by Lou Bradshaw
“I reckon it didn’t… She married a farmer and I turned fourteen. It just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Humph!”
We sat and drank our coffee and nibbled on sweet rolls for a while and then she said, “What is it, Ben? What’s got you so moody and restless? Is it those whitefaced cattle… those Herefords?”
My head came up and I almost spilled my coffee. Actually, I did spill a little, but I quickly wiped it up with my sleeve earning me a scowl. “What? What about whitefaced cows, I haven’t said anything about Herefords, have I?”
“Lord, Ben, you didn’t have to. You think I haven’t seen you looking at those sale bills. You were about to read the ink right off the paper. You think I don’t remember when Grampa moped around looking at the same kinda thing. He wanted to get some of those cattle so bad he could almost taste them.”
“But he didn’t, and he made out alright.”
“Oh, he survived the disappointment, but he never got over it. I think he’d go get some now if he was still working the Esses.”
“Ben, saddle up that big gray horse and ride to Texas or Kansas or wherever they got ‘em and get ‘em.”
“Patty Anne, I can’t just take off like that and leave you here all alone… And what about the roundup? ” I said. “Who’s gonna manage gettin’ that done.”
“Oh… poo, you big knuckle head, you’ve got four right and fine cowboys out there snoring in the bunkhouse who can handle a roundup as well without you, as they could with you getting in their way… And it won’t start for nearly a month.”
“But I wouldn’t want to leave you here all by yourself… I’d worry the whole time I was gone.”
“Ben, when Grampa was so eager to get those whiteface cattle but didn’t, I figured that it was just too expensive or too big a gamble. I asked our old foreman, Marty, about it. Marty was a good cattleman, but he wasn’t much good at keeping things to himself. He said that Grampa wouldn’t leave me there, even with the cook to watch out for me… I was eleven years old then…. I’m not eleven anymore, Ben.”
I just looked at her for a long minute trying to soak up all she was saying and put it all into options.
“Grampa never said anymore about it, but I know he would still love to have some of those cattle… even if they wore MB on their hides… I don’t want to carry that feeling around for you the way I have for Grampa.”
“And if I get scared of the boogieman, I’ll just go get Rubio and his wife to come down here and watch over me.”
That pretty much settled the discussion, and I started thinking about making a trip down Texas way. My first thought was to pull out those sale bills and find the closest and most easily reached breeder. But I didn’t need to do that. I’d practically worn out the sale bill from the bar over lazy J of Amarillo, Texas… Owner, Welford Jackson.
I had to find out exactly where Amarillo was. I had an idea because Andy and I had been close to it when we turned north toward Dodge. The only trouble was, in Texas, close could be up a couple hundred miles. Well, I had found my way to quite a few places, so I was sure I’d be able to find Amarillo.
About that time, I was ready to go back to bed, but Patty would have none of it. “Oh no you don’t, big boy. You got this started so you’ve got to get it going… Ben,” she said her voice dropping and taking on a serious note “what would you think about taking Grampa with you?”
“It’d be just fine and dandy with me, I’d like his company, but you don’t think he’d really want to go, do you?... Patty Anne, that’s gonna be a long hard trip, and he’s no youngster anymore… Why, he’s gotta be near on to sixty or sixty five years old.”
“He’s seventy three… just ask him, I’ll bet you’ll be mighty surprised at what he says. Ben, he had his heart set on those cattle, and he gave them up because of me. I don’t think it would matter to him if those Herefords wore an S-S or an MB brand as long as they were in the family.”
“Well, Sweet Pea, I’ll ask him and if he wants to go… and by God if he wants to…. he’ll go, and that’s the way it’ll be, but for right now, I’m plannin’ on goin’ by myself.”
We heard Maria moving around in the pantry; Patty jumped up and said, “I’ve got to get dressed and help with breakfast.” I gave her a little swat on the backside as she passed my chair to send her on her way.
Then I walked to the pantry opening and called out, “What’s a hard working feller have to do to get something to eat around here?”
