by Lou Bradshaw
I came up with a few more things for the list of supplies, Pablo came in and we set down to eating, while the proprietor went about preparing our order. Tatum, the post owner was a greasy good natured fella, of about five foot nine or ten and a belly that hid his belt. He hadn’t used any of the river for laundry or bathing since he’d had beer at the post. But he made a good stew.
We worked our way through a second helping of beef and wild onion stew, and when we pushed back from the table, our order was ready. Tatum tallied up the bill and I paid him.
“One more thing, Mister Tatum, we’ve been following four hombres with four extra horses. Now two of those horses were taken from the vaqueros who were riding them. And the two white horses are the property of a very good friend of mine.”
“I’m right sorry about your friend losing his horses, and I can’t be concerned about a couple of greasers who can’t keep their horses neither.”
Pablo turned back and started toward the counter, when Flynn put his hand out to stop him. “Ye call a man a greaser because he’s a vaquero? Would ye call this man a greaser as well, then?”
“I would.” He said with his hand under the counter.
“Then you might as well call myself a greaser because this man is my own true twin brother… We were separated at birth and just now found each of the other…Now, Mester Tatum, you just change your attitude and answer the questions the Squire Blue ask, or…. I just might burn this flea’s nest down around you.”
Tatum looked up at me. I shrugged and said, “He doesn’t take insults well…When he gets worked up, I can’t stop him.”
He cleared his throat, pulled his hand out from under the counter and asked, “You the Blue from over around Taos… the one who ran with Hickory Jack Moore?”
“Me own true twin brother.” I told him. “Now, why don’t we start over and you tell me about those four men with the horses.”
“Blue, it’s just that they’re good customers, and they come through a couple times a month with some fine horses. I think their headin’ up somewhere west of Mesa Verdi.” He had lost his attitude, composure and his sense of humor.”
“You know any of them by name?”
“Collins seems to be in charge… him an’ Bailey. Turner is fairly new and there’s a new one I ain’t seen before. He looks pretty salty… he don’t say much.”
“Tatum, you take my advice and learn to be a little less critical of our Spanish speaking neighbors. Within the next few days, there could be as many as twenty or more vaqueros coming to your door looking for the men who killed their friends and stole those horses from Don Carlos Vazquez. I would advise you to mind your manners, or they will surely burn your place down and make a fancy saddle out of your hide.”
We left Tatum sweating in the heat of the afternoon, and we went on up and over the next hill on our way north. If they were heading for Mesa Verdi, we were still some sixty miles away. Catching and capturing them before they got to where it was they were going was my goal. We would stand a chance of holding our own against four men, but we didn’t know what waited at their final destination.
~~~~~ o ~~~~~
The landscape had changed very little, when we made camp that evening. It was a dry dusty land. I could see the mountains to the north were clad with trees, but where we were was clad with little of anything larger than a bush. It wasn’t a true desert, but it wasn’t far from it. Water was always a concern, but in country like this, it became a worry. Rivers were few and streams were starting to dry up. If need be, we could go into the mountains and have a better chance of finding water.
As luck would have it, the men we were following were familiar with the territory, and had made regular deliveries up this way. So they led us to waterholes along the way… some were mighty skimpy.
It was a broken and upturned land. What the forces below tried to shove through the surface, the forces from above were doing their best to wear away. Forces like wind, water, cold, and heat were constantly scratching and chewing at everything on the surface… including men.
Sitting around the fire that night, Flynn asked, “Blue, why’d you chose me to ride along on this little hunting trip? You didn’t hardly know me… not that I’m complainin’, mind you.”
“I was wondering when you’d think about that. The truth be known, it was because I really didn’t know you. If I’d left the ranch with a man of your wild reputation, I’d be worried about it the whole time I was gone, and I couldn’t afford the distraction… If I hadn’t brought you with me, I’d have sent word to the sheriff to come and get you. So, to keep you from sitting in jail for a week or two, I just brought you along with me.”
“Well, that was mighty considerate of ye, Squire.”
“Were you always a mean drunk, or was that something you picked up here in the US?”
“Oh you can bet your brass buttons I was always a mean one when I had the wheskey in me. Especially when me mum and da had gone on to their great rewards. Me sister, Bridget was married, so there was nobody to keep me straightened up.”
“Things got hot in me home village, so I went an’ moved to Dublin town… they didn’t know me there… yet. But they learned me soon enough. I snuck on a ship and stowed away just one step ahead of the Magistrate’s men.”
“They found me out when we were out on the ocean, and they put me to work for me passage. The Cap’n planned to turn me over to the authorities when we reached Boston, so I jumped ship in Charleston and started walkin’ inland….And here I am in the bloody American desert.”
“What kind of work did you do in Ireland?”
“Me da’ was horse trainer for the squire, and we lived on the place. I was a groom and stable hand when I was younger. Later, I became the squire’s gun bearer and took care of his weapons. Aye… I followed the man all over the continent and North Africa. Whenever the man was ready to take his shot, he could count on a fine round and a well cared for gun… When the old squire died, his son had no need for a gun bearer, him being a bookish type, so I was set adrift. By then me parents were gone, an’ I was in trouble… for sure.”
