by Lou Bradshaw
We finally shut up the jail, being as how we were fresh out of prisoners; we headed for the boarding house. Mrs. Clancy looked at us with a hint of suspicion in her gaze. “What’s the problem, ma’am?” Ethan asked her.
“Well, Honey,” she said, “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t own this place. I was running it for Mr. Chambers… like the hotel and the Blue Dog Saloon. I’m just hired help.”
“You mean the “Delegation” didn’t tell you what I told them to do?”
“No, I haven’t talked to either Clarkston or Phlegg since the day before yesterday.”
“What I told them,” he explained, “was to continue as you have been. Take your salary, and keep the accounts. Or if you want to walk away, that’s your choice. When the De Vegas get here, they can sort it all out. Any profits should go to those who were defrauded.”
“I’m late getting to Arizona, as it is, I might just be on my way.” she said, as she snuck a glance at Sam who was busy looking at something he’d just discovered out in the street.
Two days later, Sam, JL Tate, and I were on horseback cutting out young cows and heifers with pretty red brown hides and cute faces of white. We found thirty that looked good to start our herd. We had already settled on two magnificent young bulls. The deal was made, the bill was paid, the bills of sale were written, and hands were shook.
Sam sat in a cane back chair as Welford Jackson made out the bill of sale with a long face deep in thought. “Mister Jackson, you think it would be too much trouble to sell me ten of those young gals?”
I looked up at Sam, grinning from ear to ear. Jackson said, “Sure ‘nuff… you go pick ‘em out, and I’ll write ‘em up.”
Sam and Tate were out the door and in their saddles before Jackson finished his sentence. Sam would have his Herefords wearing S-S brands, and that they’d be serviced by MB bulls didn’t matter. And it really didn’t matter if they never ate a blade of Esses grass and spent their entire lives on the MB, Sam would have his Herefords.
With a herd this size and three of us to coax them along to New Mexico, it wasn’t much of a trail drive. After a day on the trail they were pretty tired, but they got a little more used to it the next day… and the next. We had bypassed Chamberton; I reckoned that we’d all seen just about enough of the town. I asked Sam if he’d want to ride in and see the widow Clancy.
“Boy, there was a time there that I might have thought that was a good idea. But the longer I stayed, the less the idea seemed to appeal to me. She’s a sweet little lady, only she could smother a fella to death. She sort of hovers over a man like an old momma hen with only one chick. It was gettin’ hard to breathe in there. Besides, between Patty and Maria, I got enough women on the ranch to aggravate. If I had another, I’m afraid I’d be stretchin’ myself too thin.”
I had to laugh and told him that I thought he made a wise decision. We sat talking at the fire; actually Sam did most of the talking while I did most of the listening. He talked long into the night about those white faced cattle. He said, “Son, I believe I’d a let that buzzard shoot me again, as long as we got these here cows. It would have been worth it.”
I knew then what Patty Anne had been talking about, when she pressed me to ask Sam to come on this trip. I felt a lot less responsible for him getting shot. It would have been worse if I’d come on this trip and left him at home. He felt more a part of the MB connected, even though he still had a fine ranch of his own.
We moved on with our small herd. It wasn’t any problem getting them through the river breaks where we’d been ambushed and later took down the gang of raiders. It was a pleasant little ride in the country driving this bunch. There was always the threat of one of those bands of bronco Comanche, but we saw none of them. We just moved our beef westward.
At Tucumcari we stopped again, but didn’t find the same bunch playing cards. There were three others sitting at the table drinking beer and playing poker. When I came through the low door and stepped down into the room, the proprietor greeted us, and looked a little worried. I said, “Friend, we’re not looking for trouble, we just want to get a few things, have a little chow, and rest our horses.”
He looked a little dubious as to whether or not he believed me. The boys in the card game looked up at my declaration. I could see several of them shifting a little to make their pistols a little more accessible. The one facing me must have fancied himself a bad man because he tried to stare a hole in me.
