Gold on the Hoof

by Peter Grant

  “Seems to me we ain’t likely to forget yours, love. Your father’s illness, an’ the quick ceremony in his bedroom, then losin’ him, then another wedding and a funeral, then dealin’ with Sandoval… that was quite a time.”

  “It certainly was! We had more ups and downs to our wedding than I’d ever have imagined possible!”

  Walt guffawed. “No, those came on our wedding night, when we finally got around to it.”

  She blushed, giggling. “Oh, you! Men!”

  Walt took the first opportunity to tell Pablo about the events surrounding Major d’Assaily’s cache in Mexico, and how he’d recovered it, and all that had ensued. Pablo was particularly intrigued by the Ames knife. He fondled it lovingly, trying a few passes with it like the trained, skilled knife-fighter he was. “This was a good knife for its time, señor, but it could be made much better today,” he mused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is like revolvers, señor. Remember the Walker Colt of 1846, and the Dragoon Colt of 1848? They were big and very heavy, more than four pounds. Metals were improved after that. The Army Colt of 1860 was made of silver steel. It weighed under three pounds, but was strong enough to fire the same size ball as the Dragoon. This Ames knife was made in 1849, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it used earlier steels, like the Dragoon. It is very thick and heavy. More modern metals would allow it to be thinner and lighter, making it much handier. Con su permiso, señor, I would like to show this to the knifesmith here who made our throwing knives, that you ordered two years ago. I think he could copy its lines and make a much lighter, handier fighting knife.”

  “All right. Take it with you, and let me know what he says. Don’t leave it with him, though. I want to return it to the Major’s parents, if I can trace them.”

  Pablo returned the knife that evening. “The knifesmith has made drawings and taken measurements, señor. He will see about making a modern knife along the same lines. He says it will take several months. He will try different blade sizes, to get the right balance.”

  “What will it cost? I’ll leave money with you.”

  Pablo made a gesture of negation. “De nada, señor. I will see to it. He will make one of them for me as well.”

  “Thank you. I’ll look forward to getting it in due course. Tell the knifesmith that if he does a good job, and I like it, I may buy a dozen more of them. I’ve been looking for something to present to workers who do a real good job. A special knife might be just the thing.”

  As a wedding present for Edelmira and Sancho, Walt and Colleen bought a light buckboard from the local depot of the San Antonio to El Paso stage line. It had been languishing in the rear of the depot since breaking an axle, and had never been repaired. Fortunately, Fort Bliss had several spare wagon axles, one of which was just the right size. Money changed hands, and the axle was mounted on the wagon, which was rapidly repainted and overhauled. Walt had the hands install a raised platform in the back to serve as a bed, and five arched wagon bows. The ladies sewed a canvas cover to go over the bows, to provide protection from the weather and some privacy.

  Grinning, the men urged Walt not to provide blocks for the buckboard’s springs, but Colleen put her foot down. He had a local carpenter prepare four blocks, and showed Sancho how – and why – to use them. He also had the bedroom in the farmhouse cleaned and prepared for the couple, and arranged for trustworthy sentries to keep interlopers away from it until after the wedding night. He knew what mischief his men could wreak, given half a chance.

  The Navajo contingent looked after the horse herd while all the Mexican and Anglo hands crossed the river for the wedding. The churchgoers of Paso del Norte were amazed to see so many visitors in attendance. Even the priest remarked, during his sermon, on the presumed piety of his suddenly enlarged congregation. This reduced many of the hands to spluttering snorts and coughs, to mask their amusement. Colleen had to hide her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. None of the ranch hands fit that description, as Walt could have assured him.

  At Colleen’s urging, Walt spent another fifty dollars on food and drink for the reception. A sheep, a goat, a calf and a dozen chickens rotated on spits over coals, tables were loaded with side dishes and condiments, and barrels, bottles and jugs stood ready. The cook and her assistants came in for loud praise. The festivities continued for hours, with people eating, getting up to dance and talk, mingling with different groups, then going back for more food. Edelmira and Sancho were able to slip away in due course, aided and abetted by Walt and Pablo, who made sure they were left in peace and quiet for the evening. Maria was happy enough in her grandfather’s care for one night. They slept in the newly converted buckboard for the first time, which was exciting enough for her that she didn’t miss her mother at all.

