Hickory Jack (Ben Blue Book 1)

by Lou Bradshaw

  With a little work, I got the best parts saved, salted, and hung over a slow burning smoky fire. This first one was for me, so I wasn’t too particular how it came out.

  The following morning, I forked out some hay for my horses and made sure the water trough was full, added some green wood to my smoker and took off to the western side of the county to see if I could make some cattle purchases. Sam had told me of several hardscrabble outfits over there that may be needing to sell off some stock. I took the trail he had told me about and figured to have to spend the night over there or on the way back. I hadn’t gotten so domesticated that I needed a roof over me every night.

  The trail was good but not well used. Since most of this country was a plateau there wasn’t much to making a trail. Bob traveled along at a pretty fair pace, as was his habit. A little past mid-day I came to the first place Sam had told me about. It was truly a rawhide place, and plenty rundown. I pulled up about fifty feet from the front of the house and “Halood” good and loud and waited. A man in worn out jeans and a beat up hat came from around the side of the house. His boots may have been shot to hell, but the rifle he was carrying was in dandy shape.

  “Howdy,” I said, “Ben Blue from over near the mountains. I’m looking for Mr. Avery.”

  “Maybe I’m him, and maybe I ain’t. Depends on what you want with him. If you’re working for Pickering, then you can just keep on lookin’ someplace else.”

  “Well, Mr. Maybe, before I’d go to work for Pickering, I’d go back to mule skinning. Had a little confrontation with some of his hands, and had to run ‘em off. Then he and his man Bristol came around trying to get me to let ‘em move cattle on my range for chicken feed. They left unhappy.”

  “Wal,” he said, “you’d be smart not to let ‘em get a toe hold on your range ‘cause you’ll play hell gettin’ ‘em off again. You just light and sit, Ben Blue.”

  I walked Bob up to where he stood, still cradling his rifle in the crook of his left arm, with his right hand on the action. Dismounting and walking around my horse so that we didn’t have anything between us, I told him I was looking to buy cattle. I didn’t tell him that someone thought he might be in need of selling off because this man looked for all his needs, to have pride.

  “Mr. Avery, I’m in need of building a herd. I’ve got plenty of range, but few cattle to go on it. Like most folks, I don’t have a whole lot of cash money, but I’ve got enough to make a few small buys. If you’ve got some that you’re willing to sell, then I’d like to do some dickering.”

  Claude, as he asked me to call him, since he wasn’t used to being called Mister. Said he wasn’t in the selling end of things yet, but he might be if he couldn’t get a clean shot at Pickering. I knew it wasn’t the western way to ask a stranger about his business, but Pickering’s name had popped up a number of times.

  So I asked, “Claude, what seems to be going on with Pickering? I’ve had a little trouble with him and his boys, but you seem to be in an all out war with him. What’s the story if you don’t mind me asking?”

  He told me how a few years back Pickering had approached him about using some of his range for winter graze, and at the time he needed money. But when spring came the cattle didn’t leave, so he started moving them off. Being a one man operation he couldn’t keep them cleared out. As soon as he’d get most of them gone, there’d be more somewhere else. The range was getting overgrazed and he was wearing himself and his horses out just keeping Pickering’s cows off.

  “Pickering and Bristol act like they don’t know what I’m talking about when I front ‘em with it. They claim that cattle go where they feel like going and there’s not much they can do about it.”

  “They’ve started bringing in some hard cases and callin’ ‘em punchers, but I know a gunny when I see one. But I ain’t sellin’ out and I ain’t givin’ in. They may take over my place, but they’re gonna have to earn it with lead.”

  I told him what they had offered me, and what my demands were, and for the first time, I saw him crack a smile. “I’ll bet old Bristol was fit to be roasted.” He laughed. “That one is pure mean and sneaky. He’ll try to get back at you, so you watch yourself, boy.”

