by Lou Bradshaw
“They got out through the escape tunnel. Whoever built this place probably dug it in case of Injuns.” I told him. “Carson and I are going down there, and see what kind of critters we can flush. It will probably come out near the barn somewhere.”
Down the rabbit hole we went, and mostly we had to crawl through a four by four tunnel. Along the way, it had been shorn up with timbers, but it wasn’t something that I wanted to do again. It seemed like it was an endless hole going nowhere, and it was taking us there on our hands and knees or at a crouching walk. Carson had a better time of that crouching walk than I did… him being smaller.
I think one of the worse parts of that little excursion, was that we couldn’t see two feet ahead of us. We didn’t know how far the tunnel ran, nor if it would make a turn and we’d run into a hail storm of bullets coming our way. There could even be someone parked up ahead in the dark ready to fill that gopher hole with hot lead. The best we could hope for was that Branch and those others were getting on down the trail and leaving us some tracks to follow. I was certain of one thing, certainly glad that the cow business was all done above ground.
At long last, we literally bumped into the end of the tunnel. It seemed like we had been down there for a week, but our torches were still burning brightly, so it couldn’t have been very long. Looking up, I could see another trap door about four feet above my head. It was too high for me to reach, and for sure it was too high for Carson.
He peered up at the underside of that door and asked. “You think you can hold me on your shoulders?.... I can reach it and push it open, if you think you can hold me up.”
I told him that I could hold him and his whole family, if it would get us out of here. “You ain’t seen my sisters, Blue, or you wouldn’t be making them statements.”
I gave him a leg up, and he was on my shoulders in no time at all. Those high heeled boots didn’t do my shoulders any good. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he could’ve just stood still. He finally got situated with his shoulders under the door, head tipped forward, and his knees bent. When he started putting pressure on that trap door, those boots started putting pressure on my shoulders. My oh my, that was just plain old down home uncomfortable.
“It’s stuck, Blue. They must have put something on top of it.”
“Think you can move it.”
“I can move it, if your shoulders can take it.”
“Do it. I’m already ruined, a little more won’t make it any worse.” Little did I know at that moment that it could get a lot worse.
He started grunting and groaning and making some God awful exclamations. His legs were trembling, and his feet were shifting. I had to brace my hands against the dirt wall to stay steady. He was building up a head of steam, and he started making sounds were of a higher and higher pitch. Just when I was afraid he was going to blow out something, he went straight and something went scrape, thump, crash, and bang up above…. He had moved it.
He was huffing and puffing like a winded bronc. I gave him a few seconds to catch his breath, and then I got him by the feet and lifted him half out of that hole. I could see the flare of a match and the next thing I saw was the ladder coming down into my dungeon.
We were in what had once been a smithy. I had one on the ranch, so I knew what it was immediately. It was on the far side of the barn where the black smith could take horses right from the corral and turn them back out easily. A good idea. On the back side of the trap door was an overturned anvil… of all the rotten tricks… I’ll say one thing for that little Ranger, he was plumb country strong.
“You know, Blue. I think you probably could hold my whole family up.”
Branchard and Claybrook came around the corner, and we took stock of what had just happened. It seemed like Banks and three others came sneaking out of there shortly after we set off the first few cans. It wasn’t horses busting down the corral, it was those outlaws skyhootin’ out of there. They run off and left the two in the bunk house to hold the fort.
There wasn’t anything else we could do there tonight, so we loaded our prisoners on the bare backs of a couple of nags that hadn’t run off and went back to town. As we rode in, we could see little knots of citizens here and there. I figured they were just a bit curious about what was getting blown up, out there at the Chambers ranch. They’d seen a bunch of Chamber’s riders being hauled into jail earlier. The town marshal had been arrested and now, a couple more Chambers riders coming in as prisoners. Nope, I can’t say that I blamed them for being a little nosey… and concerned.
