by Lou Bradshaw
I’d been gone several hours, and since we’d been in the hills I had seen little of the rest of them. So not catching up at noonings or stops to rest the animals was not unusual. I was rear guard, and a rear guard’s job was to keep the boogers off the back the main party.
The Davis range was made up some mighty old mountains, worn and shaped by wind, rain, ice and time. They looked as if they had been pushed up from below, and in a sense they were. They came up with the volcanoes and have been wearing down ever since. The very ground we rode on was once volcanic ash and mud. No matter how they got here, they were a sight to see.
A few of the taller peaks were rugged and closely packed together, but many of the others were spaced out to where there was plenty of room between. The lower hills and the valleys were covered with a variety of grasses, mountain mahogany, silver leaf oak, and twisted and gnarled juniper. Juniper and Ponderosa pine grew along the flanks of the mountains. Even with all the vegetation, there was still a lot of rock showing above six or seven thousand feet.
I found where the caravan had stopped for a noon meal and pushed on. A little farther on, I saw where they had stopped again and then turned to the west. Clayton must have found one of his land marks. Looking around, I saw off to my left, a monstrous bald faced cliff with a crack running all the way down from top to bottom. At that point, there were three directions they could go. Off to my right, about a mile away, was a rock formation high up on the slope that looked like a giant’s nose in profile. The tracks confirmed that when they came to the crack they went toward the giant nose.
The map Burley Clayton was carrying in his head may not have been the work of a map maker’s art, but it seemed to be taking him where he wanted to go. Every time they came to a fork or a direction change, there was a landmark. It may not have been anything obvious; it could have been a chunk of obsidian jammed into a granite crack. That sort of thing wouldn’t attract much attention to a casual traveler, but to someone looking for such a thing wouldn’t be able to miss it.
They weren’t too far ahead of me, I could see by the freshness of their tracks. I came up to Bridger and the line of mules about ten minutes later. I rode straight to the front of the line. As I passed Carson, I told him, “Company comin’.” He rode on up to the head of the line with me.
Pulling up next to Clayton, I told him, “Riders on our trail… ‘bout ten or twelve miles back… I could see ‘em from the top of a hill.”
He pulled to a halt and asked, “How many?”
“Hard to tell… they were kickin’ up enough dust for at least five… maybe eight. I was halfway up a hill and saw their dust about ten miles back. They’re takin’ their time… Most likely waitin’ till you pick up the merchandise.”
Sneaking a glance at Emma, her face had lost its color and she was biting her lower lip, “Papa… what is it?”
It took him a few seconds to answer and he told her, “Nothin’ to worry about, Honey…. Just some pilgrims using the same trail as us.”
She went on biting her lip, only half accepting explanation. Then she looked my way, and I tried to give her my best All is Well smile, but I don’t think she was buying much of it.
“I wouldn’t pick up the pace any, Clayton. It’s best not to let ‘em know we’re on to ‘em.” Carson told him. “Truman and me can keep an eye on ‘em.”
“No… you and Tom Blaze go. Tate’s horse has already put more miles on than any of the others.”
That didn’t make much sense to me but I stayed… four or five extra miles wasn’t enough to worry about. I had a good horse, and he was in good condition, but if Clayton wanted Blaze to do the scoutin’, that was fine with me. I’d miss fewer meals and get more coffee if I stayed with the group.
Blaze rode back with Carson and was soon out of sight, but not before he gave me a God awful scowl. I guess he liked to be up front next to the boss. Some people are like that. I think it’s what the call status. I figure Blaze considers himself the number one gunslinger in this bunch. That sort of thinking might have meant something to me a few years ago, but I’ve seen some good ones go down for no reason other than their own stupid pride.
Burley had ridden out ahead a ways and motioned for me to join him. I nudged my horse and we trotted up to where he was.
