by Lou Bradshaw
We found a small stream and a little shade, so we took our noonin’. I’d been riding my position a good hundred yards back from the mules to keep out of the dust as much as possible. So by the time I reached the group, a fire was going and coffee water was on. Morgan and Bridger had taken the mules to water. When they had finished, I took Emma’s mount and my own horse to water… the rest could take care of their own animals.
She thanked me when I returned, and I could tell, the morning had been a bit of a strain on her. She’d mentioned the day before how she had learned to ride at the boarding school’s stable. But I’d bet a nice ride along one of the gulf beaches was a far cry from a half day in the saddle under the west Texas sun.
Emma was sitting on a log in the shade with a cup in her hand, when I brought her a plate. Her cheeks were red and the rest of her face was flushed. I tried to tell myself, she was flushed because I was near, but I knew better.
I went back to the fire to get my own coffee and some bacon piled on a piece of pan bread. It wasn’t elegant, but it would hold body and soul together until we made night camp. The morning light had been too dim to see much when we left Odessa to pay much attention to anything but what was necessary. So I hadn’t really noticed what Emma had been wearing.
In fact all I could see in the early light was a long dark cloak. In the full light of day, I could get a better look, and even though she wasn’t nearly as finely dressed as she had been getting off the train… She still looked like every young man’s dream. The flat crowned and flat brimmed hat she was wearing lightly rested on her head with all her hair pulled up into it. There was a blue kerchief around her neck a loose white blouse, and when she stood up; I saw something I’d never seen before. She had on a long skirt which was divided in the middle so she could swing into the saddle and ride astraddle…. Son of a gun… how come nobody ever thought of that before?
When we were ready to move out, I offered my cupped hands as a step up into the saddle, and she did swing up into the seat just like a man would do. The world was changing right before my eyes, and I was liking the changes. I still had no business even noticing such things. She was still the daughter of a man I would have to arrest and put back in prison… we had no future together.
The future be damned. I was still a hot blooded young bronc, with an eye for pretty girls. And the girl I was looking at made my eyes very happy. What would come of all this wasn’t anything I could do anything about. The Rangers had given me a job to do, and that came first and foremost. I noticed Carson watching me as I gave her a leg up. He didn’t have to say anything; I knew what he was thinking.
We rode on the rest of the afternoon, stopping only to rest the animals. The heat stayed with us and so did the dust. Luckily, the wind shifted from southerly to a more southwesterly direction. That meant the dust moved off away from the riders. We were still on the open plain, but the landscape had become noticeably more broken with a few small hills and gullies making their appearance. We saw cattle and sheep, but not in great numbers, and on rare occasions we saw a few buffalo off in the distance.
The first night’s camp meant everyone was tired and sluggish. Most everyone except those who were put on night watch found their bedrolls soon after sundown. That’s the way first days on the trail generally were. Eyes were gritty and heavy, joints and muscles were sore, and the skin was surely burned somewhere.
Most of us were used to it, and adjusted quick enough, but with the Claytons, both father and daughter were practically tender footed pilgrims. I was sure Emma had never ridden thirty miles under a scorching sun sitting astraddle on a horse. There had to have been more than tender feet to be concerned with. Burley hadn’t been in a saddle for more than ten years, so my guess was he was feeling the new acquaintance with the saddle. Neither felt the desire to sit around a campfire and chat.
Blaze, being the second in command assigned the guard duties. He gave me the three o’clock till dawn shift, with Carson waking me at the end of his shift. The two shorter shifts were assigned to Morgan and Bridger. I couldn’t blame him after getting a whiff of Morgan when he woke Carson. It was apparent that he had found a bottle of Old Fall on Your Face out there in the brush somewhere. It was generally a given that if trouble came, it would come between the midnight and dawn hours.
I took note that Blaze didn’t assign himself a night watch shift. I wasn’t sure if it meant anything, or if he just liked a not having his sleep disturbed. Well, I wouldn’t blame him for that either. Fortunately, the coffee pot had been left on the coals from supper, and it was hot, black, and thick.