I got a reply in Spanish that translated into something akin to, “Hold onto your horse, big overgrown boy, you won’t starve.” Life was good.
Since I already had the cookfire going, it was only a matter of minutes before the big coffee pot was filled and heating. The boys started drifting into the eating area and another day was started.
After breakfast was finished and the assignments were made, Sam and I sat drinking coffee and nibbling at biscuits. Maria and Patty were busy clearing away the dishes, and we were definitely in their way.
I said, “Bring your coffee. I gotta a proposition for you.” So we took our coffee mugs into the parlor and sat down in a couple of big horse hide chairs.
“Sam,” I said, “I’m sure you’re familiar with whiteface cattle. Have you ever known anyone who’s had any?”
“Not personally, but I sure had a hunch on gettin’ some a while back, but they sure are provin’ out to be everything a cattleman would want.” He got a faraway look in his eyes like he was thinking something that made him almighty happy.
I interrupted his daydreaming with, “Sam… I’ve been reading all about them, and I’m convinced that they are what this country needs, and I’m gonna go get some breeding stock.”
It took him a few seconds to comprehend what I had just said. He sat there with his coffee mug in his hand with a blank look on his face and then he sat up bolt straight sloshing his coffee and saying, “You’re WHAT?”
“I said I was going to go and get me some white faced cows. There’s a breeder in Amarillo, Texas that has ‘em for sale.”
His face split with a big wide grin and he said. “Boy, aside from marrying my granddaughter, that’d be the smartest thing you ever did. I always knew you were a cut above ‘em all in smarts, and this proves it.”
Before he could get started sayin’ anything else I said, “When I go, Sam, I’d sure be proud to have you ride along with me…. that is if you feel up to it and would like to take a little ride over to Texas.”
He started to answer, but he had to clear his throat, and I found my coffee mug extremely interesting all of a sudden. “Ben,” he said in a gravelly voice, “there ain’t nothin’ left in my life that I would rather do… and you can damned well bet, I’ll feel up to it… even if you have to tie me in my saddle.” With that, he got up and said, “I need to go see about my hoss, and start gettin’ my gear in order.”
As he left the room, Patty was just coming through the door. I had a feeling that she’d been there for more than a few minutes. “Pitty Patty, you better take damned good care of this boy… cause I don’t think you’re ever gonna find a better one.” He walked out, and I heard him sniffing.
She came on in, and I fully expected to hear “I told you so.” But she jumped on my lap causing my own coffee to get sloshed and gave me a kiss that started my boots to smokin’.
Chapter 3
Amarillo, as it turned out was just over three hundred miles from Taos, so it would take us ten days at least to get there. That’s if everything went according to plan and there were no problems. The weather was warming a little each day, but we took our sheepskins and some woolens just in case.
Sam was like a kid. I hadn’t seen him so excited since I’d known him. He chose six different horses to ride on the trip. He finally settled on a good steady bay. His duffle was packed and unpacked as many times as he chose a different horse.
Jesus gave me a message passed along on the Mexican telegraph that Don Carlos wishes us to stop o
n the way through Santa Fe. The Mexican telegraph is a method of communications that the Americans hadn’t figured out yet. It could cover the eighty miles between Santa Fe and Taos among the Spanish speaking people in less than two days.
I had no doubt that the old Don knew where I was going and why. Well, no matter, I had planned to stop and visit with him anyway. Don Carlos Vasquez is often called the old bull of the woods in this part of New Mexico, and I believe the description fits him perfectly. He is always a gentleman and a diplomat, but if push comes to shove, he could mount a hundred or more armed men in an afternoon. And he has been a good friend to me.
Within three days of making the decision to go get some cows, we were ready to leave at first light on the fourth. Jesus had been made Segundo and would be handing out the work assignments. That was the easiest part of the preparations, since he was the best man for the job and well liked by the others.
Patty fussed over our clothes and foodstuffs. All her efforts put into the ironing of shirts were wasted when we rolled them up in our duffels, but she felt that she had to do it. We had about two weeks worth of rations, so we wouldn’t starve along the way.