“Tate… if trouble comes… I want you to… to watch over Emma. Tom Blaze scares her and the other two are drunks and neither one is a gunfighter… Morgan told me how you took on the fight with Cassidy so that kid wouldn’t have to. He thinks it was a fool move, but that’s Morgan.”
“I didn’t want Emma to come along, but she’s a persuasive lass. I figure she’d be safer with you and Carson than with any of the others. They won’t hit us till after we get the gold. If I don’t’ make it, take what you can and head for El Paso and a man named Amos Granger. Make sure she gets enough for a good start in life.”
“Gold?” I said. “Some of the locals were betting you’d be goin’ after some lost gold. The country’s full of lost mine tales, so I never gave it much thought… but it’s true then?”
“It’s true… I’ve spent that last ten years thinkin’ about it…. That and Emma… were the only things that kept me goin’.”
“If we make it out, and you don’t, we’ll make sure she comes out with us.”
“Appreciate that, Tate… Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just open up a shoemaker’s shop or file on a homestead. The biggest problem with being rich is keepin’ what you’ve got. It means, you have to rely on people you don’t trust or people you barely know… No offense, Tate, but I’ve only known you boys less than a couple of weeks, and here I am placing my greatest treasure in your hands.”
“None taken,” I told him, “it may not amount to much. We don’t know for sure they’re followin’ us, but I’d rather err on the side of caution.”
“You got some schoolin’ somewhere down the line, did you? You talk like a bookish man, but I’ve never seen a book worm who could take Cassidy even up.”
I laughed and told him, “Oh, I got through eight years of it, before my pa decided I was gettin’ too smart, and there was too much to do on the farm for me to be wastin’ time getting’ any smarter. I rode with a gambler who was always sayin’ things like that… reckon some of ‘em stuck.”
“Farmin’ wasn’t your cup of tea?” he asked.
“Oh, I didn’t mind it for the most part, but Pa up and died, and he left the whole shebang to my older brother, and willed me two hundred dollars…. My brother said I could stay on and work for him…. Hell, I didn’t even like him, so I took the best horse on the place and Pa’s saddle and lit out.”
He chuckled and said, “You suppose they got papers on you back there?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised… I wasn’t plannin’ on ever goin’ back to Lamar, Missouri anyway.”
He smiled and said, “You’ll do, Truman Tate…. Went through Lamar once. We tried the bank in Baxter Springs and had to make a run for it. Posse got two of our men in Lamar… Didn’t know it was even still there… Probably nothin’ much‘ll ever come out of there… present company excepted of course.” *
“Well, no matter… don’t plan on ever goin’ back.”
*In 1884 the 33rd President of the United States, Harry S. Truman was born in Lamar, Missouri. It seems that Burley Clayton’s prediction may have been a bit off. Was he related to JL Tate…? I seriously doubt it.
I dropped back and left him with his thoughts and worries. I found myself starting to like this bad man. And that bothered me.
Chapter 11
Falling in beside Emma, I could see by her face that she was distraught. It wasn’t in me to give her any unnecessary worries, but I didn’t think of her as one of those women who needed sheltering from trouble. There’s nothing worse than someone going along thinking everything was going fine and run smack into trouble.
“Is my father worried?” she asked turning those big brown eyes on me. I could tell she was trying to read my face.
She was searching for an honest answer. I could do no less than give an honest answer without any sugar coating, but I didn’t want to terrify her either.
“Emma, your father isn’t worried, but he’s concerned and he’s cautious. His first concern is your safety. So on the outside chance those following us are up to no good, find me and stay by my side. If I should go down, or you can’t find me, look for Carson. You’ll not find a better protector. He would be the best person to follow.” I realized, that was the first time I’d used her given name. It was not lost on her.
“Have you ever shot a gun?”
“I hunted doves once with a school friend and her father… I never hit any, but I shot at several. I’m afraid I’m not very good at it.”
“No matter… as long as a man thinks you might shoot him, he’s more likely to keep his head down.”