When the first gray light of the coming day started edging its way over our little corner of Texas, I was boiling coffee water and slicing bacon in the pan. When I rode for the MB up in northern New Mexico, Patty Ann always had some dried apples or raisins for each saddle bag. I got used to it and tried having my own supply wherever I go. Whoever bought supplies for the trail hadn’t thought of it… I guarded my supply with the same diligence I had guarded the camp.
Our next town, if it could be considered a town was Pecos, which lay on the other side of the Pecos River. Like Odessa, it was a water stop. But where Odessa was on its way to show the makings of a real town some day, Pecos was still a water stop. The Pecos River had cut into the limestone bedrock, and the normal water level was roughly eighty to a hundred feet below the surrounding prairie.
The railroad had come through and built a nice trestle bridge from one bank to the other, but only trains or a man on foot could use it. A good horse might be able to pick his way across it, but one misstep and it would be a good horse, lost. So we had to go downstream a few miles to a trail down the steep limestone bluffs, and then we had to ford the river and climb the other bank.
We had lost almost a half a day getting across the river, so it had taken us almost four days to go travel the hundred miles from Odessa. There were no accommodations to be had except for a few leftover railroad tents. There was a saloon that served beef stew, made with beef of unknown origin. Beyond that, there wasn’t much to the town yet, but the railroad had a way of filling out some of those little spots along the tracks.
The weather was dry, so we had no need of the tents except for one small one Clayton took for Emma. The rest of us just tossed our bedrolls where we could. The Texas Pacific Railroad had left a nice corral, our animals were secure. Morgan and Bridger walked on up the street toward the saloon. We would probably have to drag at least one of them out tomorrow, and hang him over a mule for the first ten miles. But that wasn’t my affair.
Carson and I were sitting back from the fire drinking coffee and saying nothing we didn’t want overheard. We both knew there would be nothing to do but take orders and keep the boogers off, until we got to where the gold was hidden. So there was nothing to discuss. Clayton had rolled up in his blankets and was snoring. Blaze had gone off on some business of his own. And there was a candle burning in Emma’s tent. She was probably reading.
We were both about ready to give this day up and catch some sleep before the new day came. The flaps to the tent flipped apart and Emma stuck her head out. It was dark where she was and the little candle didn’t reveal much except that she was coming out. So we waited.
She crossed the space between her tent and the fire in a few seconds. Picking up a cup she poured herself some coffee and sat down on one of the saddles. We both waited and finally she said, “Couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s not gonna help you.” Carson said, motioning to the cup in her hand.
“She chuckled, if you can call a pretty girl’s laugh a chuckle. It was a little laugh that said, I know, but here I am doing it anyway. Then she said, “It won’t hurt me if I don’t drink any of it… I’ll just hold it to have something in my hands.”
“That’s a better plan.” Carson told her, and they both laughed.
She asked Carson a few questions just making small talk, and he answered her with a series of, “Yess’am…. no…. well ain’t
that sumthin’…. and probably.”
Then she turned to me and said, “Tate, I don’t even know your first name… All Papa calls you is Tate.”
“Sometimes, I think Tate is the only name I got… They used to call me Tater, but Patty Anne, the boss lady at the MB connected thought it sounded like something you’d slice up and put in a fryin’ pan… and what the boss lady said was gospel on the ranch.”
I had to think what name I had given Clayton and it came to me… It was my mother’s maiden name. “My first name is Truman, Ma’am.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever known a man named Truman before.”
“It’s a family name back in parts of Missouri. My mother was a Truman, and she set great store by the name. She always said ‘A day would come when Truman would be a very important name’… We’re still waitin’.”
“Does anyone ever call you Tru?”
“No, Ma’am, I don’t reckon they ever have.”
“Well then, I shall call you Tru.”