“Bobbit, Colbe, Jones.” The proprietor addressed the three. “This is the gent I was tellin’ you about.” They all looked confused. “The one that caused Mason to catch religion.” Then three all looked at the owner, and then they looked at each other. The one, who had been trying to fry me with his eyes, slowly scooted his chair back and stood.
I was cursing my luck for not strapping on that sawed off before coming in here. It wasn’t a fast into action weapon, but it sure made those who wanted trouble give it a second thought. “Mister, that boy, Mason Colbe, is my little brother… and I’d sure admire shakin’ your hand. I reckon you saved his life and probably his immortal soul with that little lesson.” A big old smile split his face and a big old paw came out toward me… which I took. Shaking a man’s hand is a lot more fun than dodging his bullets.
I was a little bit afraid that I might have pushed the little brother a bit too hard, but I guess it was what was needed. He really should have thanked my big gray for not letting that boy get on because if he’d have mounted, I’d have shot him off it. But I didn’t tell him that.
Moving on from Tucumcari, we struck the trail for Santa Fe. We were still a good two hundred miles from the MB and home. The trail up to Santa Fe ran a little southwest from Tucumcari and then north and west along the west side of the Sangre de Cristos. It was a little out of the way, but we needed to get to Agua Negra Chiquita or Little Black Water as the North Americans were starting to call it. There would be plenty of water there after a long dry stretch. Between Tucumcari and Agua Negra there was precious little water. The stock was in good shape and could tolerate several dry days, but I was like Mrs. Clancy… a mother hen.
That stretch of landscape was scrub desert. A grown steer could survive there, but he’d walk off a lot of beef covering a lot of territory in a day just to get enough graze to keep him alive. But like I said they were in good shape and they were young and strong. With every mile, I was amazed at how well they held up.
We laid over at Agua Negra Chiquita, and let the cattle and horses rest up and tank up. Turning northwest, we took a beeline toward Santa Fe. I was still fuming about losing track of Chambers. I was going to have to give Jasper Stewart a rundown on all that had happened. He’d get a written report from Claybrook, but that would be dry and would only deal with facts. My version would color it up a bit. Still, I hated to tell him that the boss had got off scot free.
We were on the last leg of the drive to Santa Fe, when we were greeted by three vaqueros wearing some of the finest work clothes ever to grace any cowboy’s frame… no matter what language he spoke. They were riding some pretty fine horseflesh as well. I immediately recognized Enrique, Don Carlos’ Segundo.
The rode up to us with a flair. If a vaquero has nothing else in the world, he’s certain to have flair, especially when he’s on a horse. “Ay, Benito” Enrique shouted as he brought his mount to a halt in a cloud of dust.
Doffing his sombrero, he made an elaborate bow from his saddle. “The Don sent us to escort you into the city. He said to tell you to take your herd to Senor Gomez’s corrals for their safe keeping. He also said that you are to be his guests this evening at your hotel dining room. He is anxious to see these wonder cows.”
We talked for a few minutes while his men took over the herding duties and then he said, “Go ahead, Benito, you and your friends ride into town and get some rest. We will see to it that these cattle of the future get safely and comfortably settled in the corral of the Santa Fe Freight Company.”
“That would be great, Enrique,” I told him, “I have some business with Marshal Stewart to attend to.”
Sam, Tate, and I rode on ahead into town and dismounted in front of my usual hotel. I gave Tate my duffle, rifle and saddle bags and told him to stow it in my room. “Tell the clerk, that we need three rooms and that I’ll be in to register shortly…. I’ve got some business to take care of with the marshal.” Taking the three horses, I led them to the livery stable and made sure they would be rubbed down and given grain. Then I started to walk the short distance to the US Marshal’s office. Once there, I gave Jasper a full report on what had taken place in the town of Chamberton, and the plight of those folks who had bought ranches and businesses from the man named Hamilton who also called himself Chambers and who knew what other names he laid claim to. Jasper also told me that the Don had invited him to join the dinner party scheduled for that evening. I left his office and headed across the plaza to my hotel.