At last the day arrived; we kissed our woman folk… Patty, goodbye, and headed down the trail. The weather wasn’t bad, but it was a little raw with the wind coming off the snow laden mountains. It would get better as we got farther south and into lower country. Our plan was to ride south to Santa Fe, and then we’d turn southeast to Tucumcari. From Tucumcari we’d go almost due east to Amarillo in Texas.
I was riding my big gray, and he was ready for the trail. He was a Mustang Arab gelding that I had captured a few years ago. Quite a horse he was; the finest I’d ever ridden, and I’ve ridden some pretty good horses. I called him Smoke because of his coloring. He was dark; almost black from hoof to above the knees, then he faded into a much lighter gray, but his nose and face were darker. He also had a dark mane and tail like a buckskin, except the color was all wrong.
The finest horse I had never ridden was a brother to Smoke. He was also from the same wild stock, and he was a true buckskin, but I had kept him a stallion. His potential value was so high that I would forgo the pleasure of riding him, since he had a higher calling. With the pure Arab mares I had and the Mustang Arab mares I’d captured from the wild herds, that big fella was plenty busy and enjoying his work.
Sam was riding a long legged bay with a good attitude and a good stride. He was a dandy trail horse, and I think Sam chose wisely when he finally made up his mind. Our pack horse was a good, strong and steady beast. I’d had him carrying pack saddles a number of times and never had reason to complain.
As we made our way through the gate and down the slope to the plateau, I couldn’t stop myself from looking back. It was the first time I’d left my new bride since we’d gotten married almost eight months ago. It kinda didn’t seem right.
I had to put that out of my mind… this was business, and business comes before pleasure. Well, this was all business. This could be the biggest deal I ever made except for buying out those three homesteaders and getting the whole valley. If those whitefaced cattle proved to be the animals that they were talked up to be, I’d be sitting in tall clover in a few years.
If I could get me about three Romeos and twenty or twenty five Juliettes, that would be a great start. What I had to guard against was those longhorn bulls getting at my Hereford ladies. The only fix for that would be to get rid of those bulls. I hated to do that, but like I said this was business.
We rode through the day without incident at a pretty steady clip. By evening we had covered about forty miles. Our camp was set up in a little cut high above the river and back from the trail. Neither of us was much of a cook, in fact Sam hadn’t cooked anything more difficult than a frying pan full of bacon in over twenty years… I did most of the cooking.
Finishing our supper and settling back with a cup of strong black coffee, we felt pretty much ready for the blankets. I heard Smoke snuff and make a little snort. Looking up at him, I saw that he was looking toward the river. He wasn’t worried or fidgety like he would have been if there was a lion or bear in the near proximity. So I presumed it to be another horse or horses, which in this country meant men.
“Get ready, Sam. I think we’re getting company.” He looked up and around then he looked at the horses, which were all three looking towards the river by then.
“What do you think, Ben? Late travelers or trouble?”
“Late travelers in this country usually means trouble… Why don’t you slip off here into the brush and cover me. I’ll sit here by the fire and see what they want.”
Sam disappeared into the dark and I sat leaned against a tree with a cup of coffee in my left hand, and my cocked pistol was in my lap….waiting. I didn’t have to wait long. I heard them from a ways off. As they got closer, I tried to isolate the horses by the sound of their hooves on dirt and gravel. There were at least three, but I couldn’t tell if there were more. I’d just have to wait and see. They stopped just outside the circle of light.
“Hallo the fire.” Came the call.
“Come ahead, but come slow and easy… all of you… don’t leave that fella out there in the dark.” I called back.
There was a little bit of mumbling and conversation and finally I heard, “Si, we are coming in bery freenly.”
Three of them came into the light. Three Mexicans with way too much artillery to be working men. The leader was dressed a bit too flashy, in a shabby sort of way, to be a peon, but he could be a rancher or a merchant, although I would assess him as a bandito. All three were grubby looking and their clothes had ground in dirt, which could only come from weeks or months of wear between washings.
