Spirit Valley (Ben Blue Book 7)

by Lou Bradshaw

  Absent mindedly I said, “No… we were down on the valley floor all day… Why?”

  “Because when I woke up, I could smell the pines in our bedroom…It was really a strange sensation.”

  I looked up and almost said something, but I held up. She caught my hesitation and said, “What is it, Ben? You look shocked.”

  “No… no… it’s not so much shocked as it is a realization that I had smelled the pine when I woke up, but I couldn’t place it… I just knew it didn’t belong there… Now ain’t that queer?”

  I had smelled it and it was that “Something else” that had been bothering me all morning. I remembered the canyon with the cliff houses had a strong pine scent, and the upper end where I’d encountered the Indian was ringed with pine trees…. My skin began to crawl.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, every one of the men except Delgado had ridden out to give the canyons in the south wall the final clean out. It was getting on to late morning, and McCoy was fixing a fire for coffee. We’d had a good morning’s work behind us and needed a rest for our horses, and we needed a little rest ourselves. Maria had sent along a crockery jar of beans and frijoles, so we decided to take our nooning and then work through till supper.

  I had just taken some beans in my tin plate, when I happened to glance off to the north toward where the house lay and saw dust. There was more than a little, so it wasn’t someone coming down to visit. More than one horse was coming, and they were coming at a good pace. I set my plate down and headed for my horse.

  “This looks like trouble, Tom.” I called from the saddle. “If I have to leave, Patty Anne’s in charge… she knows more about cattle than I do anyway.”

  I wheeled my horse and headed toward the dust plume. At about a quarter mile’s separation, I could see by the sombreros they were vaqueros. One was most likely Delgado, but I didn’t have a clue who the other was. The closer I got, I recognized Pablo from the Circle D… was something wrong with Juan Domingo?

  When we came together, Pablo quickly explained. “Benito, Juan waits us at your hacienda. There has been trouble. Two of Don Carlos’s vaqueros were found dead this morning in their camp about fifteen miles south. They had been shot many times while they slept. There were many tracks, and their horses were taken, but they both had money in their pockets. The Don’s riders are always well mounted, but not so good to be killed for.”

  “Let’s go.” I said. And then on a hunch I said, “Delgado, go on to the fire and tell the new man, Flynn, that I’m going to need him.”

  When we got back to the house, I found Juan Domingo pacing back and forth on the flagstone flooring of the courtyard. “Benito, this is all wrong. There is no reason Ricardo Torres and Felix Peralta would be coming to Taos. There was no knowledge of their coming. They must have been on some secret business for the Don.”

  “We need to get word to Don Carlos… I’ll send Delgado to the sheriff and have him send a telegraph to the Don.” I told him.

  “I sent Enrique ahead to the telegraph office with a message for the Don. He will wait for an answer and bring it here, por favor.”

  “Certainly.” I told him, “This can be your headquarters… as long as needed.”

  The Spanish speaking population passed messages up and down the line between Taos and Santa Fe by word of mouth. The flow of information was incredibly quick and accurate. It was often referred to as the Mexican Telegraph, but since the telegraph lines had reached Taos, the old way had become used less and less until it was nothing more than a gossip line.

  “Tell me about the scene, how many shooters, and which way did they go?”

  “The man who found them said there were at least four different gringo boot tracks. He also said the vaqueros had four horses picketed on grass nearby. Why they had four horses no one knows. Unless they were going a long way and traveling fast.”

  “That makes sense.” I said.

  About that time, Patty Anne came out to the courtyard with a tray of coffee and some donuts. Juan instantly went from a frown to a smile and turned on his charm. The man knew how to treat a lady. I’d have to take a lesson or two. Patty Anne knew there was trouble, and she knew Juan was worried, but she left the courtyard with a smile and her cheeks were glowing pink.

  Delgado and Flynn came riding in shortly after Patty Anne brought in the coffee. I told Delgado to grab a handful of donuts, thanked him for his help.