  The following morning, while most of the revellers were still sleeping off their excesses, Pablo joined Walt and Colleen for breakfast. He clearly wanted to talk about something, but seemed hesitant. At last Walt took the bull by the horns. “Did you want to say something, amigo? You look like the cat’s got your tongue.”

  Pablo half-smiled. “Si, señor. First, thank you for giving me my money right away. I would never have dreamed that two thousand dollars would grow so much in just four months!”

  Walt nodded. He’d paid Pablo out of Major d’Assaily’s gold, rather than make him wait to get back to Fort Union for his money. He’d done the same for Vicente. “Yes. This trip’s been very profitable for all of us.”

  “Si, but now, I have been thinking. I put most of my savings into this, and they have multiplied. I want to have an estancia, a rancho, of my own one day. This money is a very good start towards that. It seems to me that if I stay here, and try to buy more horses for the Army, I could make more money.”

  Walt pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It depends how many they need. Remember, if they don’t have any major campaigns, they don’t wear out their horses, so they don’t need to replace them. On the other hand, they’ll always need at least five hundred or so every year in Texas and New Mexico, to replace natural wastage. If they fight the Indians, it might be several times that many, but how can you tell what’s gonna happen? I knew I could sell a couple of thousand horses this year, because the Army told me so, and contracted with me for them. If I hadn’t had that assurance before I left, I wouldn’t have started out. I doubt I’ll do this again.”

  “Si, señor; but if someone here in El Paso, closer to the Army’s frontier forts, could listen carefully to what the soldiers are saying, he could have a better idea of what they need. He could then head into Mexico to buy the horses quickly, before someone further away could ride down here, or send riders, to do the same thing. If he moved fast, and knew where to find the horses in Mexico, he could get the Army all it needed within a month or two, before other sellers could provide them.”

  Walt began to smile. “Are you thinking of setting up in business for yourself?”

  “If you don’t mind, señor, yes. The officers at Fort Bliss know me now, and they trust me. Two or three years of hard work, and I might be able to save twenty thousand dollars, perhaps even more. That would be enough to buy the land I need, and I could bring breeding stock from Mexico, as you’ve done. I could have a small horse rancho of my own, perhaps two or three thousand acres.”

  “That’s not so small,” Colleen observed. “My father’s estancia was only two and a half thousand acres, but he raised more than a hundred good horses a year on it, and sold them for enough money to support all of us.”

  “Where will you live?” Walt asked.

  “If you will permit, señor, I would like to buy this farm from you. I’ll use it as a base.”

  “No problem at all. You paid three hundred for it on my behalf when you got here, and I spent another hundred-odd on the new corrals and hay barns. You can have it for what it’s cost me – four hundred dollars.”

  Pablo flushed. “Thank you, señor. I… I feel almost g
uilty about asking. You’ve treated me very well in the two years I’ve worked for you. I don’t want to seem ungrateful by wishing to make a fresh start for myself.”

  “That’s not ungrateful, Pablo. That’s common sense. You’ll never get rich on a monthly wage. You’ve got to strike out on your own to make big money. You’ve got a quick mind, and you work real hard. Given a mite o’ luck, I reckon you’ll succeed. To help, I’ll tell Colonel Mackenzie and Fort Union you’ll be available to get them horses in the future. They both know your name by now, so they’ll be willing to use you again, I think.”

  “Thank you, señor.”

  Walt was struck by a sudden inspiration. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll grubstake you. Colonel Mackenzie expects trouble on the plains this year. If he’s right, and a big campaign blows up, the Army’s gonna need at least a thousand remounts by later in the year, perhaps more. Can’t say for sure until we know how the fightin’ goes. If it looks like that many will be needed, and if you can line up sellers in Mexico, I’ll invest ten thousand dollars in your hoss buyin’ late this year and early next year. I’ll wire it to you through Wells Fargo. Added to your own money, that’ll give you fifteen thousand or so to buy horses. Reckon up my ten thousand as a percentage of the total, and keep it in mind.