As we rode past the saloon, I saw a horse at the hitch rail that looked almighty familiar. I had a notion to stop, but we needed to check in with Ranger Millburn at the jail first and add to our prisoner collection. Everything was fine at the jail, except that the former marshal wouldn’t shut up, until Carson threatened to go in there and, “whoop yore ass,” as he put it.
I excused myself and walked back up to the saloon, to get a better look at that horse. As I walked along the darkened boardwalk several people spoke and tried to engage me in conversation… I just smiled touched my hat brim and said, “Evenin’, folks.” And kept on walking.
At the saloon, I walked out into the street and walked around that long legged sorrel, or chestnut, as some prefer. He had three white stockings and a lazy R brand on his left shoulder…. a fine looking animal, that didn’t belong here.
Well, there wasn’t anything to do but to do it. So I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, took the thong off my sixgun, and then I walked through the swinging doors. I immediately stepped to the right and visually swept the room until I saw my man.
His back was to me, so he didn’t know I was coming across the room to deal with him. He was playing stud poker of the five card variety, and it looked like he was ahead of the crowd. I stood back until the pot was won and he raked in his winnings.
Stepping up behind him, I laid my hand on his shoulder and said, “Cowboy, don’t you know better than to sit with your back to the room in a strange town? I think you better come with me.”
He started gathering his money when a tinhorn across the table said, “Hey, he ain’t going nowhere till I say he is.” He looked up at my badge and his sour expression turned even sourer. “Beg pardon, Marshal, but this boy’s got a bunch of my money.”
I looked down and said, “You win that money fair and square?” He nodded and I told the tinhorn, “There you have it, Mister, you simply ran out of luck, unless you want to deal with… JL Tate over a few dollars, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were.”
I watched his lips move while he silently repeated JL Tate over and over…then he placed both hands on the playing surface, and we walked out.
When we were on the boardwalk, I asked, “Tater, slipping back to old habits, what the hell are you doing here? Is everything alright at the ranch? Is Patti Anne alright?”
“Hold on, Boss. There’s no trouble at the ranch, in fact everything’s getting boring. When your missus got your letter she said, “JL, that big redheaded boob is going to get my grampa killed down there in Texas. You get down there to that town and take care of Sam… If my husband needs help… do what you can for him too…. Them’s her words boss, not mine.”
He got his horse and we walked down the street to the jail, and he said that the ranger at the jail wouldn’t let him in but that Sam was at the boarding house. “Sam said that you was off doin’ lawman stuff, and from the sound of the explosions, that you were busy at it… so I waited at the saloon.”
At the jail, I introduced JL to the others, and then he said, “Oh dang it, I almost forgot. Your missus also told me to stop at Marshal Stewart’s office in Santa Fe and tell him I was going to meet up with you if he had anything to tell you…. He give me this letter for you and Marshal Claybrook.” He pulled out a folded envelope and handed it to me. I handed it to Ethan, since he was the official lawman.
He tore it open and read:
Deputies,
&
nbsp; The De Vega grant has been certified in Federal Court in Austin. The De Vega family maintains ownership of the land where the town of Chambers, Texas now sits. No lands within the bounds of the grant could be bought or sold.
I suggest that Marshal Claybrook hold a town meeting to include outlying ranchers to make the announcement and to start recording claims against Tobias Chambers. Chambers, whose real name appears to be Richard Hamilton, is wanted in Louisiana and Arkansas for fraud and murder. An official letter will be sent via stage, but I thought Mr. JL Tate would be able to get the information to you quicker.
Best regards,
Jasper Stewart, US Marshal, Santa Fe, New Mexico
“Damn!” Ethan shouted, and we were both out the door at a dead run for the hotel. We burst through the front door of the hotel and I shouted to the desk man, “What’s Chambers room number?”