  As he left, I turned to Flynn and said, “Alright, though guy, some bad things have happened to a couple of damned good men. They were shot to doll rags while they slept in their camp last night. I’ll probably take off before another day starts and start manhuntin’. I’m givin’ you a choice of coming with me and maybe gettin’ shot or stayin’ here and chasin’ steers out of those canyons.

  He swallowed half a donut and said, “Do tha mean yor likely to get into a bit of a brawl out theer? An’ you even consedered leavin’ me behind… Ef you was to do tha, I’d tell tha sheriff to put me back in his jail.”

  “Good, tell Delgado to bring you up a good trail horse and have Dusty ready to saddle. Oh, this is Seńor Domingo, and the gentleman behind him is Pablo. Get your gear together, and make sure your weapons are in good workin’ order.”

  “No need to worry there, Squire. Me guns are cleaner than me socks… and they always be well oiled.” That was exactly what I wanted to hear.

  When he was gone Juan said, “Strange young hombre.”

  “He is that, but he’s a fighter straight from the old sod. I don’t believe there’s any give in him… He’s more or less been paroled in my custody. That’s one of the reasons I want to take him along. I dare not leave him here among strangers without supervision.”

  It wasn’t long afterwards that Enrique came in from Taos. He handed Juan the message, and he handed it to me… it was in English. It never dawned on me that Juan wouldn’t read English because he spoke it so well.

  I read it over, and then read it again. Then I read aloud,

  My men were taking Achilles and Athena to Don Felipe to care for until the July 4 celebration.

  I must have looked confused, but Juan looked devastated, and Pablo was close to outrage. “What does it mean?” I asked.

  Juan took a few seconds to find his voice, and then he said, “Achilles is the finest white Arab stallion I have seen in my life. Athena is a white Arab mare equal to Achilles. Their value is without measure…. It means…. They have been taken and may be gone forever.”

  “I’ll leave in the morning and pick up their trail. I’m sure Don Carlos will be sending men… I’ll leave signs.”

  “How many of my men will you need?”

  “Only Pablo, if he would care to come and my man Flynn… Those men are traveling light and fast.”

  Juan looked at Pablo, but Pablo was already up and ready… Juan nodded and then said, “Enrique, take another message to the telegraph, and tell Don Carlos that Benito Blu will lead the search and will leave markers.”

  It was settled that Juan and Pablo would return to the Circle D and Pablo would return in the morning ready to ride. When they had gone, I walked into the kitchen to find Patty Anne and Maria preparing a supply pack to last a week for three men.

  “I heard.” Patty Anne said. “I’m not above eavesdropping when there’s trouble afoot… and it concerns my children’s father…. Ben, Don Carlos has been a good friend, and I understand… I would expect it, even if you had a choice. I came to that decision long before you came around begging me to marry you.”

  “You mean you already knew I’d come… Beggin’ even before I did?”

  “Of course… I didn’t work my tuffit off makin’ all those apple pies for nothing… I didn’t see any broader shoulders or redder hair in Taos County, and I dearly wanted some redheaded babies…. Kinda all worked out, didn’t it?”

