by Peter Grant
“Now, about those Yellow Boys. How many of you don’t already own a Winchester?” Four hands went up from his ranch employees, and seven of the Indians. “Each of you gets one of the 1866 rifles, and plenty of ammo. Same goes for the herd boys.” There were sudden whoops of excitement from the Navajo youths and his two young assistants, drawing laughter from the men. “Those who don’t need a rifle, don’t worry. I’ll pay you the value of one of them when we get to El Paso, so you won’t lose out.”
“What about our old rifles?” one of his ranch hands asked.
“We’re gonna take the Comanchero hosses with us. We’ll use the wagon covers to make rough-an’-ready panniers and bundles that we can tie on to their riding saddles. They won’t work as well as proper pack saddles, but we should be able to load bedrolls, sacks o’ grain and other soft stuff on those hosses. You can use the space that frees up to load your old rifles on our pack saddles. You can sell ’em at El Paso.”
“Great! Thanks, boss.”
“All right. Sam, draw straws among our ranch hands for their two 1873 rifles; and Nastas, you figure out how to divide ’em among your scouts. We’ll split the .44-40 ammo six ways. The rest, take a Yellow Boy if you need one, plus three hundred rounds of ammunition. That’ll be enough for you to get to know the rifle, and leave some over to take to Mexico. The rest of the rifles and ammo, plus the Comancheros’ weapons, will be loaded on our pack hosses once we’ve sorted out their saddles. Take all the food that’s worth takin’. I’ll get their money – I doubt they’ll have much – and use it to buy more food an’ such. Get your new blanket, plus a knife if you want one. Work fast! I want to move out in half an hour.”
The group erupted into activity. The men who won the Model 1873 rifles were jubilant, whilst the losers groaned; but they were more than happy to accept older-model Winchesters instead. Walt noticed the Navajo scouts pressing one of the 1873’s on Nastas, who didn’t look as if he was resisting too hard. They drew lots for the remaining rifle, and then made a beeline for the wagon to get Yellow Boys for the other scouts and herd boys.
“What’re you gonna do with the rest o’ their stuff, boss?” Sam asked as they watched the men add the new blankets to their bedrolls.
“I thought o’ burnin’ it, but that’d make smoke. It’d be seen from miles off. I’d rather not attract more attention than we have to, so I’ll leave it all here. Any Injuns finding it will loot the wagons an’ count themselves lucky. I doubt they’ll try to follow us.”
“That oughta work, boss – and you’ve taken all the guns and ammo, so they won’t end up better armed than they were before.”
“That’s the idea.”
When all was ready, Walt swung into his saddle. “The shooting will have alerted any Indians within earshot. Let’s get the hell out of here before they try to argue with us!”
With a rumble of hooves from the horse herd, now augmented by a score of captured animals, the group rode up the slope and disappeared over the rim, heading south towards Mexico. Behind them, the pillaged wagons, the empty barrels, and the still, silent corpses of the Comancheros were the only signs they had ever been there.
5
They arrived at El Paso shortly after Christmas. It was a cold, windy day. Everyone was huddled into their heavy jackets, some with blankets wrapped around themselves as well.
Walt halted his men just outside town, in the shelter of a small hill. “Wait here. Pablo was to leave word with the Wells Fargo agent about what he’d fixed up for us. I’ll be back soon.”
Sure enough, Pablo’s initial message was waiting, as were six letters from him sent from various towns in Mexico, and a very eager agent whom he’d clearly paid well to be helpful. “That’s right, Mr. Ames. Mr. Gomez bought the old Baker farm, just outside town. He got it for a real good price, ’cause old man Baker had just died an’ his son didn’t want to stay in El Paso. Here are the keys.” He handed them over. “It’s got a big barn and corral, with a full hay barn next to it, an’ he bought a lot more hay and stacked it under tarpaulins. The house was run-down, but he paid a couple o’ folks to clean it out and fix the roof, an’ lay in plenty of firewood. Wexler’s general store has ordered supplies for you, an’ the feed barn has sacks of oats an’ bran set aside for you. Mr. Gomez part-paid for them in advance – here’s the bills and receipts. They’ll deliver them by wagon, soon as you pay the balance.”
