seashells, and the remains of sea life washed ashore. As they rode north along the shore, they came to the town’s shipping docks with several tall-mast ships alongside them being loaded. There were other ships anchored in the harbor.

  The men enjoyed a bacon/biscuit sandwich, washed down with canteen water for their noon meal while sitting cross-legged on the beach watching the waves come ashore. The bright sun was beaming down its rays, but the temperature was not nearly as hot as they were accustomed too, and it had been months since they’d seen clouds like the ones in the west floating toward them.

  It was well after the noon sun when they mounted their horses and holding the pack horses’ reins, went to see what the town of Las Angeles had to offer. The town was a surprise to Lefty and Hide. They were expecting it to be more populace with more businesses. After all, they’d been told that Mexico had fallen to the Americans in the Mexican-American War two years ago in January 1847. If this area was important enough to be fought over, why weren’t there more folks around? They did find out the main commerce in the area around Las Angeles was the growing of grapes and the production of bottled wine, with over 150,000 bot
tles shipped to Santa Barbara, Monterey and San Francisco in the past year.

  There were three streets of homes siding the business road centering the town. It seemed to Lefty the businesses were slacking a bit. There was only a blacksmith with a corral and a café on one side. The other side had a hotel, a firearms shop, and two saloons; one at each end of the street.

  Like other western towns, men filled the benches lining the boardwalks in front of the businesses, but unlike most western towns, they were all Mexicans wearing wide-brimmed sombreros. Lefty and Hide had taken in the town and were passing the saloon on the north end when they decided to drop in and buy themselves a shot or two of whiskey.

  The room was small for a saloon, was rather dark, and had a few tables scattered around on a dirt floor. Unlike most saloons Lefty and Hide had been in, the room was void of cigarette or cigar smoke or the lingering odor from their smoke; however, there was a strong, unmistakable liquor smell.

  Lefty and Hide changed their minds and ordered beer instead of whiskey. After paying, they headed for a side table away from the other patrons. One beer was enough for Lefty, but Hide waved the bartender over and ordered a second. As the minutes passed, both Hide and Lefty were becoming a bit concerned with the stares coming from one of the tables, especially from two of the men at the table who were loud and appeared to have had one too many. Lefty was about to suggest they hurry with their drinks and leave before trouble started, but before he got the words out, a pretty senorita wearing a low-neck blouse showing a great deal of cleavage and displaying curves in all the right places, approached their table with a glass of wine in her hand. She had long black hair, large black eyes, and smooth brownish skin. Of course, she went to Hide who always caught the eye of women and avoided the homely-face man with a tall, thin body of mostly arms and legs. Both men had straggly hair under their sweat-stained, shapeless hats. “You men look lonely sitting all by yourself. Why don’t you let me get you another drink and let’s enjoy ourselves,” she said in a broken Spanish.