Nick Stolter

by Lee Anne Wonnacott

  “And then the kid starts walking around under this tree pointing out different spots. ‘That’s Mike, that’s Ringo, that’s Lullabelle.’ I was in an animal graveyard. Smartass little kid.”

  “What’d you do?” Stolter grinned.

  “I asked the kid if he lived near abouts and he point back to the southwest. There was a house on a rise with a woman in long dress standing in the yard. I looked closer and she has a rifle trained on me.” Whelihan raised his eyebrows.

  “Kid didn’t have a gun?” Stolter’s mouth hung open.

  “No. But he says that his mom is a pretty good shot and that I might want to keep moving on to wherever I was moving to.” Whelihan grinned.

  “As I’m picking up my things, I asked Billy if he’d ever heard of Stevie Blaine. And the kid looked at me like I had sworn or something. He didn’t answer me but started taking steps back away from me. So I tell him that Stevie’s friend, Milt, hasn’t seen Stevie in a few months and wants to find out that Stevie is okay.”

  “Damnedest thing. Something is wrong here and then I see the kid turn and take out like a spooked deer. I start to follow him and take three steps and I’ve got rifle shots slamming into the ground at my feet. So I jump behind the tree for cover.” Whelihan held up his hands as if to protect himself.

  Stolter has an incredulous look on his face. “What? She started shooting?”

  “Yeah. Probably thought I was going after her boy. I’d a done the same thing. But now I am mighty suspicious that they know something about Stevie and I want to find out what it is.”

  Stolter held out both arms. “Don’t tell me. You saddled up and rode up there.”

  “There was no cover. I was out in the open. That rifle could pick me off easy as pie. No matter what angle from any side, I could not sneak up. So I decided that I would mosey on a couple miles, camp out and wait for dark and then go back.”

  Stolter nodded. “Sounds like I would have done that.”

  Whelihan nodded. “Except that I went about two miles south along the creek and found a nice spot to relax.”

  “You catch a nap or what?”

  “I wake up. The sky is pitch black, no stars, no moon. Crickets are singing. I mount up and ride as quiet as I can back to that animal graveyard. I can’t see anything in the dark. I left the horse and started tippy toeing up to the house. I get all the way up to the rise. There is no house.”

  “What do you mean, no house?”

  “I figure I’m lost or somehow in the dark I’m all turned around so I go back to the horse. He’s all jittery and whinnying and won’t hold still. So I mount up and then walk the horse towards where I think that house is at. No house.”

  Stolter frowned. “You sure. No house?”

  Whelihan had a whiny, accusatory tone. “Don’t you understand the words coming out of my mouth? I said no house.”

  “So what’d you do?” Stolter waved a hand in frustration.

  “I got back to Ellis Cove and there was a telegram from Marie. She’d found a Richard Blaine but not a Stevie Blaine and Richard was not related to Stevie.”

  Stolter said, “No luck, huh?”

  “Now from here, I sorta forgot about Stevie Blaine. I made the run back to Dodge, then all the way back over to Missouri Springs. There was a trip I made over to Eureka Falls in Illinois. The pay was good so I went. I’m all over three states.” He swung his hand from side to side.

  “We were late coming in Sweetwater one evening when we came up on a broken down wagon partly in the road. We can’t get by it. We must be fifteen miles out. So Harry, one of the men passengers, and myself got down to help get the wagon off the road. Took us about an hour to get the wheel fixed.”

  Stolter nodded. “Everywhere you look. Broken down wagons. I’ve got a wagon sitting next to my barn that needs a new axle. Haven’t done it yet.”

  Whelihan laughed. “Well, you make sure that wagon stays there alongside your barn and doesn’t get in front of me on the road.” Stolter chuckled.

  “The older man takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off his forehead and gives me a strange look. He asked me if I was that man hunting for Stevie Blaine. I told him not hunting. I was helping Milt Anthony look for his friend, Stevie Blaine.”

  Stolter interrupted. “Wait a minute. You’re out in the middle of nowhere, fixing a wagon of a man you’ve never seen before and he asks if you’re looking for Stevie? How does that happen?”

  Whelihan started laughing and slapped his thigh. “Nick, I tell ya. So many strange things went on that I stopped questioning how things happened.”

  “So I tell the man, yes, I’ve been looking for Stevie. He tells me Stevie did some plowing for him about a year ago. The man’s wife comes over and says yes, that Stevie really enjoyed her rhubarb cobbler. He was a good eater.” Whelihan laughed.

  Stolter asked, “Wait. Stevie Blaine knew how to plow? I thought he was an outrider.”

  Whelihan said, “He could have been an opera singer for all I knew. I never paid much attention to him, to be honest. Anyway, they said they hadn’t seen him since. After I thought about it for a while trying to figure out dates, he must have left Milt, stopped to plow for a couple of days. Then he headed for that house on the rise with the mysterious woman in the white dress and little Billy.”

  Stolter asked, “So was that the end? You never did find Stevie Blaine?”

  Whelihan waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Milt found him. In San Francisco.”

  Stolter reined his horse to the side. “What!? How did he get all the way to San Francisco?”

  Whelihan chuckled. “The way I understand it. Stevie caught a job riding the Overland from Natchez all the way to Santa Fe. He kept right on going to Tucson to Los Angeles. On the job from Los Angeles to San Francisco, the freight company was owned by a widow woman who took a liking to Stevie and he’s been there ever since.” Stolter shook his head.

  Whelihan laughed. “For all that time I couldn’t shake the sense of guilt that I couldn’t find him. In the end, Nick, there are things out there I’m not meant to understand so there you are. That’s how it took me a year to find Stevie Blaine.”