“That’s all very good. You’ve arranged the account facilities I need?”
“Uh… that’s a problem, Mr. Ames. This is a small office. We don’t have the same facilities as a big branch. I can take your gold on deposit, but I can’t convert gold to greenbacks in the amounts Mr. Gomez mentioned, and I can’t get San Antonio to send me that many banknotes.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to talk to the Army, an’ see what I can fix up with them.”
“Yes, sir. Ah… may I make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“Mr. Gomez said you’d be buying horses in Mexico. Gold coin is at a premium in Mexico right now. Here in the U.S.A., a greenback dollar is valued at eighty-five cents, compared to a gold dollar; but deeper into Mexico, further from the border, it’s more like sixty cents. If you offer gold, you can pay lower prices, and they’ll likely jump at the chance to get hard money.”
As a former Confederate soldier, Walt couldn’t help smiling inwardly. The Union had printed greenback paper dollars, unsupported by gold reserves, as a way to expand the North’s money supply during the war, and help defeat the South. The move had served its purpose at the time, but its consequences were still reverberating through the nation’s financial system. Greenbacks were still trading at a discount to gold dollars, almost nine years after the war ended, and that looked set fair to continue for the forseeable future. He contented himself with saying, “That’s a good idea. Thanks. I’ll consider it.”
He tucked Pablo’s letters into his pocket for later attention, and headed for the general store. The proprietor eagerly accepted the balance of the payment for the big order Pablo had placed, and promised to deliver it later that afternoon.
“Will you be needing to order more, Mr. Ames?”
“I sure will. I reckon I’ll have fifty to sixty men here by soon after New Year’s Day, an’ we’ve got to stock up to head into Mexico.” Walt passed a list across the counter. “How much o’ that can you fill? If you can’t, t’aint a big problem – I’ll get it from Las Cruces.”
“I deal with suppliers there, Mr. Ames. I can get you all of this, and have it here within four or five days.”
Walt could almost hear the mental ka-ching of a cash register in Mr. Wexler’s head. He couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks. Order all that, then. There may be a follow-up order once all my men are here.”
The feed barn was a different matter. The proprietor smiled unpleasantly as he said, “Prices have gone up. You owe me a lot more than that now.”
Walt stiffened. “A deal is a deal, Mr. Eslin. You entered into a contract, and took money for it. I’m holdin’ you to it.”
“Too bad! Iffen you want your oats an’ grain, you’ll pay double what’s outstandin’ on that invoice, or I’m keepin’ it all.”
Walt shot out his hand, grabbed the front of Eslin’s shirt and hauled him bodily over his own shop counter. Yelling in protest, the feed barn owner swung a wild haymaker. Walt avoided it, then landed a hard kick in the man’s groin, doubling him over and sending him gasping and wheezing to the floor. He laid hold of his collar with the hook on his left wrist and dragged him out of the feed barn, then kicked him stumbling towards where he’d seen the mayor’s office.
As they made their way down the street, people burst out of their shops and houses to goggle at what was going on. The town marshal yelled, “Hey! You! What the hell are you doin’?”
“I’m taking Mr. Eslin here to talk to the mayor.”
“But you can’t treat him like that!” The marshal’s hand sank towards his holster.
&n
bsp; Walt stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face the lawman, his own hand ready over his gun. “If you pull that, marshal, it’ll be the last thing you ever do. Instead o’ fussin’, why not come down to the mayor’s office with me, an’ find out what’s goin’ on?”
“I… ah… Hey! Wait for me!”
Waving his hands helplessly in the air, the marshal followed as Walt kicked and shoved Eslin onto the porch of the mayor’s office and through the front door. A big, burly man sprang to his feet behind a desk.
“What the hell is this?”
Walt waited for the marshal to enter, then closed the door as Eslin collapsed into a chair, half-sobbing, panting for breath. He glanced at the nameplate on the desk. “Mayor Dowell, I’m Walt Ames. Happen you’ve heard of me.”
“Ah… yes, Mr. Ames. We heard you were coming to El Paso to buy horses.” The mayor was staring in undisguised fascination at the steel hook on Walt’s left wrist.