I pulled a Navy Colt from my saddlebag and a small sack full of .38 caliber cartridges from my saddle bag. The gun was old, but it was in excellent condition, I kept it as my back up pistol. It had gone through the Civil War, and someone had converted it from black powder to cartridge. I leaned over and slipped it into her saddlebag.
“Between now and the time you might need it, I’ll teach you how it works, unless you’d rather have another teacher.”
“No, Tru… Truman, I want you to show me, but I don’t know if I could shoot a man.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, chances are you won’t hit anybody, unless they get pretty close… and if they get that close, you won’t be worryin’ about shootin’ anyone. You’ll be doin’ your best to stop ‘em… you’ll do fine.”
She wasn’t sure about that, but I knew better. Not much more than a slip of a girl, she was just barely a woman, but I’ve watched her on the trail. I’ve seen city folks on the trail before… both men and women, and generally the second day starts the whining, complaining, and falling behind. I was sure she was just as dusty, sweaty, and uncomfortable as the rest of us, but she said nary a word about it. The girl had a bunch of grit packed into that little frame.
“If they are bandits, do you think they’ll hit us soon?”
“I doubt it.” I told her. “We’ve got eight mules with empty packs. They’ll wait till the packsaddles are full.”
“When will that be?”
“That’s something only your pa knows. It’s his merchandise and he’s the one who hid it. And it’s been hid for ten years. Right now, he’s looking for landmarks to tell him which way to go. Ten years is a long time to try to remember an exact trail, so you pick out landmarks as you go and look for them when you come back.”
“Tru… Are… Are you an outlaw?”
I couldn’t keep from laughing, partially at the question, and partially because of the serious manner it was asked. She rewarded me with a scowl for laughing.
“No, Ma’am… I’m just a driftin’ cowboy with a big hat and a good horse. I’ve been as wild as the next man on payday, but there’s no wanted posters out with my picture on them. I did steal a horse once, but I stole it from our farm. I was owed much more than that.”
“But, you have a gun… two guns actually and a rifle. Why do you need so many weapons if you’re not an outlaw?”
“I mostly have that many guns because there are outlaws, renegades, Indian raiders, and just plain mean individuals… There’s a passel of hombres in the west who enjoy killin’ folks just for the doin’ of it.”
I was saved from more questions by Clayton calling for a halt. He had apparently come to another of his landmarks, and he was reading the map in his mind. It was a long dead tree several hundred feet up on a bluff. It was a twisted and split old Juniper, which had started growing out from the rocks and then started growing up. It had been blasted by lightening at some point, and was probably as hard as the rock face its tangled roots were forever locked in.
The whole time Burley was finding the way, I was sweeping the hills, mountains, and canyons for any signs of movement. I didn’t much like sitting out in the open waiting. I knew Clayton needed to be out in the open because that was how he had traveled when he was going north to Odessa. We were on a trail of sorts. It had been used by a few wagons, but mostly it was a seldom used horse trail. There wasn’t a lot of traffic coming and going, but you could see where other trails intersected the one we were on. He motioned me forward again, and that time Emma tagged along with me.
Clayton tried to stare his daughter back, but she was having none of it, and she came riding right up as a third member of the conference.
“Tate,” he said ignoring his daughter, “the trail to the left goes over the mountains to Fort Davis. We’re taking the one on the right, which will take us southwest… where we want to be. You can see for yourself how much traffic that one gets, and the one we’re taking gets almost nothin’.”
“If they turn toward Fort Davis, we won’t worry about ‘em. But if they keep coming, we’ll have to work it out. We’ll wait to hear what Blaze and Carson have to say.
We kept moving and following the trail, what there was of it, until about an hour before sundown. Setting up camp was no chore, since everyone knew what to do. Emma was getting used to cooking over an open fire, and I was no slouch with a frying pan.
Carson and Tom Blaze came in just before the sun slipped behind Baldy Peak. We waited until they dismounted and got some coffee.
