by Lou Bradshaw
She sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee and talked while I ate. She was more than happy to talk about herself, which meant that I didn’t have to explain my early morning ride. It seemed that she had been widowed about five years earlier, when her husband had been thrown from a runaway buckboard. She had been heading west to live with her son in Arizona, but she took sick and got off the stage here. “When I was well, Mr. Chambers offered me the job of managing this boarding house… it gave me a place to live and the work was what I’d always been used to.” She said.
“I just assumed that it was yours.” I told her.
“Oh goodness no. This is just temporary until I save a little more money. I don’t want to be a burden on my son and his family.”
The rest of the day was spent keeping myself busy and out of Mrs. Clancy’s way. That wasn’t too hard to do, since she was busy most of the time pampering Sam. Sam fussed and growled, but he liked the attention. I hadn’t seen him so alive in several years. I got him out of the house in the afternoon for a walk down to the general store. We didn’t need anything, but he needed the fresh air and exercise.
The next morning, I was back on top of that ridge at sunup again. Only this time, I didn’t have to go back for a late breakfast. I saw a rider with three loaded pack horses in tow and two extra mounts passing my position about four hundred yards out on the flat ground. He was off the south trail and moving away from it. I let him get well ahead of me before I ventured down to the route he had taken. It wouldn’t do to get too close. I’d have to do some trackin’ instead of trailin’, but with six sets of tracks, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge.
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that it was Banks I was tracking, but that didn’t matter, whoever was leading those animals out into the big empty had my attention. There was no reason for anyone to come out into this scrub land. There weren’t any cattle here, nor were there and houses or saloons. There was just sparse gray green grass, sage and clumps of juniper. The only thing it lacked being a desert was cactus. I take that back, there were large patches of prickly pear, and that’s a sure nuff cactus.
Whoever that rider was, he kept on moving at a steady pace. He never speeded up, and he never slowed down. While tracking him, I kept an eye on my own back trail. That was a habit I’d picked up trackin’ with Rubio, an old Navajo that lives back in the canyons of my valley.
I had to stay wary of getting too close, in case he was watching his own back trail. I’d hate to ride up on Cletus Banks’ tail. He had a plan as to where he was going because he was going straight at it. The only time he changed directions was when something got in his way, like a ravine or an outcropping. His unfailing direction gave me the confidence to drop off the trail either to the east or west. That way, if he was watching his backtrail he wouldn’t be so likely to spot me. And, he wouldn’t be so likely to run across my tracks over laying his on the return trip.
He was riding through a wide open plain with hills and ridges off in the distance in both directions. It was still scrub land with enough forage to feed cattle, but I didn’t see any. I would lay back away from his path about a quarter mile and go back to it from time to time just to make sure he hadn’t turned off unexpected.
After about an hour of riding parallel to his path, I was surprised to see his tracks cross in front of me. He was heading into the hills. I took a bead on his direction and eased off to my right, so that I could come to those hills a mile or so farther north than he would. He seemed to be heading straight for an outcropping of white rock maybe fifty to sixty feet high. There was no reason for me to be in a hurry now, The sky didn’t show any signs of rain, so his tracks would still be where he left them, an hour from now or two days from now, so I would use plenty of caution.
So I cautiously made my way to those hills, which weren’t so much hills as they were just higher ground covered mostly with rock, sage and cedar. Riding up into the cedars, I found a good place to leave my horse with a little browse to give him something to keep him entertained.
Taking my rifle and field glasses, I took off on foot to cover the last mile to where I had an idea the rider had gone. Up on the hillside, there was plenty of cover, so I covered a lot of ground in no time at all.
When I reached the area of interest, I saw with the help of my field glasses, that rider and his caravan were well to the south and holding close to the hills. So back I went to my horse, and then I continued on to that outcropping. It was a huge slab of limestone which had been pushed up above ground level most likely a couple of million years ago, when the earth was much younger.
That chunk of rock must have been a quarter mile wide and close to seventy feet high, and seamed with cracks and splits. There was no way of knowing how far back into the hill it went or how deep its roots were underground. From the pile of jumbled rock at its base, I can only imagine that it was considerably larger when it first came crashing out of the ground. I could see where he had gotten off his horse and spent a little time there. What I couldn’t figure at first, were the circular indents in the mud.
Mud?... Of course. He’d watered his animals with some kind of canvas buckets. So I went poking around in that jumble of rocks until I found the tank. It was a small but full water tank where a natural depression in a large limestone slab had caught and held water. I’d say Mr. Banks had been down this trail a time or two before; he knew exactly where to stop.
Filling my hat twice, I gave Smoke a good drink. The tank was higher up into the rocks than a horse could scramble, and it was almost inaccessible to a man let alone a horse. Then I refilled one of my canteens, drank, and then refilled it again. I’d tasted better, but I’d tasted a lot worse also.
Chewing on a piece of jerky, I got back in the saddle and moved on. For the next couple of hours, I moved out and away from the hills. There were too many small canyons and auroras that he could turn into at this point. So I had to keep his tracks almost in sight at all times. And when he did finally turn, I almost missed it because of the wild horse tracks that he had ridden through.