  “Men… they don’t know nothin’ about women.” With that she gave her skirts a swish and returned to her work.

  ~~~~~
o ~~~~~

  Pablo, Flynn and I were at the site of Ricardo and Felix final camp before the dew was off the grass. We were roughly a day and a half behind the killers. Pablo was a well schooled tracker, and I’d had more than a little experience at it. So between the two of us, we got the lay of the land right quick.

  The problem was the two vaqueros made a common mistake. They had picketed their horses on some good grass, and their camp was a short distance away. But the wind was blowing off the river, and the killers approached from the other direction. The fire would have masked the approach of anyone coming from that direction. The four riders had trailed the Don’s men off the main road and into the brush. It was easy to see where they left their horses and moved in on foot.

  I’d never met Don Filipe, but I knew about him. He was the older brother of the Lady Elena. By reputation, he was as tough as an old pine knot. He had built a hacienda in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains northeast of the Pueblo. According to Father Paul, his nephew, the place was built like a fortress. It was manned by a half dozen or so handpicked fighting men.

  Obviously, the killers didn’t want to follow them up into the old lion’s den. They must have been watching for their best opportunity and took it. Ricardo and Felix would have been turning north soon and bypassing Taos all together. Once they reached Don Filipe’s hacienda it would take an army to get the horses.

  We’d gleaned about all we could from the scene of the crime, and they were getting farther and farther away. “Flynn, you know anything about trackin’?” I asked.

  “I should hope to smile, I do…. For nearly two years, I was puttin’ down tracks for the Southern Pacific Railroad. I know more than any of those hard headed Swedes and Chinamen, I do.”

  “Well, if we run across a railroad, we’ll be countin’ on you to take us through. Until we do, you keep your eyes open and you might learn something.” Pablo was having trouble hiding his laughter with a few well placed choking coughs. And Flynn was rather proud of himself.

  We were able to pick up the trail with little or no problem. Eight horses leave a lot of tracks. It was easy enough to follow them at a lope until they crossed the river.

  Chapter 11

  They had crossed at one of the lesser used fords and had made an effort to go upstream, but the water was high and they were forced to seek the bank sooner than they had hoped. So we picked their trail up easy enough. They were heading north by northwest. At first it looked like they were going to make a run for the county line, but they held the course for a good ten miles. Then they changed to an almost due north route.

  I didn’t want to make a hasty judgment, but I had a feeling I knew where they were going. I had no reason to think they were going to Battles’ ranch, but we were heading right for it.

  Two hours later, we were on the gloomy lane leading up to late Pete Granger’s old ranch house, which was now occupied by Glenn Battles and company. The lane ran along the creek and crossed it several times before it took a person to within sight of the house. Brush had grown in among the trees and made the whole place that much gloomier.

  As we reached the point where the lane left the creek and went over a low hill, I pulled up and said, “Get ready fellas… there were at least three hardcases here about a week ago. If they’re still there, we may have a fight on our hands… and it’s open ground for a quarter mile more or less.” I slipped the thong from my six-gun and pulled my rifle from the scabbard. Pablo and Flynn did the same.

  “If you see anything that looks like a rifle is being brought into play… cut loose!”

  Flynn looked at me as if he wasn’t sure he heard right. “You sure about that, Blue?”

  Pablo answered for me, “He is sure.” Pablo didn’t talk much, and when he did, he didn’t waste words.

  A big grin spread across Flynn’s face as he jacked a cartridge into the chamber and he said, “Well, tally ho, Squire!”

  We rode three abreast over the knoll and down through the tall grass. The place looked deserted. Nothing was moving but the grass blowing in waves across what was once a fine and productive pasture. It was still a fine pasture, but it was no longer very productive.

  I told Flynn and Pablo to keep an eye on the barn and out buildings, and I’d watch the house for any movement. There was none, but each fall of a hoof brought us closer and closer. We would soon be in hand gun range. We’d been in rifle range since we left the knoll. It gave an eerie feeling to walk into what could have erupted into pure hell laced hot lead at any second.

  Nothing moved, but a curtain waving in a window upstairs. There were no horses in the corral, but the trail of four men and four stolen horses led straight to it.

  “Flynn, check the bunkhouse, Pablo, you take the stables, and I’ll take the house… watch yourselves.”