  I wished him luck, and asked if he knew of any others who might be wanting to sell some cattle, and he suggested Bill Simpson about four miles south, who had been having the same problem with Pickering. “Simpson’s range,” Claude told me, “is in poor shape. It never was much good, but it’s worse now, and he’s got a wife and a youngens to think about.”

  I rode on to the Simpson ranch, and found it in poor shape just as Avery had said. The buildings were in better shape than Avery’s, but the whole place was rundown. What stock I could see was thin and poor. Just as Avery had suggested, Simpson needed to unload some cattle or lose them over the winter. It was a case of a ranch on a piece of land that was bordering on desert and not enough of it to support his cattle and the extra stress of Pickering’s cattle. We made a deal at four dollars a head in cash money for three hundred head. I told him that it would take me four or five days to get the cash and be back with some help to drive them.

  They’d move slow and take several days to get them to my valley. If I could get them settled into the canyons to the south, they’d fatten up in no time.

  Since I was a lot closer to town than to the ranch, I figured to go ahead and spend the night in Taos, so’s I could get the cash the next morning bright and early and then head to the ranch. I rode in just before sunset, boarded my horse at the livery and got a room at the hotel. It wasn’t much of a room, but it was clean and comfortable. After a good meal at the Wooden Spoon Cafe, I went back to the hotel and went to bed.

  Rolling out of bed before the sun had shown its face, I dressed, stowed my gear in a corner of the front lobby, and walked down to the sheriff’s office. Entering the door, I saw the sheriff, and said, “Howdy sheriff. If your new deputy’s around, I’d sure be willing to buy him some breakfast. If you haven’t had yours yet, then come along. I think I can still afford three meals.”

  The sheriff said that Andy was down south with another deputy, kinda learning the ropes, and getting a feel for working out in the field.

  “Well,” I said, “if you’re hungry, come on. I hate to eat alone.”

  So we trudged down the street to the closest eating place for some steak and eggs, with plenty of butter on the biscuits. Sheriff Nelson told me over breakfast that he had high hopes for Andy. “He’s smart, patient, and he’d bust a head before he’s pull a gun if he could. Drunks and rowdies were the biggest kind of trouble in town. Out on the plateau it was different.”

  I told him that I’d spent many a day on the trail with Andy and he’d learned a lot about staying on his toes. “An old fella over in the Nations, taught us a good deal about tracking and trail sign. At the time, Andy just scoffed, but as time went on, he got pretty good at it.”

  “You saw how he handled Turkey and Gus, when they wanted to start shootin’. Andy never got a single feather ruffled. He just stood there and talked them out of it. It was the same when he shot it out with Dan Coleman in that Texas whorehouse. He didn’t do a lot of talking that time though, but he did give Coleman a chance to get his gun belt on.”

  “I didn’t realize that Andy was the shooter in that ruckus. I’d heard that Hickory Jack had done it, and I still can’t see your brother bein’ Hickory Jack Moore. Was Coleman really nekked when he done it?”

  “Except for his belt, boots, and hat… nekked as a jaybird, sheriff.”

  I went ahead and gave him a heads up about the rumors of Barkley stretching the definition of a maverick, and the trouble brewing to the west with some from the smaller ranchers getting squeezed by Pickering. “It all may come to nothing, but I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Yeah… “He drawled, “I’d heard a little, but nobody’s come forth with any kind of actual complaint. That’s the trouble with western folks; they ain’t figgered out that that’s what we’re
here for. Sure enough it’ll flare up and somebody’ll start shootin’ or stringin’ folks up. Then the fat’ll already be in the fire, and there’ll be blood on the plain.”

  “I’m buyin’ some cattle from Simpson because they’ll starve this winter if I don’t. And Avery walks around with his rifle in his hand. Now, I’m getting’ a good deal on those cows, but it don’t necessarily make me happy. I guess I just don’t cotton to pushy people.”

  “I think, I’ll send my new deputy up there when he gets back next week. See what he can snoop out of that mess. Mebee get it squashed before it gets started.” I was thinking that I might just learn to like this sheriff.