He had turned into a canyon that cut into the hills. At one time it had been a major water course washing down from some much higher hills, but now it was just a place to make camp. Only, I wasn’t about to camp in that canyon.
I didn’t want to catch Banks or anyone at this point. What I wanted was to see what he was up to and who he was up to it with, although I had a pretty good idea who he was dealing with. So I’d just go up here in the hills and watch that canyon, for I’d bet my bridle that this was the meeting place. I found a cozy little place where I could watch the entrance of the canyon and I could have a little fire for coffee.
Sitting in among a jumble of rocks and cedars, I settled in to wait. He’d just gone in there within the past hour, so I really didn’t expect him to come out today or tonight. I figured he’d be in there over night and come out tomorrow. But a person just doesn’t know for sure, so a person waited and watched.
The sun was behind the hills before I realized it. It had started to cloud up late in the day and that made the sunset sort of just fade out into evening. The soft shadows had lengthened to the point where they were no longer individual shadows but a blanket that covered anything below the canyon rim.
In this mostly flat country, it gets dark later than it does in the tall mountains, but when it starts getting dark, it happens fast. It was full dark before I knew it, so I just settled back and let my ears do my watching for me. Of course I let my horse help a little. With his senses and mine working together, maybe we can tell if anyone comes or goes.
Chapter 11
I didn’t have to wait long for something to happen. Almost before my eyes could get used to the dark, I saw the glow off to the south west… way back in that canyon. That was no one man campfire. That was a party getting warmed up. It was too far away to hear anything, but I was pretty sure that a jug was being passed around and folks were having a bang up time.
Rolling up in my
blankets, I bid the revelers a good night and went to sleep. I’ll not say I had a peaceful night’s sleep because I was awake about every hour checking the stars and the glow in the southwest. The stars told me that the celebration went on till well after midnight before the fire started dying, and the glow became decidedly dimmer.
I was up before first light watching and waiting. I heard them coming, after I was alerted by Smoke’s little snort. I went to stand by him and put my hand on his muzzle just to remind him that we didn’t need any noise.
They came quietly, but when you’ve got a number of horses and men moving in a group like that there’s bound to be some noise, especially when at least six of those horses were wearing iron shoes. I could also hear the rattle of gear. That was something the Indians would certainly avoid. By this time I had no doubt that the largest part of that party wore moccasins.
As they came out of the mouth of that canyon, I could barely see the dark bulk of men and animals. It was just a large dark clump at first, but them the clumps split, and one went north while the other moved off to the south. The smaller two horse clump was the one I was interested in, and it went north.
Leaning against a large boulder at the edge of an outcropping of rocks, I could see the rider with two horses, and he wasn’t more than fifty feet below me. He pulled up momentarily and appeared to be looking for something. A few seconds later, he struck a match and lit a smoke. The flare of the match told me that Cletus Banks had indeed been the guest of honor at last night’s party. Those silver conchose on his hat caught the light for an instant, but it was all I needed. I couldn’t see the pack saddle on his animal, but I would venture to say that it was considerably lighter on the return trip.
As soon as Banks was well out of sight, I led my horse down off that hill. On reaching the bottom, the first thing I did was take a look at those tracks… both coming and going. It didn’t take a genius to see that they were considerably heavier going in than coming out.
The next step was to go back and take a look at the scene of last night’s hooraw. Mounting up, I rode on back into the canyon. It didn’t take long to find where their bonfire had been and from the looks of things, it wasn’t the first one to be made on that spot. The coals were still hot, and it took very little effort to coax enough heat to get a small fire going. While my coffee was boiling, I took a look around.
What I found confirmed my suspicions. I saw where at least three kegs had been set on the ground leaving circles in the dirt. There was also a broken crockery jug that still had a strong alcohol smell. There was a place where a number of rifles had been laid on the ground. I could see where they had rested in the dust and been walked around by a number of moccasined feet. There were also impressions of handguns as well but not as many. In the cooled edges of the fire, I found a half burned box that had contained 0.44 cartridges.
If Mackenzie had killed off over a thousand horses, when he took Quanah Parker and subdued the tribe, then these outlaw Comanche would be looking for riding stock. That accounted for the missing pack animals and the extra mounts. Horses were what made the Comanche the rulers of this part of the country, just as they had made the Sioux lords of the northern plains.
Not having a great deal of knowledge of the tribes and temperament in this part of the country, I could only guess that the liquor and the weapons were for either the Comanche or Kiowa or more than likely it was a mix. Either one would spell a lot of trouble for any settlers or travelers they might come across. Stewart had suspected something like this, but he suspected it was the work of Comanchero renegades. It appears, though to be the work of well known local person. A man who was feared, if not universally respected, who was also foreman of the largest ranch in the area.
But what did the Indians have to offer to the deal? The only thing I could imagine would be plunder. Not many years ago the Indians had no use for gold or silver. They couldn’t eat it. They couldn’t make a warm robe with it, or ride it out to hunt buffalo. They finally found out that it was a good source of rifles and whiskey.