“I’ll try my best to live up to the name, but that’s a lot to carry.”
“Ahh… You can do it, Tru.” Carson said as he slapped me on the shoulder and tossed his coffee dregs into the fire. He picked up his hat and went to find his bedroll.
We watched him go, and I was wishing he wouldn’t leave. I’ve seldom been uncomfortable being left alone with a woman. In fact in many cases, it was something I had acted out for as a matter of style. But in this case, even a small spark of romance would only lead to disaster. It was going to be a disaster for Emma Clayton whether there was any romance or not.
“Do you feel comfortable with the others?” She asked.
“You mean Blaze, Morgan, and Bridger? I said, answering her question with a question. “I’m comfortable with them, but I don’t trust either Morgan or Bridger… I know Morgan is a sneak drinker, and I suspect Bridger is as well… You can never trust a drunk.”
“Blaze is another matter all together. He’s a known gunman, and you just don’t want to get too comfortable with his like. I trust Blaze to do what he’s paid to do without exception… right or wrong. He knows what I can do, and I know some of what he has done, so you might say, we’re in a standoff.”
“What about, Dave? Do you trust him?”
“Who? …Uh… Oh, you mean Carson. Yeah… we been saddle pardners for several years, and you get to know a fella real well in that length of time. We’ve been through a few scrapes and he always held up his end of the stick. I have trusted him with my life, and he has put his in my hands a time or two.”
“What about my father… do you trust him?”
“I have no reason not to trust him. He didn’t tell me, he’d just gotten out of prison when I signed on… but I didn’t ask. I knew he wanted me because I could use a gun. And he told me up front that the job could be dangerous…. I’ve been hired on to guard his shipment, and that’s all he has asked of me. I trust he will honor his commitment when the job is done, So yes… I trust your father.”
“What if he can’t pay you when the job is through?”
“If he can’t pay, then I’ll have to consider the job a bust… But if it’s a matter of simply won’t pay… then I’d probably have to shoot him.”
She dropped her cup and gasped. Both hands came to face covering her from her nose to her chin. Her eyes were wide with shock and a little bit of fear. When she lowered her hands, I saw she was chewing on her lower lip. I hadn’t told her that to shock her I just stated a fact and to some degree let her know that just because he was her father didn’t make him sacred.
“Out here on the ragged edge of civilization, Ma’am, a man is only as good as his word. If a man’s word is no good, then he can’t do any kind of business. Most deals are made over a handshake rather than a contract. Out here to call a man a liar usually means someone gets killed.
She sat there for a half a minute or so, and then she stood up and said, “I really must get back to my tent.”
Chapter 10
By noon the next day, we had reached Toyah creek and had turned southwest and began following the stream. The Toyah was a fair creek which emptied into the Pecos, which would eventually find its way to the Rio Grande. I didn’t think we would go that far. I hadn’t been in this part of Texas, but Spade Carson had been through these parts a number of times. So he told me we stayed with Toyah Creek we’d wind up in the middle of the Davis Mountains.
Texas isn’t normally considered a mountain state, but some in the Davis range can reach upward of eight thousand feet. And that shapes up to be called mountains in any language. We were still in the far seeing plains with few signs of anything resembling highlands. The only change in landscape was the growth of trees along the creek.
By day’s end, we could just see the mountains up ahead. They looked like low hanging clouds on the horizon. At breakfast the next morning, we could see the early sunlight reflecting off some of the higher peaks. By noon the mountains were looming, and both Carson and I were pretty sure we were near the end of our mission.
The terrain had become more broken and the hills were growing higher and bulkier. There were more and more frequent stops, which I laid off on Clayton looking for landmarks. We left the creek, which had become more turbulent with the water flowing noticeably downhill.
I began to separate myself farther and farther from the group, and went up a few of the hills to have a look around. From down on the plain I’d be able to see a plume of dust for maybe five or six miles, but from several hundred feet up on the side of a hill I would be able to see ten to fifteen miles on a clear day. And most of the days this time of year were clear, except for some distant haze.