  “If you do as well as we’ve done this year, you should be able to turn it into three times that much, maybe more, when you sell the hosses to the Army. Deduct ten thousand to pay me back, plus your expenses. What’s left will be the profits. Take my percentage share of the profits, and divide it by two. You keep half, for doin’ all the work, and I’ll take half for providin’ the money. You can wire it all back to me, again through Wells Fargo. You’ll also have the full profits earned with your part o’ the startin’ money. Does that sound fair?”

  Pablo’s face shone. “Señor, that will be… it is magnifico! Thank you so much! I could never get a bank to lend me that much without security, which I do not have.”

  “Just use your head, and be careful about expenses. You’ve got to watch those like a hawk. They can get out of hand real easy.”

  “Where will you establish your rancho?” Colleen asked.

  “I don’t know yet, señora. I’m thinking of Colorado, after Señor Walt’s example, but there is also New Mexico or Texas.”

  Walt said thoughtfully, “You should talk to Vicente. He and his mesteñeros are based in Las Cruces, two days’ ride from here. Vicente told me last year that the days of old-style mustanging are almost over, because there are so few good wild horses left. He and his men will need a new way to make a living. Breaking and training horses on your rancho might suit them very well. If you can raise the money, they can provide the skills. It might be a good match.”

  Pablo’s face lit up. “That’s a very good idea, señor! I will talk to him today. Perhaps he and his men could ride into Mexico with me to buy horses. That would give me people I know I can trust.”

  Walt held out his hand. “The best of luck to you, Pablo. You’ve become, not just a hired hand or a gunman, but a friend. You’ll always be welcome in my home, and I want you to keep in touch. I’ll ship the rest of your belongings via Wells Fargo when I get home.”

  “Thank you, señor. It was a very good day for me when Isom asked if I was interested in working for you.”

  “Considering you saved me from Parsons’ exploding cupboard, that was a very good day for me, too!”

  Fort Bliss needed to send a hundred horses up to Fort Stanton, and another hundred to Fort Union. Walt took advantage of the escort provided for them, and arranged to travel with the Army herd. They rolled out a week after arriving in El Paso, heading north. There were two more wagons on this leg of the journey; the newly married couple’s buckboard, and another wagon bearing the cook Walt had hired at the farm, along with her family. She had asked to come to Colorado with him, to work on the ranch or in Pueblo. Given the excellent food she’d prepared for them, Walt was glad to hire her, and promised to find work for the rest of her family too.

  The journey took them east of the Mescalero Apache reservation, along the western edge of the Llano Estacado, where grass was more plentiful than in the center of that desolate area. Colleen was fascinated by the flat terrain. “Why do they call it the ‘Staked Plain’?” she asked.

  Walt pointed. “See that stick there, just standing upright in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s prob’ly one of the stakes that first gave this place its name. See, it’s so flat an’ featureless, you can’t tell where you are. There’s no landmarks. It’s easy to get lost and wander around until you run out o’ food, or water, or both. In the old days, when people started crossing it, they’d plant stakes every so often, forming lines stretching for miles and miles, to show the way to the next waterhole or safe stopping place. The lines of stakes gave this place its name.”

  She laughed. “So it really was a ‘staked’ plain!”

  “Yeah, but wind an’ weather might blow over the stakes, or Indians might pull ’em up. If the line of stakes ran out, you had to remember which way they were goin’ and keep to that course. That wasn’t too hard if you had a compass, or could steer by the stars, but if you couldn’t hold a course, you might find yourself in a world of hurt.”

  “I see. Is that why you line the tongue of our wagon on the North Star every night, before we go to bed?”

  “It sure is. It’s an old habit, dating back to the first pioneers to go west, and a real good one. Line up the tongue at night, and in the morning you know where north is. That makes it easier to set your course each day, even if you can’t see a landmark.”