Blaze was the first to speak, “They’s eight of ‘em.” I guess that was all he felt was important because he never said anything more.
Carson picked up the dropped thread with, “They were at least twelve miles back and settin’ up camp when we left them. They’re in no kind of hurry, and they’re all well mounted and well armed from what we could see from a distance. They weren’t on a tradin’ trip… they only had two pack horses. Eight men on the trail, in a lonely stretch of mountains usually mean trouble for someone.”
Clayton was pacing back and forth with a cigar in his teeth, we waited. He was cooking up a plan, and we sat waiting for it. Every little bit he took a puff at his cigar. It was out, but I don’t think he even noticed.
Bridger had been filling his plate, and he started eating without being aware of the tension in camp. Between bites he looked up and said, “Why don’t we just take off and outrun ‘em?”
Blaze glared at him and growled, “Shut up, you simple minded fool… the boss is working on a plan.”
Clayton stopped his pacing, put a match to his cigar, and said, “It’s all right, Tom. It was a fair question… for one thing, with the mules, we’d never out run them, and there’s no place to hide. They’d just wait till we ran out of food or water. And my daughter can ride, but I doubt if she’s ever had to ride like we’d be facing if we made a run for it.”
Bridger went back to his food, and Clayton said, “Tate… you remember the Fort Davis turn off?” I nodded that I did, and he went on, “First light tomorrow, you ride back to the turn off. Find a good lookout where you can get out of there without being seen. If they keep followin’ us, you get on that hoss and catch up to us… damned quick.” He told us he’d have his plan worked out in the morning… if it was needed.
When the sky was just turning gray, I was throwing a leg over my horse and getting ready to turn back to the northeast. It was only about a five or six mile ride back to the Fort Davis turn off, so I didn’t have to push it. They wouldn’t be there before mid morning at the earliest. The first thing I did when I reached the turn off was to scout for fresh tracks. I wanted to make sure they hadn’t surprised me and made the turn early.
They hadn’t, so I went back a ways, and found one of those nice little cluster of hills that had grown out of the valley. I found one tall enough to see a long way and well situated where no one would be able to see me take off.
Finding a place about halfway up the hill I tied my horse out of sight in the shade of a wind twisted Juniper. I settled in to wait for them to show up. It was close to noon when they rode into view. From where I was, I coul
dn’t get an exact count, but it was at least eight.
They bunched together, and one man got down scouting for sign. When they moved, they were coming straight at me. They were over a mile away and had no reason to suspect I was watching, but I got out of there in a hurry. They couldn’t see me for the overlapping hills and brush. And I’d seen all of them that I cared to.
I figured by the time they got around that bunch of hills, I’d be well beyond the next turn. By then, the dust I’d stir up would either back on the ground or lost in the wind. Once around the bend, I settled my horse down to ground eating lope… we had a way to go.
Chapter 12
Fifteen miles later, I caught the rest of the group. Riding straight to the front, I signaled Carson to join me. Burley had halted the line and had turned to meet us.
“They’re comin’.” I told him. “Unless they pick up the pace, they’re still a half day back. They got a tracker with them, but it’d be hard to make this bunch disappear, so that’s not important.”
“At least we know… so let’s put the plan to work.” Clayton said to all. “We’re just about three or four miles from the trail… there’s no need to hurry. We pick up the pace and they’ll know we’re up to somethin’…. Blaze, drop back to rear guard with Carson… Tate you stay in front.”
I looked at Spade and he gave a slight shrug with his shoulders, as if to tell me he didn’t know what was going on either. Blaze turned to glare at me as they jogged back to the rear. Looks like I’ve made an enemy without even trying… the good thing was, I didn’t lose a friend in the process. I doubted if Blaze has had a friend in his entire life. Nobody could get friendly with such a sour disposition. I suspect he was born with a permanent scowl on his face.
