Gold on the Hoof

by Peter Grant

  “This is turning into a big operation,” Jim said seriously as he handed over his horse, then followed Walt to the administration building. “I hadn’t expected you to be this far along.”

  “I decided to do most of the setup work first,” Walt explained as he led him inside. “I hired workmen in Pueblo in the spring, and built a sawmill a couple o’ miles thataway. They were workin’ here until last week. We’ve spent the summer building all this, and haying the land, and puttin’ in several miles o’ split-rail an’ pole fencing around pastures and corrals. I’m heading for Mexico in two months, in early December, to buy horses. Most will go to the cavalry, but several hundred will come back here with me in the spring.”

  Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you fix up all that?”

  “It’s a long story.” Walt opened a door. “This is your room. Make yourself comfortable. Outhouse is through that door,” and he motioned to the end of the long corridor. “We run the bathhouse boiler every evening from about five until eight, to let everyone clean up – families first, then the hands. There’ll be plenty of hot water.”

  “Never seen that on a ranch before.”

  “Neither had I, until we hit Parsons’ place. He’d built a bathhouse for himself and his men, with a boiler to provide hot water. I decided to copy his, but I made it big enough for everybody to use, not just Nate an’ I. We don’t have piped water in each building yet – Nate’ll fix that up this winter, while I’m away – but we bring it down an irrigation pipe from the hills above, and we bought a water tower an’ windmill pump from the people who make them for the railways.” He gestured at the huge wooden cistern, roofed with shingles, mounted atop a shallow slope on a framework of heavy beams, flanked by the windmill. “We got thirty thousand gallons anytime we need it, for drinkin’, cookin’ an’ cleanin’ up, and for firefighting if worse comes to worst. It’s good water, too, clean an’ tasty.”

  “I’ll look forward to washing off the trail dust.” Dunnett laid his saddlebags and holdall on the bed, opened a saddlebag, and handed Walt a familiar green-bound ledger. “There you are.”

  “Thanks. I’ll put it in the office safe.”

  Dunnett followed him down the passage to a large, airy room containing two rolltop desks, several chairs, a bookcase, and four big cupboards. A couple of big glass-fronted display cases, on either side of a big stone fireplace, contained a large selection of firearms. The visitor crossed to look at them as Walt used a key to open a big, heavy safe, and slid the ledger onto a shelf.

  “You sure got a lot o’ guns in here. Why so many?”

  “Not as many here as at Ames Transport in Pueblo. I keep the guns of anyone who tries to rob my wagon trains. Also, some of them came from Parsons’ men, and from Bart Furlong’s gang. If anyone I hire doesn’t have a decent gun, I lend them a revolver an’ rifle from my stock until they can afford to buy their own. Right now there’s a lot of old cap-an’-ball revolvers, because a lot o’ my men are buyin’ the new cartridge guns. The stores don’t give much as trades on cap-an’-ballers, so I give ’em a dollar or two and add their old guns to my stock.”

  “I get it. I traded in my old revolver a month back for this new Colt Single Action Army. I got Carlos Gove to sell me the third one to reach his shop. He refused to sell the first two, or he’d’ve had nothin’ to show his customers.” The two men chuckled as the lawman tapped the butt of the gun in his holster. “It ain’t as fast to reload as your Smith and Wesson Russians, but it’s real strong, and its .45 cartridge hits hard. Fits my hand well, too. What did Parsons carry?”

  “He used a Thuer cartridge conversion of an Colt 1860 Army Model.” Walt opened a glass-fronted door, took out the topmost revolver and handed it butt-first to the lawman. “When I set up a proper family funeral plot, I’ll re-bury Rose there. I reckon I’ll put Parsons’ gun on her coffin, so she’ll sleep easy, knowin’ I killed the man who caused her death.”

  Dunnett couldn’t help noticing the lingering pain in Walt’s voice. He checked that the gun was unloaded, then cocked the hammer and held it back with his thumb as he tried the trigger. “Nice, smooth, light action on this piece. Reckon Parsons had it worked over.”

  “Yeah. He was real good with it, too, but that wasn’t enough to save him in the end.”