“Number five upstairs… but he ain’t there.” The visibly shaken clerk called back. “He left this afternoon, said he was going south to look over another town site.” I ran up the stairs and kicked open the door to number five, while Ethan questioned the desk man. The room was empty; as I expected, but I gave it a quick search just see if there was anything that may have been left behind. The room was actually a three room suite, which included a bedroom, sitting room, and an office. In the corner of the office, stood a small but sturdy safe with the door hanging open. It was empty.
I rummaged through the desk hoping to find some note or map… anything that would give me an idea which way he might have gone. I wasn’t buying what the clerk said about him going south.
Ethan came through the splintered door and asked, “Anything?”
I looked up and shook my head, “No… it looks like he cleaned out and got out. I’ll bet he was out of town within thirty minutes of us bringing that first bunch in. When his pet marshal quit coming back, he was packed up and gone.”
We went back down to the clerk and Ethan told him, “Board up Number Five, and don’t let anyone in there… ya hear… no one.”
“What about the door?” the desk man asked.
“When Chambers comes back to town, you have him come see me and I’ll see to it that the US Marshal’s office in Santa Fe pays for a new door.” Claybrook could be just plain hilarious if given half a chance.
Back at the jail, we held a war council. “Looks like you’ll have your hands full of public relations and paper work by tomorrow morning.” I told Ethan, “I’ll go after Banks and his bunch… I gotta hunch that they’ll meet up with Chambers, or Hamilton, out there somewhere.”
“I don’t know what the Rangers have planned, but I’d like to take Carson with me if that’s possible.”
Branchard nodded and said, “If Spade wants to go, there’s nothin’ to stop him… the rest of us are gonna take these hombres to Amarilla, and hold them there in the county jail awaitin’ Claybrook to prosecute ‘em.”
“Spade?” I asked waiting to hear the story.
“Sure,” Branch said with a grin, “for a little fella he sure can eat. You’d think he was using a shovel instead of a spoon.”
I looked at Carson, and asked, “Well, what do ya say, Spade?”
Carson stood there grinning and said, “You just try and leave me behind, Red.”
That was that, we started making plans to shove off from the ranch at first light. We’d be able to pick up the trail from there, and run them into the ground. I was getting ready to call it a night, when Tate spoke up.
“Hey, Boss, don’t I get a crack at those boys…. You gonna just leave me here with nothin’ to do but hang around botherin’ folks?”
“I appreciate it, JL, but your job is to make sure nothing happens to Sam while I’m gone.”
I talked to Sam earlier, and he said he was ready as soon as the doc said he could leave. He’s moving around real good, and besides that widder woman, Miz Clancy don’t let him out of her sight. I’d be surprised if he didn’t try to take her home with him.”
“Oh Lord!” I said. “Don’t even think that way…. I’ll talk it over with Sam and see how he feels about it. Come on with me, and you can share my room.”
Chapter 17
The morning sun found three of us riding away from the Chambers ranch; we were heading due west following the trail of four horses. The horses weren’t really our main concern, but men riding them concerned us plenty. They were four salty men with no reason to show us anything but their worst. I was riding with two pretty salty hombres, and had no doubt that they would stand their ground. Carson has been a Texas Ranger for six years, and that was as much recommendation as anyone could ask. JL, I had seen in action, and although he was young, he had the good stuff. As far as my own qualifications… well, I’d been up the trail a time or two.
The first five or six miles, a blind man could have followed that trail. They were flat out running at a full gallop. After they slowed down to save their animals, we were able to get a better look at the individual horse tracks. We all made note of them, so we could remember them in case they got mixed in with any other riders.
They had a good eight to ten hour lead on us, which meant, we had some ground and time to make up. So we rode on into the late morning. At mid afternoon we found their campsite back up in a gully, where the fire’s glow couldn’t be seen from any distance, although I doubt if they had expected us to follow them at night. The ash from their fire was stone cold, and by the look of things, they hadn’t slept late. Chances were that they hit the trail while it was still dark. They had that advantage over us, they knew where they were going and we didn’t. We had gained a few hours, but they were still a long way off.
