Riding from Memories

by Jim Cox

  Buck and Grant came to a combined blacksmith and livery at the far end of town and stopped, tying their horses to a rail. A smithy was inside the barn’s large double doors working at the forge. “Have a seat,” he called out, “be with ya’ in a minute.” It wasn’t long before he stepped outside and said, “I see you boys are from the Mountain Peaks ranch, what can I do for ya’?” After the men exchanged introductions, Grant explained a little of their story and why they were riding the Mountain Peaks’ horses. Then he handed Smithy a letter.

  “It’s from the boss at the Mountain Peaks. He told us to give it to ya’ because it explains we ain’t horse thieves, that he loaned us these horses we rode in on, and you’re to keep ’em ’til he sends someone after ’em.” The smithy read the letter and then looked up with a nod, indicating he understood and accepted the situation.

  “The boss also said you might help us find our horses,” Buck said as Smithy stuffed the letter into his pocket. He took a hard look at Buck and Grant and then motioned for them to follow him down the livery’s alleyway.

  “Are these your horses?” he asked when they got to the last three stalls, but his question didn’t need answering because all three horses stood with their heads stretched over the top of the stall doors with pointed ears, waiting for their foreheads to be scratched. “It’s obvious these horses belong to you and you’ll find your saddles and other gear in the storage room over there,” he said pointing to a closed door.

  “We’ll not be bothering anything ’til the sheriff gives his clearance and arrests the men who stole our horses. Do you know where they might be at this time of the day, Smithy?” Buck asked.

  “They’ll either be at the saloon or gambling hall. I’ve noticed it’s where they’ve been spending most of their time since they’ve been here.”

  “Thanks, Smithy. More than likely we’ll be back with the sheriff after a while to get this mess cleared up. See you then,” Buck said as they turned to leave.

  “Wait up,” Smithy called out. “Take the Mountain Peaks’ letter along. It might help you convince the sheriff you’re telling the truth.”

  When Jude and Wade looked up from the card table and saw Buck and Grant walking toward them with the sheriff, they stiffened but tried to remain calm. “Look who just walked in, Wade,” Jude said in a jovial but nervous tone, “our old friends from the Lazy Horseshoe, Buck and Grant.”

  “We ain’t your friends, Jude, and you know it,” Buck blurted out. “After you stole our horses and gear, we’ve chased you all the way here—walking most of the way.” When Buck made this accusation, the other three men at the card table immediately stood and walked to the edge of the room where the other patrons had gathered.

  “What-do-ya mean, stole your horses? Wade and I don’t know what you’re talking about. We brought those horses to the Lazy Horseshoe when we was hired on to help with the branding. And another thing, if you ever accuse me of being a horse thief again, you’d better be drawing iron.”

  “We’ll have no more talk like that,” the sheriff said. “There’ll be no shooting in Flagstaff as long as I’m the sheriff. You men lay your guns on the table ’til we figure out what’s going on here. One of you is lying and I mean to find out which one it is.”

  Wade looked at Jude and then said, “There ain’t no need to take our guns, Sheriff. We ain’t the guilty ones, they are,” pointing to Buck and Grant.

  With that the sheriff quickly pulled his pistol, “These men ain’t carrying no guns, and I ain’t telling you again - lay your pistols on the table and be careful about it. If you try anything I’ll shoot ya’.”

  The two outlaws laid their pistols on the table, saying, “We didn’t steal their horses, Sheriff, and they ain’t got no proof we did.”

  “How about it?” the sheriff asked, looking at Buck and Grant. “Do you have any firm proof Jude and Wade stole your horses? It’s a mighty serious charge that could cause ’em to be hung.” Jude looked at Wade with a concerned look in his eyes.

  “We had nearly twelve hundred dollars stashed on our horses when they stole ’em a few days back, Sheriff,” Buck said. “Maybe they have our money on ’em.”

  “We ain’t got their money, Sheriff. We each left the Lazy Horseshoe with a hundred and eighty dollars we’d earned. We’ve spent a little since then but that’s all the money we have. You can search us.” The sheriff found only a little over a hundred sixty-five dollars on each man.