  Jim handed back the revolver. “Tell me more about your trip to Mexico,” he invited.

  “Sure. Like a drink to get rid of the trail dust?” Walt waved a hand towards a tray on a sideboard, bearing a decanter and four glasses, as he replaced the gun. “It’s good Tennessee sippin’ whiskey. My sister and her husband sent me a barrel a couple of months ago.”

  “Can’t say no to that.”

  Walt poured two generous helpings of the amber liquid. They toasted each other, and drank. Jim shivered as the liquor hit the back of his throat. “Daaaang, that’s smooth! Better be careful. I might have to confiscate the rest of that barrel as evidence when I leave!”

  Walt laughed as he motioned his guest to take a chair. “Nate’ll give you an argument about that. I’m leaving it here, to see him through the winter. He’s going to carry on with setup work while I go get our horse herd.”

  “What made you think o’ lookin’ for horses in Mexico?”

  “Pablo Gomez gave me the idea. He’s one of those I hired to help me find Parsons. He turned out to have a real smart head on his shoulders. When Isom decided to stay in New Mexico with his new wife, and Sam joined him there, I needed a sidekick to ride with me and watch my back. During the hunt for Parsons, Pablo proved he was the right man for the job. He saved me from a booby-trap Parsons set up to catch anyone prying into his papers.”

  “How did that work?”

  Walt explained the dynamite-rigged cupboard Parsons had set up. “But for Pablo, I’d have opened the door without suspecting a thing, an’ been blown to bits. Anyway, Pablo’s from Mexico. We got to talking on the way back here. He reckons there’s good horses to be had in Mexico, but most buyers are poorer there, so they sell for a lot less than you’d pay for the same animal up here. That started me thinking. I thought even harder when we stopped at Fort Union, before turning north. Y’see, the Army needs horses every year to resupply its cavalry regiments. They can’t afford to pay high for them, but scrub cow ponies ain’t good enough for them, and the mustangs ain’t what they used to be.”

  “Those scrubs sure are cheap. Word is you can buy ’em in Texas for five to ten dollars a head. What’s wrong with the mustangs?”

  “There’s not enough good ones left to meet the demand. Leaves the Army with a real problem. It wants the best cavalry mounts it can get, but can only afford to pay up to twenty-five dollars a head. That ain’t enough for a good mustang nowadays, but if the Army pays more than twenty-five for better stock, then they can’t afford to buy enough horses.”

  “Sounds like they can’t win, with choices like that.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought, too, after talkin’ to the commanding officer at Fort Union. He reckons they’ll need up to two thousand remounts to prepare for next year’s campaign season, but they don’t know where they’ll find them. That gave me an idea. What about Mexican horses? If I can buy quality animals for eight to ten bucks a head south of the border, and deliver ’em to forts in southern Texas for twenty-five bucks a head, I can give the Army what it needs, make some money, and also buy good breeding stock for myself. That’s why I took this summer to get this place up an’ runnin’. It’s coming along nicely. With Nate to supervise the finishing touches over the winter, it’ll be ready to take in several hundred horses come spring.

  “I set up the contract with the Army over the summer, then sent Pablo south two weeks ago, with good men to back him and enough money to start things moving. He’s putting in two thousand dollars of his own money, too, hopin’ to double it or better. He’s scouting out the best places to buy horses, an’ passing the word to towns and ranchers south of the border. We’ll go to several towns through the late winter.
Sellers will know when to meet us there. We’ll buy as many horses as we can. I’ll have my men drive them from each town to El Paso or an Army fort, hirin’ Mexican hands to help if they need ’em. Army horse doctors and farriers will inspect them when they get there, and buy those that meet their needs. I hope to move up to a thousand every month, in three to four smaller herds. We’ll vary our routes so as not to overgraze the trail.”

  “How many men in all?” Jim asked.

  “I reckon I’ll need up to fifty. I’m taking ten of my own. Pablo’s lining up more to join us in El Paso, and in Mexico. We’ll also have a dozen or so Navajos that Isom’s sending from New Mexico. His father-in-law’s coming along, to boss them. They’ll be our scouts, one or two with each group. They’re also bringing some youngsters, to help handle the horse herds. Those beeves you saw roasting outside are to welcome them. They’re due here today.”