“Lots o’ horses.” Walt gestured towards the street outside through the office windows, the view now almost blocked by pointing, staring spectators. “Small town, this, Mr. Mayor. I’d guess you’ve got less than a hundred fifty people, right? Maybe as many again, or a few more, in the Mexican town across the Rio Grande?”
“That’s Paso del Norte. It used to be one town with this, until we beat Mexico in the 1846 War an’ the river became the boundary ’tween it an’ Texas. El Paso became a city just this year. I’m its first city mayor.”
“Uh-huh. A place this small needs business to grow. I’ve brought twenty-five men with me, and there’s a lot more comin’. I was plannin’ to spend thousands of dollars on Mexican hosses over the next three, four months, based outta the old Baker place, plus a lot more on supplies – but now this sonofabitch is trying to cheat me.” He tossed the invoice and receipt onto the desk. “My advance party paid half up front. Now Eslin’s tellin’ me I have to pay double the balance to get my goods. If that’s the way your shopkeepers are gonna treat us, I’ll take all my money, an’ all my men an’ their wages, an’ all my business, and head for Las Cruces in New Mexico. It’s a much bigger town, an’ it’s only two day’s ride from here. I reckon they’ll appreciate havin’ a few thousand dollars in their pockets, rather than yours; an’ I can arrange with the Army to do business through Fort Selden there, ’stead o’ Fort Bliss here. What d’you say, Mr. Mayor?”
“Er… ah… I’m sure this is all a simple misunderstanding, Mr. Ames.”
“Uh-huh. Suuuure it is. Tell you what. Explain to Mr. Eslin, and every other business in town, that happen there’s another ‘misunderstanding’ like this, we’ll be gone. Eslin, get my order out to the Baker place before sunset, at the original price, as agreed. Two wagonloads of oats an’ grain, best quality, in sacks – and you make damned sure there’s nothin’ been taken out o’ those sacks, an’ dirt or gravel put in its place, you hear me? If I find anything like that, I’ve got a dozen Navajo scouts. I’ll tell them you’re the reason their hosses are gonna be short of grain, then I’ll let ’em come lookin’ for you. Believe me, you won’t enjoy it when they find you.”
The town marshal stiffened, clearly alarmed. “Injuns? You’d better keep them out o’ town, mister. Folks round here had too much trouble with Comanches and Apaches, an’ they won’t stop to ask what tribe your scouts are.”
“Sorry, marshal. They’re here legally, with permission from the U.S. Government. That being the case, they’ll come into town in small groups to shop. I’ll send a couple o’ my other men with them when they do, to sort out any problems. My scouts know it’s illegal to sell whiskey to Injuns, so they won’t try to go into the saloons. You just make sure they’re treated fair, you hear me? I don’t want to hear of anyone tryin’ to make trouble for them, or my other men. You treat us right, and I’ll do the same for you, and pay the fines for any of my men who get into trouble. On t’other hand, if you give them trouble for no good reason, I’ll hear about it sooner or later, even if I’m outta town at the time. When I get back, I’ll be along to talk to you about it. You don’t want to make me do that.”
“You can’t threaten me!”
“Ain’t threatening you, marshal. I never threaten. I make promises – and I keep ’em.” Walt’s voice was cold, flat and hard.
“I’ll pass the word to everyone, Mr. Ames,” Mayor Dowell promised. “With all the business you’re bringing to town, they’ll understand.”
Walt took his wallet from his pocket, extracted a dollar bill, and tossed it on the mayor’s desk. “While you’re at it, buy a drink for the marshal and yourself, and one for Mr. Eslin too. He looks like he needs a pick-me-up. It’ll help him remember not to try to cheat me next time.”
He turned on his heel and walked out. The three men stared after him in stunned silence.
Walt’s men were grinning as he rejoined them. From a distance, they’d witnessed his handling of the feed barn owner. He couldn’t help smiling as he told them why he’d treated him so roughly. His tale was received with loud laughter.
The Baker farm was only a mile or so out of town. They turned their horses into the corral and barn while Walt walked through the farmhouse, looking around, then issued orders.