  “Maybe the money’s in their gear at the livery,” Buck said. “Can we go search there, Sheriff?” He nodded, escorting Jude and Wade to the livery with him. Every piece of gear Wade and Jude had left at the livery was examined. The saddlebags, the food bag, clothing, the bedrolls, tarp, everything, but nothing was found.

  “Are you satisfied we ain’t got your money? The Sheriff has searched through everything we own.” Wade blurted out.

  “He’s right,” the sheriff said. “We’ve searched every possible place in their possessions and there ain’t no money. I don’t know why you’ve come up with this cock-and-bull story, but these men ain’t guilty and they’re free to go.” Wade and Jude took on big grins.

  Buck asked a fast question, “Sheriff, if you had found the money, would you have considered them guilty?”

  “Of course, he would have,” Wade quickly interjected. “If he’d found it, it would mean we were as guilty as sin, but he didn’t find it, so it means we’re innocent.” The sheriff nodded his agreement.

  “There’s one place you didn’t look, Sheriff,” Buck said with a slight smile. Jude and Wade’s heads quickly turned toward Buck.

  “Where’s that, Buck?” the sheriff asked.

  “You’ll find a sock wedged in the bottom of my saddle’s gun boot with nearly a thousand dollars of my money in it.”

  Grant chimed in, “You’ll find a hundred and eighty in mine.”

  Thirty minutes later when the thieves were behind bars, the sheriff jokingly said, “you boys had it all figured out on how to trap those horse thieves into confessing their own guilt, didn’t ya’?”

  “Yaw,” Buck said wearing a big grin. “We had a lot of time to think about it during the walk.”

  When the sheriff put Wade and Jude behind bars, he had asked Buck and Grant to stay around until the circuit judge got there for the trial, which most likely would have been within a couple of weeks. However, the sheriff found a Wanted Flyer in his desk drawer two days later, saying Wade and Jude were wanted in Tucson for killing a man during an attempted robbery in 1864. That happened two years ago, the sheriff thought. They must have broken out of jail or gotten away somehow. After an exchange of telegrams between the Tucson and Flagstaff authorities, it was decided to extradite the prisoners back to Tucson to stand trial for murder. Consequently, the trial at Flagstaff was dismissed and the territory’s prison wagon was set to arrive within a few days.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was late afternoon when Smithy suggested to Buck and Grant they go to a boarding house at the west end of town for room accommodations. He said it was the best the town had to offer and was owned and operated by a widow woman.

  As they rode up to the large house, they witnessed a well-maintained structure with flower beds and fruit trees about. After they knocked, it took a minute or two for the door to open, and when it did the men stood a bit shocked. They were expecting an elderly, plain-looking woman with a sour face, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, an attractive, well-groomed lady with a tall slender body stood before them. Her sandy hair had a touch of gray at the temples and was rolled up in a loose bun allowing for a slight wave. Her sparkling green, inviting eyes caused the men’s gaze to stay fixed on her a bit longer than was necessary. They both guessed her age to be in the mid-to late-forties. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she asked.

  It took a few seconds for the men to collect themselves before Grant answered, “We were told you had rooms for rent, ma’am. If that’s the case we’d like a couple.”
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br />   “Yes, I have rooms. How long will you be staying with me?” she asked, wearing a pleasant smile.

  “We ain’t for sure, ma’am, maybe a week or two, maybe longer.”

  “Step in, gentlemen. We can discuss the terms over coffee. You do drink coffee, don’t you?” Both men nodded and followed her to the kitchen table.

  “My name is Grant Miller, ma’am, and this is my friend Josiah Johnson, but he’s known as Buck,” Grant said nodding toward Buck. “We’re from back east.”

  “Glad to make your acquaintance, gentlemen. My name is Margie Stardom and I’m the owner and operator of this establishment.” The men acknowledged the introduction with a nod and broad smiles. Waving to the chairs, she said, “Please be seated while I get the coffee.”