Our only advantage was that we left out with plenty of supplies and ample water. Where as they had left in a hurry, and it was unlikely they had more than what was in their saddle bags. Since they weren’t working cowhands, chances are they weren’t carrying what a cowhand usually has, namely a little coffee, bacon, and a few biscuits. They were probably already getting by on a few strips of jerky. Their camp showed no signs of any cooking or coffee being made. In this wide open country, if they shot anything… we’d hear it.
After a few more hours of riding at an easy ground eating lope, we came to a place where they had split up. It seemed like they had split the compass in half, with each one going in a different direction. One went north, one north west, one south west, and one south. Carson looked at those tracks with disgust.
“Hhhmmph!” he said with a snort. “That’s an old trick, and not a very good one. If they’d have peeled off, over the course of several miles, I might have bought it…. Straight ahead, Marshal Blue, we should see them all back together in about four or five miles…. We can catch ‘em up right down the middle.”
So we took the line between the south west and the north west, not without some misgivings on my part. But true to his prediction, after about five nervous miles, we started picking up first one set of tracks and then another, until we had all four riders back together again. We had gained a little time by not taking their bait.
A long low line of hills now spread across the western horizon. It was probably part of that same line of hills where Banks had met with the Comanche renegades. Those hills were still a good ten or more miles away, and the sun was on its downhill slide. We followed the tracks to a small but adequate waterhole, where we refilled our canteens and watered the horses with slightly brackish water. It was a little salty, but we’d all drank worse and I’m sure my big gray gelding had tasted a lot worse in the wild. It was a temptation to make camp and stay the night, but we’d gained a little time and we couldn’t afford to waste any of it for a little bit of comfort.
We kept moving on toward the horizon; those hills were becoming clearer as we got closer. They were no bargain. They looked to be mostly gray rock with some scrub growing here and there and a few cedars dotted their sides for color. I would bet a fat steer on there being a spring or a tank in there somewhere. They knew where they were going
and they knew they would need water. Out here, water was more valuable than money.
Darkness took us before we reached the hills, so we made a cold camp in a ravine. I could eat cold biscuits and jerky, but I sure missed my coffee. It didn’t help my mood any to think that those four ahead of us were no better off than we were… and probably not as well off. Carson seemed to be taking it harder than Tate or myself. For a little fella, he sure had a liking for food. Or so they told me. If we get back in one piece, I planned to treat him to the biggest and best dinner in town… just to watch the man called, Spade, shovel in the groceries…. That was if we got back.
When morning came we fixed a decent breakfast with plenty of coffee to hold us for the day. The sun was creeping over the horizon so we figured the glow of a fire wouldn’t be quite so noticeable.
Moving out shortly after breakfast, we soon picked up the trail again. The hills loomed a few miles away, and we rode with a bit of anxiousness, not knowing if they had held up close by in those hills or went deeper into them. We really didn’t know how wide this band of rocky hills was. We were also well aware that Banks and his bunch weren’t the only folks in this part of the country who might want to do us some hurt… there was a group called the Comanche who seemed to do whatever they wished in this area. So as we rode on, we rode quiet and alert.
Reaching the hills the trail became harder to follow due to the rocky nature of what we were riding on. We followed what little of that we could find, until we lost it on a rock shelf. Carson went on ahead looking for any kind of sign. Tate and I waited where the trail had been lost. While JL sat in the shade of a boulder, I walked around the area with my eyes on the ground. Some of those rocks were massive, and seemed to have been slid down from a long way up. These hills were no more than four or five hundred feet high at their highest, and the debris was in slabs which were often fifty feet high and wide and eight to ten feet thick. They were all jumbled willy nilly at the base of those hills. The pieces ranged from huge all the way down to gravel size and everything in between. I sure wished I known how those hills got shoved up and then broken down over all those many thousands of years.