  I watched as Flynn slipped around the corner of the house, and Pablo made a dash for the stable. Then I went through the front door and up against the wall beside it. Nothing! Looking around the front room, the only thing moving were dust motes drifting in shafts of sunlight. The next room was just as empty as was the kitchen.

  The furniture and fixtures were in bad shape. They’d taken a beating in the last few years since old Pete Granger had died. I’d only been in the house once several years ago, and it had been well kept for an old bachelor, but all I could see was trash. Back in the middle room I took the stairs to the second floor.

  There was only one door at the landing and I assumed it went into the room with the window with the blowing curtain. The door was a homemade affair that wanted to stick near the bottom. Lifting up on the doorknob, I was able to open it with no trouble. I shoved it open and stepped back out of the doorway. The door slammed into the wall at the end of its swing, and I heard an utterance from somewhere in the room, but nothing else. Pulling the hammer back on my Colt, I stepped through the door

  In less than a second I had covered the small room and found only Glenn Battles lying on a dirty sheet covering a pretty miserable cot. At first I thought he was dead from the way he was sprawled, but the empty bottle of Old Skull Buster on the floor beside the cot told me another story. It wasn’t a very pretty story, to be sure, but it was an old tale. Battles was dead alright, he was dead drunk.

  Holstering the Colt, I took hold of the legs at the foot and lifted to about waist high, and then I turned it over. He hit the floor with a thump, the ratty old straw ticking landed on top of him. I let the bunk frame fall on top of the whole heap.

  “Wha.. What the hell!” came a hoarse baritone voice from under the tangled mess.

  I grabbed a handful of cot and pulled it away and kicked the straw mattress away. Not being too careful with my kicking, I felt a spur rowel catch a boney butt in the process. That produced another outcry. When the sheet was pulled away, he was laying on his stomach trying to get his hands and arms under him. There was a tear in his short summer underwear, and a sore looking scratch stood out in high contrast to the dingy drawers.

  “Get up Battles… get up and face the music…. Man, you’re in a heap of trouble. Get dressed unless you want to die in your underwear.”

  “Hold on a second… just one damned second….” He was shouting as he sat up. “Just hold one one God Da….”

  I put muzzle of my pistol against his forehead and said, “Now, do you really want to be using the Lords name in vain as my bullet goes crashing and tearing through your brain?”

  He lost all color as he rolled his eyes up to follow the barrel to the trigger to my outstretched arm. I’m not sure he had the fear of God in him, but he sure had the fear of Colt .44 in him. His face was covered with tiny beads of sweat, there were tears welling up in his eyes, and his mouth was working, but nothing was being said.

  I stepped back and lowered the hammer. “Now get up and grab your clothes before I take a notion to toss you out that window.”

  There were footsteps down below, and I heard Pablo call out, “Benito… All is well up stairs?”

&
nbsp; “I’m bringing Battles down… did you find anyone?”

  “Not a bloody soul.” Flynn answered.

  Battles was picking up his pants and shirt, and I reached down for his waistcoat and coat. I patted the pockets and found a four shot pepper box Derringer in the inside pocket of his coat.

  “Let me take the temptation to get yourself killed away from you… I’m afraid you might pull this out while you were reaching for a kerchief or something…. Well you know how it is… we’d just have to shoot you. Get going… you first.” I tossed his boots down the stairs and if he’d given me any cause, he’d have taken the same route.

  “Have they been here?”

  “Si, Benito, many tracks in the corral. Felix saddle is in the stable. He always ride a comfortable saddle, unless he is at fandango. Ricardo always ready for a fandango… his saddle has much silver… they take Ricardo’s saddle… they left one horse in the stable… probably for him.” Pablo tilted his head toward Battles.

  “Anything in the bunkhouse?” I asked Flynn.

  “Nothin’ but rubbish. There were a few pair of raggedey beat up boots and broken harness, but nothin’ tha’ they would ha’ wanted. They no-a be coomin’ back.”

  “Soon as he gets his boots on tie his hands and we’ll take him with us… I don’t want to, but he’s got a lot to answer for. Or we could just shoot him and leave him.”

  Battles head swung around and he started to say something, but I told him to shut it.”

  “I thin’ it would be proper to hang him.” Pablo put in. “I have almost new riata. Would be very queek.”

  Battles started to stutter and babble, but I shut him up again.

  “You know where they’re going”?

  “No… I swear… they came with the place… They never tell me anything… They come and go… there were a couple more, but they disappeared or took off… I’d swear to it.”