As I approached the doorway to the bank, two men were coming out. One was the manager, whom I hadn’t seen in several years, and the other had his face turned from me and was shaking hands with the manager. As they came through the door, the second man turned and parted from the banker. He had a brisk step, but paid little attention to where he was going and seemed to care little who else was using the walkway, for he bumped into me. It wasn’t much of a bump, “Pardon me.” I said. He made some sort of sound that meant he couldn’t be bothered with the likes of me.
As he quickly strode on across the plaza, I turned to the bank manager who had recognized me by then and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Blue, it’s good to see you again… even if you did almost get run over.”
“Was that Mr. Chambers…? Tobias Chambers?” I asked.
“No sir, that’s Mr. Fredrick Manchester. He’s a land speculator, and he’s here to do some pretty impressive things, and we’ll be his bank of choice… In fact he just made a sizable deposit.” He said in a hushed tone of voice.
“Interesting.” I said as I turned back to the banker. When I looked up again, Chambers had disappeared.
Chapter 21
I bid the banker good day and quickly walked across the plaza to the last place I’d seen Chambers. I looked through the door of the hotel but saw no one. Turning down a side street, I looked into one saloon after another. It was the third saloon, where I spotted him playing cards with several men. The others looked to be ranchers; all were dressed in range clothes.
Walking to the bar, I ordered a beer and watched the group with the help of the backbar mirror. It appeared to be a low stakes game, meant more to pass the time than to do any real gambling. Chambers had removed his tie and his celluloid collar. He looked less like a big money land speculator now than when he left the bank.
I was in a quandary. Should I go over and arrest him… by what authority? There was law in this town, and I was only a Special Deputy. Chambers was a Federal fugitive, as far as I knew, he’d broken no law in New Mexico. I just didn’t know enough about the law to jump in and make a move that I wasn’t sure of. But he wasn’t going to walk out of here a free man without walking over my body.
Finishing my beer, I walked to the door and out onto the boardwalk. From there I walked to the corner where the side street connected with the plaza. I was hoping to spot one of Santa Fe’s lawmen and send them to fetch Jasper Stewart. I stood there for what seemed like an hour, but was probably no more than ten minutes at most. What I spotted was better than some deputy… it was a cowboy named Tate, who had just walked out of the hotel, more than likely he was looking for a saloon.
I gave a short whistle, and he looked around. When he saw me, I motioned him over. I gave him a quick rundown and told him to scoot over to the Marshal’s Office and tell him I got Chambers in sight at the Double Dog Saloon. “I’ll keep him there one way or another… but hurry.”
JL Tate tore off across the plaza, and I went back into the Double Dog. When I got inside, I ordered another beer and looked across the room where Chambers was playing cards. One of the players had left and Chambers was trying to talk business with another. Suddenly, I felt the urge to do some gambling.
Walking across the room, I stopped at the empty chair and asked, “Mind if I set in?”
The gent who was being given the pitch by Chambers said, “Sure, we could use some fresh money in these pots… What do they call you, cowboy?”
“Some call me Ben, but most just call me Red.” I told him.
He introduced himself as Clyde, the third player as Burt, referred to Chambers as Fred.
Chambers seemed to be irritated by the interruption and redirected the subject back to the matter of a tract of land over in Arizona, somewhere up on the rim. It seems that he had title to a vast tract of land, and the railroad was just waiting for him to bring some ranchers in so they could build a spur up to it. Oh, it sounded really nice, especially the town site he had all laid out. All he needed was men with ambition and a little cash or a way of getting some.
We played a few hands, but no real money changed hands. All the while, he kept touting the wonders of the practically free land up on the Mogollon Rim. He virtually ignored me as a puncher who came in for a beer and a little sport, until I made the comment, “Well, sir, I’ve never been up there, but I hear tell it’s about as pretty a spot as there is on earth.”
“There you are, Clyde.” Chambers said with a smile. “If this total stranger vouches for the rim, then what more can I say… you wouldn’t be of the circumstances to be able to invest, would you, Mr… uh… Ben is it?”