  Walt noticed that the Navajo scouts grew somber as the journey progressed. By the fifth day, their low spirits were so obvious that he took Nastas aside and asked about it.

  “It is this place,” the older man said sadly. “Many Navajo were forced to march here, on foot, in what we call the Long Walk, ten years ago. They went to Fort Sumner, and were forced to share the Bosque Redondo with the Mescalero Apache. Many of our people died here. We hear their spirits. They still call to us, asking us to remember them. The memories are bitter.”

  “I’m sorry.” Walt reached out and gripped Nastas’ arm in wordless sympathy. “At least your people were allowed to leave in due course.”

  “Yes, but only after four years. Many of our men were killed by Ute scouts and slavers. Many of our women and children were taken as slaves, and we have never heard of them again. The memories here set our teeth on edge.”

  “I wish I’d known more about this. I’d have traveled a different way, to spare you.”

  Nastas shook his head. “No, brother. This is the quickest way to Fort Union, so it is better for the horses. We shall take our memories of this place back to our reservation, and sing them to our brothers and sisters, so that we may all remember and honor our dead together. When we return to your ranch, we shall take our memories to Blanca Peak as well, to tell them to our ancestors.”

  They reached Fort Stanton on the eighth day, and delivered the first batch of horses. They rested there for just one day, then set out on the eleven-day leg to Fort Union.

  Five days into the journey, the Navajo scouts warned that there were signs of an Indian presence; unshod horse tracks, a campfire, a dead deer that had been cut up for meat. Walt ordered everyone to be on higher alert than usual, and the Army patrol escorting the horses doubled their guard over the herd at night.

  The following morning, at about the eleventh hour, Walt was riding his horse next to Colleen’s when an Army outrider shouted an alert. Looking around, Walt saw a group of about fifteen Indians on a shallow rise, about half a mile away. Their horses stood motionless as the watched the horses and wagons move past.

  Walt took out his spyglass and peered through it, then stiffened. “I’ll be damned if that’s not Laughing Raven! If it ain’t him, it’s his twin brother – and I think I recognize the rifle sleeve on his arm.”
r />   “He’s the Kiowa you gave it to, back in Kansas?” his wife asked.

  “The very same.” Walt thought for a moment. “I’m gonna try to talk to him, see what’s happening around here, and what may happen later this year.”

  “Walt! Be careful!”

  “I will, honey. I ain’t about to get in trouble. I’ll handle this slow and easy.”

  He cantered over to the patrol commander, a sergeant, and explained what he wanted to do. The NCO obligingly halted the patrol, while Walt did the same to the horse herd and wagons. The sound of hooves slowed and ceased, and a cloud of dust raised by their passage slowly began to dissipate.

  Walt began to walk his horse slowly towards the group of Indians. As he rode, he pulled his Winchester carbine from its saddle boot, levered a round into the chamber, and aimed it upward at a forty-five degree angle to the right. He pulled the trigger, and the flat crack! of the shot echoed across the plain. He opened the loading lever, then left it open as he reversed the rifle, holding it in his right hand by its muzzle. Raising it vertically above his head, with the open loading lever clearly visible, he kept riding slowly forward. When he was halfway between the wagons and the Indians, Walt halted his horse and returned the rifle to its boot; then he waited.

  There was a brief, visible discussion among the Indians. Laughing Raven – if it was him – seemed to be arguing with those around him. Eventually he said something sharp, and cut his hand horizontally across his body, as if to shut down further debate; then he walked his horse slowly towards Walt. His rifle remained in the sleeve over his arm.

  As the Indian grew nearer, Walt was more and more sure it was Laughing Raven; and the smile on the man’s face showed that he recognized Walt in his turn. They came together, horses stopped only a few feet from each other.

  Walt began speaking in the sign language known to all Plains Indian tribes. It was slow, because he had only one hand, but he used the hook on his left wrist to make motions approximating a hand sign when he could.