“There weren’t work enough for weapons men among the gentry, so I went back to workin’ in stables. I fell in with some lads who had a grudge against the British for past sins, and we blew up a few things. I was more or less their weapons specialist, and kept the guns all usable. We had us some fine run-ins with ‘em here and there, till they put the whole weight of the British Empire on us, and we had to run for it. I wound up on the Liverpool docks with no friends and a mighty thirst.”
“So, you know a bit about guns? Can you shoot?” I asked.
“I can, and I have in the face of return fire. And I do know a thing or two about weapons… without braggin’, Sir.”
I was duly satisfied, with the life he’d led as fitting a man who knew how to survive. For all his flair and bluster, I had a feeling that Michael Flynn was as tough as he would ever need to be. He showed me his pistol, which resembled one of the new Colt .45s with the longer barrel. But he said it was a Smith and Wesson Russian, and a fine well made weapon it was. It used a .44 cartridge and had near perfect balance… I didn’t even know they existed.
Chapter 14
Two days later, we were rounding the south side of Mesa Verdi. There were stories of more and grander cliff dwellings in the area. No one knew where those people had come from or where they had gone when they left… if they left. Some thought they were chased out by such as the Apaches and Navajo. Others felt they were overwhelmed and killed off or absorbed. If there were any Indians who could stand in the middle of a campfire and carried the scent of pines hanging around, I wasn’t interested in meeting them. Although, I have to admit I’d like to see those grand houses.
We’d received information from the few travelers we’d encountered along the way that there was a town of sorts on the western side of the mesa. The following day, we rode into the unlikely town of Ulla Mea.
It was a sure enou
gh town of about thirty or so citizens, none of which could be called a skilled carpenter… or even adequate. But the buildings that were there seemed to be held together by some force of nature that defied all reason. There were too many other things for me to worry about without wondering why the whole place didn’t fall under its own weight. There were four ramshackle frame buildings and maybe eight adobes scattered around in the brush choked lots that bordered the one street.
Of course, the first place we stopped was the town’s only saloon and eating house. The food was better than what we had back at the crossing of the San Juan and was served by a slightly prettier waitress. She was a gal who’d seen some hard times along the way, but she didn’t complain. She took the orders and went back to dish it up, and then she served it with a smile.
When we had finished, she came to gather the dishes and clear the table in case we had some drinking to do. I asked her, “Ma’am, would you be the Ulla Mea this town was named in honor of?”
“Lord in Heavens no.” She laughed. “I’m Sarrie… Ulla Mea was old Gus’s mail order bride from Saint Louie.”
Lowering her voice she went on, “Old Gus had staked out this town sight, him figurin’ the silver boom would move out this way, an’ he’d git rich. Then he sent off for a bride. He’d already given the town her name. She was here less than a month when she lit out with a down and out gambler…. Gus said it weren’t worth changing the sign, so he didn’t.”
“I figure they ought to call the place Turn Back ‘cause that’s what the smart ones does. They take one look and head back down the trail… I’m surprised you fellas stuck around this long.”
“So the mining boom never came down from Silverton and there abouts?”
“Oh there’s enough of them pokin’ around up there in the hills, an some of them do all right, and there’s a few cattle and sheep spreads around. Nobody’s gettin’ rich…except Gus. But it’s enough that I can cook, tend bar, and wait tables… It keeps me from workin’ the cribs out back… besides that there’s a whole bunch of them Utes up yonder.”
I ordered three beers. Sarrie liked to talk, and I was hoping to take advantage of that and the fact there were few customers in the place at the time.
So when she brought the drinks I asked, “Sarrie, I’m a horse and cattle rancher from Taos, and I heard there was a fine horse ranch up here where a man could get some good breedin’ stock… You know anything about that?”
“I know there’s a fancy horse ranch up there somewhere, but I ain’t never been there or heard where it is…. Hell, I wouldn’t go out in them hills fer nothin’. Some of the hands come down now and then to do a little hootin’ and some rootin’. They’re a hard drinkin’ bunch and they’re rough with the girls. They mostly buy their supplies up in Cortez… It’s a might farther, but they can get more of what they need there… I suppose.”
“I’d sure hate to go home empty handed. Is there anyone around who might know how to get there?” I told her as I laid a dollar tip on the table.
“Well… Old Gus would know… if anybody would… you can find him next door in the general store. He owns that too… Built it his ownself, but I wouldn’t say anything about it… he’s kinder proud.” Sarrie told me as she looked at the coins on the table. I smiled and she picked them up.
“Sarrie,” I said as she turned, “That’s a sure ‘nuff pretty name. How do you spell it?”
“Why, just like it sounds… S-a-r-a-h.” She said as she smiled and went back to the bar.
We finished our beers and walked to the general store next door. It could have been any ranch or mining supply store in the west. It had the same smells, the same stacks of shirts and pants, the same sacks of flour, and all the other things that made a general store a general store.