  There were a few minutes of small talk and then Mrs. Stardom became serious. “I’m from the east myself. After my husband was killed in the war, I came here from Ohio and purchased this facility. That was a little over a year ago. I do my best to provide the best possible accommodations and service, and I pride myself on the food I prepare and serve.”

  While they drank their coffee, Mrs. Stardom outlined her fees of fifty cents a night for each room, which included a delicious breakfast and supper—breakfast was served at six thirty and supper at five thirty. Coffee and bear paws were always available. The barn charge was an additional ten cents for each horse, which included daily feedings of corn, oats, and hay. She did laundry once a week for fifteen cents.

  When their cups were empty, she led them to their rooms upstairs. Each had a window facing the main street. They were clean, nicely decorated, and had firm straw-filled mattresses. A wash pan sat on a sideboard with two large pitchers of water on a shelf above it. The men were pleased with the rooms, agreed to her terms, and paid for a week’s stay. After Mrs. Stardom outlined a few other features, the men left to tend to their horses.

  The horse stable was larger than most town barns, with clean, sizable horse stalls. Along its alleyway across from the stalls were two cribs and a pig pen. One of the cribs held tack and the other room contained sacks of corn and oats. The pig pen was in the back corner and held four good size hogs—chickens ran about as they pleased. Hay filled the overhead loft.

  During the next couple months, Flagstaff proved to be an up-and-coming town for Buck and Grant. They noticed as a whole the people kept their property in good condition, dressed fairly well in western attire, and were friendly. The streets were most often lined with buggies during the weekdays as folks bustled about doing their shopping, and on Saturdays the town became flooded with surrounding ranch folks for the special activities taking place -box suppers, barn dances, horse racing, parties, and the like. Sundays were set aside for worship at the church and often a delicious carry-in meal followed the service.

  As the days passed, the town’s newness wore off and a routine developed for Buck and Grant. They rose early, tended to their horses, and lingered over coffee before the six-thirty breakfasts were served. After breakfast Grant went to his new job at the livery to help Smithy with the livery work—mostly shoeing horses, and Buck loafed about with very little to do. He had sought jobs at several businesses but none were available at this time. He was told come spring, ranchers would be hiring.

  Because of his unemployment, Buck generally joined a table of men in mid-morning at the Frontier Café for coffee and to talk about daily events. The gatherings were enjoyable and kept Buck up-to-date on all the gossip and happenings in and around town.

  After one of these gatherings, he and an elderly man named John lingered awhile talking about the good old days. “How long have you lived in Flagstaff, John?” Buck asked.

  “I’ve been living here or around here for the past sixty years, came here in 1804 with my ma and pa when I was eight years old.”

  “I suppose you’ve seen a lot of changes during your life, John. Has the area changed much?”

  His question stirred up memories in the old man’s mind as he sat with cup in hand. “The mountains are the same and the prairie is pretty much like it was back then,” he said with a smile, “but it weren’t crowded with all the folks, like it is now. Back then, we only saw white folks ever couple of months.” John paused and chuckled a bit. “We had a man by the name of Ned Beale who brought in a bunch of camels to help him survey the desert north of here where railroad tracks were to be laid. He said the camels could go for days in the desert without water. That was in the late 50’s, but nothing ever came of it, one day he just lit out with his camels.” The old man paused with a wrinkled forehead. “It’s a shame how the skin hunters came in and killed herds of buffalo just for their hides. Hundreds of men made their living selling hides to foreign markets. It made me sick to my stomach every time I came upon an area with hundreds of fly-covered, rotting skinned carcasses laying around. That’s one thing that made the Indians mad with the white man. Buffalo was their main source of food and we were killing ’em off by the thousands.”

  “It looks to me like there are still plenty of buffalo roaming the country, John,” Buck said.

  “Don’t kid yourself. There ain’t one now where there used to be ten. In a few years, they’ll be nothing but a memory,” the old man said shaking his head.