“No, I’m not looking to pull out. I’ve got me a nice little place up north of here… I’ll likely spend the rest of my days there nursing cows.”
“What outfit would that be, Red.” Burt asked.
“I’ve got the MB connected up above the plateau.” I told him.
Clyde stewed on that for a few seconds and said, “So you’re that Ben, are you? Heard of you… a friend to Don Carlos, I hear.”
Suddenly, I had Chambers undivided attention. He could smell an introduction to the Don…. He could smell money.
“The Don has been a very good friend to me.” I told them.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tate and Marshal Stewart sitting at a nearby table enjoying a beer and shuffling cards. The pieces were in place.
It was my deal, and I tried to keep talking to Chambers as I dealt the past boards. He in turn was trying to capitalize on my friendship with the Don.
“Ben,” he said, “have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”
“We nearly had a head on collision over at the bank about an hour ago, but other than that I don’t think so.”
“I know what it is.” He said. “You remind me so much of a friend back in Alabama. Tom was his name… you’re a dead ringer for him. We were planning to come west together, but he got the pox and died. He was the best friend a man could ever have… saved my life several times… I sure miss him, but I can see a lot of him in you… it’s almost like he’s still alive.”
Now, I know that a good bull can produce two things, and one of those is good calves. The other is often used as fertilizer and I know fertilizer when I smell it or when I hear it. I let him talk and get a little maudlin. It was making the others uncomfortable, but he was setting his sights on an introduction to some old Spanish money and he was focused.
“I’m sure sorry to hear about your friend, Mister Chambers; I know what it’s like to lose a close friend.”
He went on about his friend Tom, while he proceeded to lose the hand. Both Clyde and Burt looked up at me when I called him Chambers, but neither said anything.
“Mister Chambers, I’d like to introduce you to another man who has been a very good friend to me.” He looked up and smiled, as I motioned the marshal over. “I’d like you to meet Jasper Stewart, US Marshal.”
He started to rise to shake hands, before he realized what was happening. There was that flash of recognition i
n his eyes that told him “Oh No!” That’s when he belatedly went for his gun, but I was on my feet and had my Colt’s hammer back and aimed between his eyes. Jasper reached into Chambers coat and pulled out a four shot Derringer and said, “Tobias Chambers, alias Hamilton, alias Manchester, you’re under arrest for fraud, trafficking with renegade Indians, and at least two counts of murder.”
Needless to say, the card game was over, and I was a dollar ahead. My lucky day. As we left with our prisoner, Burt had regained his senses enough to call out, “Hey, Red, ain’t you gonna give us a chance to git some of your money.” Then they both laughed and I said I’d look them up next time I was in town.
We had a very pleasant dinner with the Don and Dona in our hotel dining room. The service was excellent, but then it always was when Don Carlos is in the room. In deference to the lovely Dona Elena we understated the trouble in Texas. She was more interested in the hacienda and the horses… and a prayer for some fat red headed babies.
The next morning, the Don and his oldest son were both on hand at the corral to see us off. I wasn’t flattered… I knew those Hereford cattle were getting the most attention. There were a number of cattlemen lining the fence.
We rode out that morning heading north for Taos and the MB connected. Sam was sitting tall in the saddle, James L Tate was still in a mental whirlwind after having had dinner with real Don, and I was thinking along the lines of getting back to the business of red headed babies.
The End
About the Author
Lou Bradshaw is a lifelong story teller, who spent most of his life as a commercial illustrator and graphic artist. Deadlines, clients, and vendors were all sources of sleep depriving stress. To combat insomnia, he would often create stories in his mind to take the place of what was bothering him. Soon, some of those stories had grown to the point that they needed to be put on paper. Taking up a felt tip pen and a loose leaf binder, he found something new, challenging, and exciting. He soon filled multiple binders and his distraction had become a passion. Upon retirement, he began assembling notes and scribbles into novels…and the rest is history.