They found that many settlers had a little gold or silver stashed away in their homes; some carried it in their wagons hidden under floor boards. The missions had gold and silver cups, candlesticks, and statues. There was shining metal there for the taking, and the cost was low… the swing of a war club, the flight of an arrow, or the pull of a trigger.
All Banks and his raiders had to do was waylay travelers for the money or goods they may be carrying, but particularly their guns, ammunition and horses. If the travelers were lucky they’d be left broke, defenseless, and probably afoot. Otherwise they were never heard of or seen again.
Banks had a good thing going, working with outlaw killers, who probably feared Banks and his reputation enough to keep from holding out on him. He was a known man with bodies behind him, and he was tough enough to keep that crowd in line.
The question was… how did Tobias Chambers fit into this set up? Or did he fit into it at all? Chambers was highly thought of by those in the town bearing his name. He was not only a prominent citizen, but he was the number one citizen. The others were quick to take up the cause if there be any question about his good name.
I’d have to work that out, but now I had the question of what to do about Banks and his operation. I could always take it to the marshal, but as he told me before, his badge ended at the town limits. I’d be a fool to think that I could go out to that ranch headquarters and arrest Banks. The only thing that would get me was shot by up to a dozen gunmen, some of which, I’m sure I’ve traded lead with before.
I had a plan to send off a letter to Marshal Stewart in Santa Fe, as soon as I got back to town. He might have an idea as to where I might get some help. He may have some strings to pull… I’d even take some help from the army. If I could only get Banks off to himself away from the ranch, I’d arrest him myself. It wouldn’t be the easiest thing I ever did, but by God… I’d do ‘er.
Banks had returned by the same course he’d used coming down, so I took a more direct route to town. Instead of going more east than north, I went due northeast. I didn’t want to over take him since he’d be moving slower with the pack horse. This way I could reach Chambers well before he could reach the ranch.
I struck the trail from Tucumcari and took it east a few miles into town. It was nearly sundown when I rode in. The general store post office had already shut down, so I’d have to wait for morning to send a letter to Jasper.
I went right on by and up to the boarding house. After taking care of Smoke, I took my saddlebags and Winchester and went in through the back door. I could hear the rattle of dishes and murmur of conversation, so I was still in time for supper. Stowing my gear in my room, I quickly washed up and went on down to the dining room.
As I walked in the first one I saw was Sam. He was sitting there with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other chewing on something that looked like half a cow. He looked up, smiled, and tried to say something that got lost amongst that beef. Mrs. Clancy jumped up and ushered me to an empty chair and almost immediately produced a loaded plate, and she was pouring coffee before I was firmly in my seat.
“Mr. Blue, we have a new guest staying with us for a few days. Say hello to Mr. Woodcock from Lubbock.” I looked up to see where the new face was, but I’d seen all those faces before. One in particular though, I hadn’t seen for a couple of years. I found myself looking into the handsome smiling face of Ethan Claybrook, Deputy US Marshal, only he wasn’t wearing a badge.
I choked back my surprise and said, “Pleasure, Woodcock. You plan on bein’ in town long?”
“Aww, just call me Ethan, I take it you’re Ben… Sam’s been talkin’ so much about you, feel like I know you. Oh, I’ve got some business to take care of here. Reckon I’ll have to stick around till it’s finished.”
“Same here,” I said, “soon as I can get my wife’s grand pappy trail worthy and take care of a few things, we’ll be headin’ for Amarillo. I got a good friend
there that I’d like to look up”.
Chapter 12
After supper, Sam, Ethan, a few of the other guests, and I sat out on the front porch drinking coffee and smoking. When the conversation began to lag, I said to Ethan, “How about I welcome you to town with a cold beer?”
“That’s a grand idea, Ben, and I’ll welcome you back to town with another one.” So we took off walking down the middle of the street toward one of the saloons.
“Woodcock! Now what in God’s name is a Wood Cock?” I asked.
“It’s bird, you hillbilly… kinda like a whippoorwill… they live in the Northeast…. I thought it had a nice sound to it.”
Claybrook looked good; this life had been good to him. His coloring had improved since I last saw him. He looked like a western man. From his well worn gray hat, down to his scuffed but presentable boots, he looked the part. With his gray wool shirt and dark brown vest and brown pants, he finished up the picture of a man. I noted that he was wearing a Colt Peacemaker, which was becoming a very popular weapon, but no sawed off express gun.
“If you’re looking for your express gun, I’ve got it in my bedroll, I didn’t want to come into town looking like anything but a cattleman here on some business…. How much you want for that thing…. It’s saved my bacon more than once.”
“Oh, it’s not for sale.” I told him. “But I’ll let you keep it as long as you’re a law dog…I kinda like having you in my debt.”
“Don’t know if I like the sound of that.” He said with a grin.
The first saloon we came to was pretty crowded, so we walked on down to the next which was a little less noisy and a little less clean, but we weren’t there for any other reason than a little quiet conversation.
We sat down at a table and ordered a couple of beers. The beer was delivered by a young old woman. She may have been less than twenty five, but she had seen a lot of miles and a lot of men. She swished her hips and asked if there was anything else that we might be interested in.