“There’s just barely enough room for all of us to sleep in the house and the barn’s hayloft. I get the bedroom in the house, along with Jimmy and Randy. Four of you can sleep on the floor in the main room. The rest of you, pick a spot in the hayloft, and don’t fight over it. The barn won’t hold more than a dozen horses, though, so put all ours in the corral. Carry all the saddles an’ pack saddles into the barn, to keep them out o’ the weather.”
He beckoned two of his ranch hands. “Shep, Miguel, you helped build our hay barns and corrals this summer. I want more corrals, to hold up to five or six hundred horses. Go into town, see what poles an’ timber are to be had, and come tell me the prices. Ask at Wexler’s store about tools and anything else you’ll need. Also, plan on roofed barns, open at the sides, to shelter all this hay. If we get a spell of real bad weather, tarpaulins won’t be enough. We’ll all turn to building them as soon as you get what we need.”
By the time the two men returned, wagons from the general store and the feed barn had delivered all the supplies Pablo had ordered. Walt double-checked the feed store order, to make sure it hadn’t been shorted or adulterated, and pronounced himself satisfied. He paid the balance due, then turned to Miguel while the others moved the supplies into the house and barn.
“We can get poles and tools in town, señor,” the ranch hand told him. “There are only enough planks and boards for one hay barn, but on the other side of town there are several old, half-collapsed buildings, long abandoned. I talked to the town marshal. He says the owners all left town years ago, so we should buy their wood from the town, tear them down, and bring it out here. That will give us the rest of what we need.”
“All right. We’ll go talk to the Mayor tomorrow morning, just to make sure he’s all right with that, and that the price is right. Find me a good woodworker, too. I want him to carve a thicker fore-end for my new carbine, same as I did for my old one. It’ll have to be of good hardwood, to take a ring that’ll fit the end of my hook, so I can hold it tight into my shoulder.
“I’ll borrow some tents from Fort Bliss tomorrow, for the rest of our people when they get here. Tonight, both of you figure out where you’ll put the corrals, and divide the men into work parties. You’re in charge of buildin’ them, and puttin’ roofs over the haystacks. Oh – build another four or five outhouses, too, well clear of the house and barn, and have the men dig holes under them. One just won’t do for this many people, plus those we got comin’.”
That evening, washing in ice-cold water from the well, Walt shivered, and made a mental note to unpack the Comancheros’ iron pots and cauldrons. He’d have his men build a framework to suspend them over fires outside. Hot water for washing would be a very welcome thing in mid-winter temperatures. He also reminded himself to buy proper pa
ck saddles and thick cushioning pads for the Comanchero horses. The ride down had proved that twenty pack horses were only just enough for long distances without resupply. The captured animals would double the size of his pack train, making the long ride through Mexico much easier.
Over supper, he resolved to hire a cook in town, or across the river in Paso del Norte, and have the hands expand the house’s kitchen with a lean-to addition, big enough to cook for everybody. They’d all shared cooking duties on the ride down here, but no-one had been very good at it. Good food did more than almost anything else to boost morale and make everyone work harder. It would be well worth the expense.
Vicente Romero brought eight men from Las Cruces on the first of January, 1874. Walt and those with him welcomed them warmly, both figuratively and literally, lighting a big bonfire that night and celebrating with a huge meal. The newly-hired cook dragooned some of the Mexicans into helping her, and served up a gigantic pot of chili with side dishes of beans and tortillas. It kept everyone’s insides as warm as, if not warmer than, their outsides. She had already won their devotion by proving she could cook bacon and eggs, Anglo style, for breakfast, along with fried potatoes and other favorites. Relays of the hands washed the dishes and cookware after every meal.
The following day a dozen cowhands arrived, each leading extra horses. They’d been sent from the Gainesville area of northern Texas by Tyler Reese. Walt had met him while traveling westward through Kansas, back in 1866. Their paths had crossed as the rancher drove a herd north, from Texas to the railhead. They’d kept in touch by mail ever since, even though separated by hundreds of miles.
“I’m Jess Manning,” the leader of the group introduced himself. He was a tall, spare man, his face brown even in mid-winter after many summers working cattle under the Texas sun. “I’m one of the trail bosses who take herds north for Tyler every year. He keeps us on over the winter, to plan for next trail drive season. I was gettin’ bored, so when you arranged this with him, I jumped at the chance for a change of scenery.”