  The lawman frowned. “You’re taking them off the reservation? Won’t that cause trouble?”

  “I got Isom to arrange it, all legal an’ proper, with a letter from the Reservation Agent confirming they have permission to work for me. They all speak some Spanish, and some know a few words in English. Thing is, they don’t want payment in money. They want some o’ those good Mexican hosses to improve their herds.”

  Jim nodded. “I hear the Navajo breed real good horses.”

  “They sure do! Some are descended from the original stock the Spanish brought with them. Nastas’ family – that’s Isom’s father-in-law – has bred that line as true as they can keep it. He’s bringing a couple o’ dozen head of prime breeding stock, including one of his best stallions, to inject new blood into my herd. I’ll give him three of those we bring back, of his choice, for every one he brings me. His scouts will get four hosses apiece, and the herd boys two. Apart from that, they’ll work for their keep, plus five dollars a month spending money.”

  “Sounds like a good deal for both sides.”

  “They seem to think so, and it saves me a few hundred a month in wages, so I ain’t complainin’.”

  “How many horses d’you think you’ll get?”

  “I’m hoping for up to two thousand for the Army, plus three to five hundred for myself, if I can find that many good ones.”

  Jim whistled in astonishment. “So you’ll pay up to twenty-five thousand for them, and make up to fifty thousand from the Army. After your expenses, that should clear you a decent profit, and you’ll have your breeding stock to boot. Not bad at all!”

  “That’s what I hope. If we do well, the profit on the horses will pay for all I’ve spent this year on setting up this ranch. ’Course, there’s bound to be problems.”

  “Given the way you dealt with Parsons and his men, I reckon you’ll handle ’em.”

  “I’ll drink to that!”

  They drained their glasses, and Walt refilled them. “I reckon you didn’t come to see me just to give me that ledger,” he observed as he re-stopped the decanter.

  “Yeah. I need your help over the next few years.”

  “How?” They sat down again.

  “I’m going to be lookin’ into labor troubles on the mines. Some o’ the miners’ unions are workin’ across state lines, which makes it Federal business. I’m also goin’ to be keepin’ my eye on competition between rival railroad outfits. Looks like there might be trouble brewin’. To do that, I’m goin’ to build up a network of contacts in the mining towns. I need a way for them to get messages to me. That’s where your transport company comes in.

  “I’m gonna set up an office in Pueblo. If I ain’t there myself, someone else will be. I figure, if your wagonmasters will accept routine messages from my contacts, then bring them back to your depot in Pueblo, you can pass ’em on. I can send messages back the same way. That’ll be real secure. No-one will know about it. If they’ve got something urgent to tell me, they can send a telegram to Ames Transport in Pueblo, usin’ some sort of code. If they use a code word you recognize, you’ll know to bring the telegram to me right away. Will you help me out?”

  “Sure, I’ll do it. You helped me get Parsons, so it’s the least I can do in return.”

  Jim relaxed in his chair. “Thanks, buddy. I reckoned I could rely on you. I know you won’t blab about it, like some would.”

  “We’ll set it up so no-one knows you’re involved, apart from Samson and myself. He’s my depot manager in Pueblo, and he’ll forward messages and telegrams to you when I’m not there.”

  “I remember him. I met him last year.”

  “That’s right, you did. All right, let’s figure out the details.”

  3

  It was mid-afternoon before a loud call from a lookout in the hayloft of one of the barns announced the arrival of the Navajo party. Their dust cloud could be seen from a couple of miles out, about a dozen riders plus several times that many horses. Some of the ranch hands gathered in the space between the buildings to welcome them, while families congregated on the porches, buzzing with curiosity.