The little man behind the counter looked up as we walked through the door. He had a pair of spectacles perched on a bare patch of scalp nestled among the thinning survivors. The spectacles were most likely there for decoration because he had been squinting at figures on a sheet of paper just a moment ago. Some men think spectacles make them look more intelligent.
He couldn’t have been over five foot six, and I doubted if he ever weighed more than one hundred and thirty pounds, but he came into this wild country and made a place for himself… that had to account for something.
“Afternoon, gentlemen, what can I get for you today?”
“Right now, I’m looking for directions, but we’ll be in need of trail goods when we leave. I’m Ben Blue from Taos, New Mexico. I’ve got a cattle and horse ranch, where I breed some pretty fair horses. I’m up here because I was told by a reliable source that there is a fine horse ranch back in these hills, with breeding stock for sale.”
“Your friend give you the name?”
“No sir. He took a rattler in the forearm south of the Verdi. Took him almost two days to die… He said he knew how to get there, but couldn’t remember what it was called… and him out of his mind the whole two days. He just never got around to it…. We’d come a long way and hated to go back empty handed.”
“Well, Mister Blue, I believe you’re departed friend was most likely talking about the KW… They sure bring through some fine looking animals… I don’t ever see many coming out this way, so they’re probably sellin’ to the Mormons, or they could be taking them up to the railroad. They could get ‘em to San Francisco easy enough from there.”
He pulled his spectacles down to the bridge of his nose and drew me a map to the KW ranch. I thanked him and bought a bag of Arbuckle’s coffee. We didn’t need it, but you can never have too much coffee. The KW was supposed to be roughly fifteen miles northwest. We spent the night about five miles up the trail.
The plan was to go slow and scout the ranch when we found it, which wasn’t at all a sure bet. Gus had told me he had been there only once, and that was maybe four years ago, when it had a different owner. But the trails were few, and only once did we get off track for a short spell. We were soon righted and were picking up the proper landmarks.
Pablo was riding point and was the first to spot smoke coming from the valley below our vantage point of about a thousand feet above. The smoke was at least two or three miles farther on, not counting the thousand feet in altitude.
We had been a trail that followed a water course running and twisting down the mountainside. In the spring or after a heavy rain, the water would run eight or ten feet deep where we were riding. There was a little water in the bottom but nothing to worry about at that point in time.
It made a natural trail, wide with a wide bottom and deep sides. The chances of being seen from anywhere in the valley were next to nothing. Our biggest concern was meeting someone coming up trail, so we were riding with rifles ready. From time to time we would come to a turn, where the water had washed over the bank and started a new water course in different direction. I could imagine dozens of small waterfalls tumbling down the mountain.
At those places we were able to see the valley, but mostly we were in some kind of chute with a mountain on our left and a high bank on our right. A storm up above would be a serious matter for anyone trying to navigate this trail. I couldn’t imagine the sheer terror for man or beast hearing the roar coming down on you, and no place to go.
As we came nearer the valley floor, we found another water course coming in from another angle higher up. So we took it up a ways to get a better look at the layout. From that vantage point, we could see the ranch buildings that had been hidden from view by a growth of pines. The streambed we had been riding turned into a wide rocky slope, which spread into the valley. At a low point, a smaller stream worked its way out into the valley, while the main stream moved on downhill and out of sight to the left.
Digging the field glasses out of my saddle bag, I studied the house and the buildings. The house looked to be a log structure, which had been added on to in recent times. The bunkhouse was much newer than the older part of the house, and the barn, like the house had been add
ed to recently. There were horses in the corral, but I couldn’t make out any details. I could tell that one was gray, but the rest were shades of brown and dun. If the Don’s horses were on the ranch, they weren’t in the corral.
The valley worked its way back into the mountains. I couldn’t see past the first turn, so we’d have to go down in there and get up into the valley. Our best bet would be to slip down after sunset and follow along the left side of the valley, which would be the south wall. The wall rose up as broken hills and was dwarfed by the range of mountains behind them. We could make a cold camp up in the hills and scout the valley the next morning from higher up. And maybe get an idea of what we were facing.
Actually, the valley seemed to be a series of valleys, with each one stepping higher than the one before it. There were coves and canyons off to the sides, so the Don’s horses may not be in plain sight. Knowing the value of those two horses, I would be surprised if they weren’t under heavy guard somewhere… maybe in one of those coves, or even in the barn.
We moved out just after sunset. Slipping out onto the rocky slope, we stayed to the left and crossed the creek. Then it was up into the pines and higher up. Finding a little nook, we made a small sheltered fire for coffee and put it out as soon as we could.
There was only a sliver of moon and the stars gave little or no light, so we couldn’t see much, but we kept a watch anyway. We were able to pick up the lights from the house, and once, I saw someone with a lantern walk to the barn. We were more than a mile away, but on a dark night when everything is black, a little light goes a long way.
We were so intent on watching the house and barn; we almost missed something more significant. Off to the west, several miles beyond our position and across the valley something was definitely out of place. Flynn saw it first and asked Pablo about it.