“Buenos Noche, Senor. The coffee smell bery good.” The leader, or maybe he was the only one who could speak English, said.
I didn’t invite them to get down and have some; I was still unsure whether or not they’d left a man out in the dark, so I told him, “Mister, I told you not to leave that fella out in the dark.”
He smiled a big toothy smile and said, “Ahh, Senor, ju are not a bery trusty man.” Then in Spanish, he called out and told the other one to come in. The four men sat their horses and looked over the camp. They couldn’t see but one saddle from where they were, but they could see the horses.
“Senor ju travel with three horses?”
“I do when I’m in a hurry, and I’m in a hurry.”
He turned his head slightly and said to the man on his right in Spanish. That I had too many horses, but they would fix that.
I told them in Spanish that I would soon have some of their horses. That and the sound of Sam jacking a shell into his Winchester from the darkness, had them reaching for their hardware. Sam put a bullet into the leader and I opened up on the one beside him. Only three shots were fired leaving two men wounded and two men with their hands up.
The leader was bent double and holding on to his horse’s neck. Sam had got him in the chest. He wouldn’t last long. The one I shot had a bloody arm and a skittish horse. I told the others to get their leader off his horse and tend to him… bloody arm could get himself down.
The bandito boss died within a quarter hour. The other two bandaged their comrade as best they could. We took their weapons. Sam went through their saddle bags to make sure they didn’t have any extras. It was a pretty low grade arsenal, which included a couple of old Walkers and a few old single shot carbines. I busted them all and threw them in the fire. I figure since they were such a low class of banditos, they’d better to find other occupations, ones they wouldn’t need guns. Then I had them pile rocks on their boss and said a few words over him. Sam gave me a curious look, but I was used to that and said, “He was some mother’s son once, Sam.”
“You’re much deeper person than most folks give you credit for, Ben.” And that was just fine with me.
I wasn’t worried about them coming back, but I brought the horses up close and we moved back out of th
e light of the fire. I felt confident that my big gray would let me know if something of someone was moving around. It would take a lifetime for him to lose those wild Mustang instincts.
At first light, we had our coffee, a little grub, and we were back on the trail to Santa Fe. We had the river to our right and depending where the trail wound its way, we had either high bluffs or open scrub land with mountains to our left. I’d looked at the back ends of many a mule when I hauled freight up and down this trail. Sitting in the saddle atop a fine animal like Smoke was much more to my liking.
We rode along just enjoying the day. I spent most of it looking between my horses gray black ears at the rutted trail that lead left, right, up and down… but it was always there. Sometimes I’d get a look at a big red tail hawk patrolling the sky over the scrub land. I wished him well.
Reaching Santa Fe in the late afternoon, we naturally went to the hotel I liked to stay at when I’m in town. I found two messages waiting for me. One was from Don Carlos asking us to join them for breakfast tomorrow….he’d send a carriage. Sam couldn’t understand why we needed a carriage, since we were both capable of forking our horses and riding out there. “Just humor him, Sam. He’s just being courteous and it’s his idea of being a good host.”
The second message was from Jasper Stewart, US Marshal in charge of New Mexico and parts of the Texas panhandle. He wanted to supply our supper tonight… Well, with all these people wanting to feed us, we might ought to stick around town for a while. But we had bigger things to do than sitting around Santa Fe getting fat.
Jasper arrived at six o’clock just as he said he would. Sam and Jasper had met once before under sadder circumstances, so they really hadn’t gotten a chance to get to know each other.
Jasper was in rare form and full of Ben and Andy stories, which went on nonstop. Every few minutes Sam would nearly choke on something Jasper had said. He’d look up and say, “They did what!”
When the marshal was running out of stories and we’d started on the pie Sam said, “Marshal, Andy come to work on the Esses as a common cowhand, and until he took care of those three rustlers, I’d no idée that he could even handle a pistol. And this big red haired goober that my granddaughter fell in love with… well I knowed he had some trouble when he was a kid, but what he told us was a pure Sunday school picnic next to what you’re sayin.”