  The bank opened, I got my business taken care of, and I got a real friendly handshake from Mr. Clagg. He thanked me again and again for foiling that robbery.

  After leaving the bank, I pointed Bob’s nose toward the MB and sat back to enjoy the ride. It was a beautiful fall day. I was young and healthy, so why not enjoy my easy ride to the ranch.

  Chapter 35

  After thanking Bob for his fine efforts, with a rubdown and a little bit of oats, I went to check on my smokehouse. I found the fire out, so I rekindled it and soon had more smoke filling the building. A quick check on the house and a little noonday meal, and I was off again. I wanted to make sure those canyons were going to be where I’d stash my new herd. Next, I wanted to talk to Rubio.

  Riding the roan and leading Dusty, I found Rubio and his flock without much trouble. They had come down from the high country to the lower pasture, and he had moved into his winter adobe back in one of the eastern canyons. He had a good supply of firewood and some meat hanging, so I figured he was making himself comfortable for the winter.

  As I approached the flock, the two dogs split them so that I could ride between the two halves. I’d sure be proud to have one of those dogs. Niño was watching the flock and Rubio came out of the timber with a hand held high. I howdied him and he Buenos Tardeied me back, and asked me to get down… which I did.

  I told him that I had just bought a small herd of cattle and was planning to put them in the canyons over on the western side of the valley. He thought they would do well there for the winter. There was plenty of grass and cover, and no place for them to get out of the valley. We talked for a few minutes about his flock and conditions and such.

  I went to my saddle bag and said I had a little something for him and something for the boy as well. “But they weren’t gifts; it’s just that I want to thank you for holding down this end of the valley.” I pulled out a bright red tightly rolled ball of cloth. He took it and unrolled it. It was about sixty inches long and a foot wide. His puzzled expression changed to one of sheer delight when he realized that it was a headband.

  “My friend, you have given me my name back. I am again, Rubio!” and proceeded to wrap it around his head with a quickness that I could not have imagined. Then I pulled out a bag containing about ten cents worth of hard candy and gave it to Niño. He knew what candy was and his eyes lit up like the noon day sun.

  After a little more small talk, I asked him if Niño could ride a horse. He said that the boy could ride, but not as well as Apache boys. He said that Navajo boys didn’t have as many horses to learn on.

  I said. “Rubio, if Niño would want to ride this horse with me to the other side of the plateau, and help me bring back some cattle, I would pay him cowboy wages.”

  Rubio thought that would be a great adventure for the boy, and he could spare him for some days. So I stripped the saddle and bridle from the roan and boosted Niño onto his back. Then I rigged a hackamore, I gave that bronc a slap.

  They took off like a shot, with the boy sticking like he was glued to that horses back. They were gone about five minutes, and then they came jogging back through the brush. Niño slid to the ground all smiles. And I told him to get up without anyone helping him. He just grabbed a handful of mane and swung up… without any effort. He may not be an Apache, but that boy could ride.

  I left the roan with them and told him to ride to my house on the third morning, and we would go for three days. They didn’t quite understand what the third morning meant, so I took a stick and drew a short line in the dirt and called it today. Then I drew another and called tomorrow, then another tomorrow, and when I drew the third tomorrow, I called it the third day. Then I saddled Dusty and mounted up.

  I told Niño, that I would need to have the horse back when the work was done, so don’t get too fond of him, and don’t eat him. Rubio laughed, but Niño didn’t get the joke.

  On the third morning I found Niño wrapped up in a blanket fast asleep on the front porch of the house. I brought him in and gave him a good breakfast. He had rigged the roan to be ridden Indian fashion, with blankets tied into place under the horse’s belly. I switched the hackamore for a bridle. Then I put a pack saddle on the sorrel for supplies, and we were off.

  It took us until mid afternoon to get to Simpson’s place. He had already gathered the three hundred head, and they looked about like the rest, so I didn’t suspect him of sandbagging me with culls. None of his stock looked all that good, but I was counting on a mild winter and some good grass to bring them through the winter. I was hoping to be able to ship this bunch in the spring.