  John went on. “When the war started and the Confederate politicians got control of Arizona, they dismantled all the Union forts in the area, which left the white settlers at the mercy of the Apaches. The natives took control of the area and forced the settlers to seek refuge in Tucson, but they didn’t bother those of us who had lived among ’em for years. We got along fine with ’em and even shared things. They didn’t start causing major problems ’til the powers in Washington tried to push ’em off their land onto reservations. Now they’re fighting back and causing all kinds of trouble, but it ain’t their fault.”

  Buck tried to get the old timer’s thoughts on something more upbeat, so he said, “Arizona may not be what it once was, but it seems to me it’s a lot better than Alabama, where I came from. I believe the politicians out here are doing a better job fixing the problems the war caused.”

  “It may seem like that to you, but the territory has been in a state of disagreement for the past several years with the Union and Confederate politicians fighting amongst themselves. It was only three years ago Arizona was split off from New Mexico to become an official United States territory. Before that time, the New Mexico territory was affiliated with the Confederates and was scheduled to be divided into two territories with an east-west boundary line—New Mexico in the Southern part and Arizona in the north. But that ain’t the way it happened. Congress said a northern territory created with an east-west split would not have enough population to become an official United States Territory, so when the Union got control of things and presented a proposal to the men in power at Washington in 1863, it was decided to divide the New Mexico territory into two territories with a north-south boundary line. Prescott was selected as Arizona’s capital site, which was a northern town under the Union’s control, but a year later the capital was moved to Tucson. Shortly after Tucson was made the capital, a parcel of land in the northwest corner of Arizona was given to Nevada.”

  “You seem to be well caught up on the territory’s political changes, John,” Buck said with a slight smile.

  “I try to keep up with things,” the old man said. “It’s a man’s duty.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  December nights in Flagstaff’s high altitude were cold, often falling below freezing with snowflakes swirling. And by mid-January, the town of Flagstaff saw frigid conditions. It was a surprise for Buck to see weather like this in Arizona. He’d been told the territory was hot and dry even in the winter. That was true for most of Arizona because of its dry, lowland desert conditions, but the territory’s high altitudes and mountainous regions always became frigid in winter, and this year was no different. The days started and ended with gray clouds sending snow showers almost daily, adding to the already dee
p covering. It seemed like the town had gone into hibernation with only a minimum of activity along the streets and in the businesses, and even the weekend festivities that brought most of the area’s folks together had been suspended until spring. Under these gloomy conditions, people became bored or even depressed and Buck was no exception. He tried to stay upbeat by keeping busy and involved, but as the days passed it became harder for him to maintain a positive attitude. He kept to a busy routine in the mornings and evenings, but the afternoons were his difficult times.

  Mornings started with barn chores and breakfast before going to the livery to help Grant and Smithy. It wasn’t a paying job, just something he enjoyed doing. He left the livery at mid-morning to join his friends at the café for coffee and a good deal of meaningless talk. After thirty to forty minutes at the cafe, he went back to the livery and stayed until his noon meal.

  Buck’s evenings were enjoyable. He and Grant were the only guests staying at the boarding house at this time, so after Mrs. Stardom’s delicious supper and the dishes were put away, the three of them often spent time together playing cards or checkers or simply talking the evening away. Pie and coffee were often shared before going to bed.

  Buck’s afternoons were long and difficult, mostly due to his lack of activity, causing him to hole up in his room. He often sat in a rocker beside the window looking into the unknown, while memories of his yesterdays flooded his mind. Some were enjoyable and some were extremely bothersome. He remembered the happy times during his growing-up years with his family in Alabama. He recalled Na’man and his family and wondered what was happening to the farm. He considered how his life might have turned out if he had stayed at the farm and followed through with the tradition passed down to him. Thoughts of people he’d met during his trip to Flagstaff surfaced. Wondering if Mrs. Duty was still stuck on the bank of the Mississippi River, or whether Seth and his family made it to Golden, Colorado. Buck thought about connecting up with Grant in Pinos Altos and the friendship that had grown between the two of them. He remembered all the lessons learned concerning cattle roundups at the Lazy Horseshoe and the friendship established with the wranglers while on the range.