There weren’t any signs at all from down below, and I wasn’t seeing anything from where I sat at about two hundred and fifty feet. So I rode a little higher and through a cut where a shaft of rock about a hundred and fifty foot thick had been shoved up and out of the parent hill. It looked like a giant thumb sticking out of a giant fist. The cut made it possible for me to keep from having to ride all the way around the hill to get a look at the prairie below.
From the other side, I was able to see where the creek had made a wide ambling budge around some high ground. Shading my eyes from the glare of sun on limestone, I scanned the flatter ground far below. There was no sign of movement along the creek except for the wind blowing the cottonwoods, and that was slight.
Turning my horse, I was about to start back through the cut, when a few pebbles rattled down the hill off to my left. The cut had been used as part of a trail up and down the hill by many before me. It was most likely an old Indian trail from long ago. I backed into the cut and waited.
Two horses or a horse and a mule were coming along the trail from the sounds of their hoof falls. They were coming slow, easy and in no hurry. I pulled my Winchester and dismounted. Hiding behind a boulder, I was ready for almost anything… almost. But what came around the shoulder of that hill took me completely off guard.
The first thing I saw was an old Mexican woman leading an injured burrow. It was limping badly and had a bloody patch of cloth bound up on its right foreleg. Following close behind was a saddled horse, loaded down with a bundle of sticks and baskets that looked to be filled with corn, squaw cabbage, and other plants I couldn’t identify. A white man was walking on the far side of the horse, as I could tell from his boots and hat. I didn’t need to see him to know that beat up hat belonged to Bob Lynn.
Easing back on the hammer I called out, “Bob Lynn, Tate here. Come on along.”
He leaned back so he could see me beyond the load his horse was carrying. When he found where I was, he smiled and waved his hat.
When they reached the cut I asked, “What in Heaven’s name are you doing out here in these hills… besides training your horse to be a donkey?”
He chuckled and said, “Don’t know how I seem to find myself in these situations, but this time I was glad I did. This poor grandmother was having a real problem wi
th a cat trying to have her burrow for supper. I was able to run it off, but it had laid the poor donkey’s leg open, and he was in no shape to carry her packs… well, the rest you can see.”
“Be careful what you say or do, you may wind up married to her.”
His eyes flashed open wide then he said, “You’re joshin’ me… Right?”
The old girl gave me a toothless smile said something to me in Spanish. When I looked up, Lynn had a questioning look on his face, as if to say… huh?
“I think you’re safe for now. She wants you to come home with her so she can fix you a good meal to put some meat on your bones. She wants you to meet her husband…and her nieta…her granddaughter.”
“Oh you’ll be fine… but you really should learn to speak Mexican
.… You’ve got a fast horse… keep him handy.”
He looked a little nervous until I laughed and told him I really was just joshin’. We talked for a few minutes, and he asked what I was doing up here in these hills. I told him, we had taken on a job to sort of ride shotgun on a shipment of goods for a fella named Clayton, and I was just doing some scouting.
“You boys watch yourselves; I saw that bunch come into Odessa… It’s a rough outfit, Tate, so watch out for each other.”
I promised him, we’d be extra careful, and I watched them start down the slope toward the creek. As I turned to go join the rest of the party I took one more look along the stream. Dust was rising about ten miles back.
From that far away, it was hard to tell how many there were. All I could do was get back to the rest of them and let them know we had company. I went back through the cut and down the slope trying not to raise dust of my own. I doubted they would be able to see it from where they were, but I was also leery of leaving any hurried tracks. I didn’t want them to know they had been spotted.
I knew there was no chance of hiding the tracks of our seven horses and eight mules, so our best chance was to stay ahead of them and keep track of them. If they had been following us from Odessa, they had stayed pretty far back, so they were smart enough to wait until the gold was recovered. If there was to be a fight, I would prefer having it on ground of our own choosing.