  We exchanged a bill of sale for twelve hundred dollars, shook hands on the deal, and me and my crew started moving those cattle northeast. My crew, of course consisted of a ten or twelve year old Navajo kid who didn’t talk. He could “Yip! Yaow! and Yhaw!” But he never said a word. We were going to have to take it slow with this bunch since they were in such bad shape, but for the same token they weren’t going to be a lot of trouble.

  I gave Niño a small coil of rope to swing at those that would like to quit the herd and go back home. I didn’t figure his blanket saddle would be much good to him if he had to use a lariat, so I didn’t give him enough rope to even try. The lad was having the time of his life. You’d have thought he’d been on a horse since the day he was born.

  We only made about five miles that afternoon. Stopping before dark, I started a fire and dug out the coffee pot and rigged a spit over the fire to roast a good sized chunk of pork shoulder. I didn’t reckon that Niño was too fussy about what he ate as long as it wasn’t still alive. Like most youngsters, he’d probably eat anything. The herd was resting and grazing, they’d been watered a couple miles back at a stream we’d come to. Niño was proudly prancing that roan round and round the herd, and they were proudly ignoring his presence.

  I called him for supper and he came up to the fire. I told him that we’d have to keep an eye on them through the night. We’d take turns, just slowly riding around to make sure that they didn’t roam off. He nodded to let me know that he understood. I told him that some time during the night they would get up and feed a bit and then lay back down. This bunch shouldn’t be any trouble. Finally, I told him, “Niño, if for any reason, these cows should stampede or try to run, I want you to get out of their way. Don’t try to stop them or turn them, just get out. I don’t want you getting hurt or killed for a bunch of mangy cows. We can always collect them when they stop running. Do you understand?” He nodded again.

  I let him take the first watch, and told him to come get me when the moon had moved to a particular landmark.

  At the appointed time he rode in to the fire. I had dozed a little and woke when I heard him coming. He got down, and picketed the roan where it could get some grass. To say that he seemed extra quiet would have sounded stupid because he was always quiet, but something seemed to be troubling him. He went to the fire and cut off a piece of pork to chew on and sat down next to my saddle.

  “Senor, Been.” He said.

  “What is it Niño?” I asked without thinking. It was all in could do to keep my manner calm.

  “I am worry for my grandfather. He may be sad without me there.”

  “Is this the first time your grandfather has been without you at night?” I asked.

  “Si.” Was all he
said.

  “Don’t you worry about old Rubio.” I told him. That old hombre is as tough as whang leather. He’ll be fine. He has the dogs there to keep him company and the sheep and the burro if he gets real lonely. I know he misses you, but you’ll be home in two more nights. Then you can tell him all about your travels. I’m sure he’ll want to know everything.”

  “Niño, that was the first time I heard you talk. Why haven’t you talked to me before? I didn’t even know that you could talk.”

  He took on a shy little smile and said, “I have no to say.”

  I ruffled his hair and told him to get some sleep, that he would need it.

  At midnight I woke him again and gave him about an hour’s worth of moon landmark. At one o’clock I took over for the rest of the night. I dozed in the saddle for a bit here and there. Dusty had been on this kind of trip before and knew what to do. About three a.m. I switched my saddle to the roan, to keep the dun fresh. Just before daybreak the cattle got up and started feeding and moving around. I went back to camp and started coffee.

  When the sun was coming up over the mountains, I woke Niño, and we had coffee, pork and some hard biscuits. I wrapped the pork roast in oilcloth and stowed the rest of the gear. Niño was putting his blankets back on the roan. In no time we had the herd on the move.

  We camped that night, not 5 miles from the gap, but that was a weary bunch of cows and I didn’t want to kill any of them. They probably would have been all right, but I was pretty new to this trail driving, having only had one experience way back there when we were heading for Kansas.