  Two men led the Navajos, and Walt smiled and waved as he saw them. Nastas, a big, imposing man, was flanked by Sam Davis, a former buffalo soldier who’d joined Walt’s transport company shortly before Rose had been killed. He’d been part of the group that hunted down those responsible, and ended their threat forever. Since then he’d remained in northern New Mexico with Isom Fisher, another former buffalo soldier, Walt’s second-in-command during the search. Isom had married Nastas’ daughter, whom they’d rescued while on their mission. Walt had made over to them another of Parsons’ properties as a home for themselves and her extended family, and Sam had stayed on to help them run it. Nastas had brought his breeding herd over from the Navajo reservation. The horses he and his men were riding and driving were mute evidence that it was doing well in its new home.

  The new arrivals cantered through the main entrance to the ranch compound amid cheers and cries of welcome from those awaiting them. They drove their horse herd into a big corral set aside for them, with heaps of hay and full water troughs standing ready. They swung down from their mounts and off-saddled them as Walt shook hands with Nastas.

  “Greetings, my friend,” he said in Spanish to the grinning Navajo. “Is all well with you?”

  “All is very well,” Nastas assured him. “I see Pablo has taught you a lot more Spanish since we last met.”

  “He sure has. I wouldn’t be goin’ to Mexico without that. You brought lots o’ hosses.”

  “We have twenty-four fine horses for you, and your friend Isom and my daughter Doli send greetings. Their first child was born last month – a boy. Isom calls him David, after his father, but we Navajo call him Shiyé.”

  “I’ll send a gift for him with you when you return,” Walt promised, and turned to Sam, switching to English. “How are you, Sam? Enjoying life out there with Isom?”

  “Sure am, boss. We’re runnin’ more’n eighty head of horses now, since Nastas brought his herd from the reservation. Isom’s got a couple dozen steers an’ cows. We had a real good harvest, so he’s gonna trade hay an’ corn for as many yearling calves as he can get over the winter, to build up a small herd. He’s raisin’ pigs, too. They’re good eatin’. About half the Mexican workers that were on the place before have stayed. They’re farmin’ a couple o’ hundred acres, along with the Navajo women. They did real well with vegetables this year. When we left, they was cannin’ and preservin’ the harvest fit to beat the band, so there’ll be plenty o’ good food over the winter. They said they was pleased to get rid of us, ’cause there’ll be more food for them!” Both men chuckled.

  “You haven’t found yourself a Navajo wife yet?”

  “No, boss, but that ain’t because some of ’em ain’t tryin’! I wouldn’t mind, but I ain’t found one yet that I like enough for that. Who knows? Mebbe I’ll find me a nice gal down in Mexico, to take home with me.”

  “Might happen. Just remember, the men down there may have their own ideas about that – and they favor kniv
es. Watch your back.”

  Walt turned back to Nastas, and switched to Spanish again. “Please introduce me to your men.”

  “Of course.” Nastas barked an order, and his dozen followers closed up together. He led Walt down the line. “This is Ahiga, my first-born son. He leads in my place when I am absent. Then there are our scouts; Kai, Niyol, Gaagii, Sik’is, Bidzii, and Tsela. These four boys are too young to serve as scouts, but will help handle our horse herds, and learn from the rest of us. It will stand them in good stead for the future. They are Ashkii, Naalnish, Gad and Notah.”

  Walt ran his eyes over the Navajos as they were introduced. All wore a blend of cowhand trousers and Navajo-patterned shirts. Their feet were shod in calf-length moccasins, rather than boots, and their long hair was held back by headbands. Most of the scouts wore belts bearing a revolver on one side, and a knife or tomahawk on the other. Their saddles bore rifles and carbines. A few were repeaters, but most were older breech-loading single-shot weapons.

  “Nastas, I see that one scout doesn’t have a revolver, and none of the boys have guns.”

  “That is so. The guns you gave us last year, when you rescued Doli, were not enough for everyone. We hope to buy more while working for you.”

  “I can fix that. Tomorrow morning we’ll issue guns to those that need them, including your herd boys. They may not be scouts, but there’ll surely be those who want to steal our horses, and I’d like them to be able to defend themselves. I mostly have cap-an’-ball handguns and single-shot Sharps carbines, but they’re a lot better than nothing. If you wish, over the next two months before we leave, we’ll teach those who don’t know how to use a handgun.”