  Chapter 3

  After four days of long hours in the saddle, they had made a campfire for the night right after sunset about a half mile off the main trail. Stolter had rubbed down the horses and staked them out with a little grain. Whelihan put together sausage gravy over beans and potatoes. Both men were glad to get their boots off. Phoenix lay twenty two miles to the northeast.

  Whelihan told Stolter that he figured when they are about fifteen miles out from the ranch where they are going, they’ll stop to take a look. There would be a jagged mesa to the north of the ranch house and barn with large boulders and a stand of fir trees they would use as cover. The gunman shook his head as if to guess about how many men would be there. They would need to make sure all the horses were there.

  Stolter asked, “So just how did you come to find this sweet little valley, Ginger?”

  Ginger grunted. “Two years ago me and a four man crew rested fifty head right here before moving them out.” Whelihan laughed and stirred the fire.

  Whelihan said, “Get yourself some shut eye right now. Around midnight I want to walk to the edge of the mesa and see what the layout looks like. Make sure everything is where I remember it.” Stolter could see the gunman wanted to get the lay of what they may be coming into. Stolter nodded and took his bedroll over nearer the trees to get some sleep.

  The hand shook him just once with no sound and Stolter sat up and rubbed his face. The campfire was smoldering embers. He pulled on his scuffed leather boots and stood up to stretch, feeling his joints and muscles object. They saddled up and walked the horses away from the small camp.

  The sky overhead contained a million sparkling diamonds. Stolter had sat on the porch at Windy Ridge with Marianna on nights just like this and watched the shooting stars. He missed her already. The air was not quite chilled but lukewarm w
ith the scent of sage, trees, and animals. In the darkness it was difficult to see anything from one hundred yards away. Two hundred yards away, it looked like a burning lantern sat on a small stool outside the front door of the house that was more of a shack. They left the horses in a grassy area near scrub cedar.

  Whelihan crept down the broken trail and Stolter felt along behind him down to the bottom where it became hard packed dirt. Five horses dozed in one corral closest to the house. The other corral was empty with the gate held open by a rope loop over a post. Stolter felt Whelihan nudge him and followed the bent over creeping man. Whelihan suddenly stopped and gestured to the east where two bedrolls were occupied under an old cottonwood about fifty yards away. Stolter nodded his acknowledgement.

  Back up on the mesa walking back to their horses, Stolter said, “I’d say that the greater number of horses must be out grazing in a valley nearby. We’ll go on over to the other eastern valley and take a look. It’ll take about half an hour to get up and over the hill.”

  They kept the horses to a quiet walk along the trail. They waded across a small running brook and then threaded their way through a stand of straight tall birch. Whelihan and Stolter could see in the distance the shapes of dozens of horses meandering in the knee high valley grazing in the night. They tied their mounts and walked out about fifty yards to the nearest grazing animals and knelt down. Stolter had been counting by twos but lost track after fifty. Whelihan gestured to move to a clump of boulders on the higher ground south side. Just as they rounded the big rocks, they heard the familiar click of a revolver.

  A low voice with a heavy Mexican accent told them to hold very still and keep their hands out in the open. Whelihan looked at Stolter and shook his a little.

  Whelihan said in a whisper, “I’m here to get my horses back from the men who took them.”

  Three Mexican men crept out from the rocks and came closer to the two men. One of them appeared to be an old, curly wolf from the high country.

  The Mexican with the gun said, “I am also here to get my horses and maybe a couple for good measure.”

  Whelihan said, “Maybe we could help each other out.”

  The Mexican mumbled something that Stolter couldn’t hear. Whelihan said, “I like to have a spare gun with me on nights like this.” The Mexican laughed.

  One of the other Mexican men leaned in closer to get a good look at Whelihan. He asked if he knew another Mexican man by a long formal name. Whelihan’s shoulders shook as he laughed. “Mi amigo Zippy.”

  All the Mexicans laughed and guns were put away. Whelihan and Stolter shook off the tension and relaxed with a couple of deep breaths. They followed the other men through the trees to another camp about half mile up the hill. It took a few minutes for everyone to at last understand that all the horses were going to the same place in Sinaloa. Well, all except for the fifteen head going home with Stolter as payment for helping Whelihan. The Mexicans nodded.

  “I’m Juan and a couple days ago we watched them all get stinking drunk. They like to drink and fall down drunk most nights. There are no towns around nearby and that someone always brings in a couple bottles of liquor. They said as long as five bottles of liquor were dropped off, it would be easy to move the herd out the east edge, swing them around the running brook and then hit the trail headed south.” Two of the other Mexicans nodded.

  This Mexican hitch in the plan required some finesse and a longer conversation ensued between the cowboys and Whelihan. The moon was on the rise when Whelihan and Stolter mounted up and began the ride back to meet the rest of the crew.

  “So is everything set up right?” Stolter followed Whelihan along the narrow trail. The Mexican outlaws were covered in spines as any porcupine and very shy. Whelihan appeared to have some history or acquaintance with them.

  “Yep. They’ve been sitting here waiting for me for two days. Zippy said they would be here but I thought we’d have to wait on them. Turns out they are on their way home from Canada.” Whelihan twisted around in the saddle.

  “On the way up, Juan put in four of their big mustangs into the herd. That is the excuse they’ll use when they take ‘em. American’s don’t run those big black, white and brown mustangs. The family will take over moving the herd into Mexico. You’ll see the day we start to move.”

  Whelihan’s explanation didn’t do a lot to reassure Stolter about getting the job done. It didn’t help the nervous edge inside him as he rode.

  ###

  Four miles to the north, lanterns lit up the windows of a small rough shack. Inside, a shorter, lean man in a black shirt, black denim jeans and rough brown boots with heavy silver spurs sat at a table shoveling potatoes and eggs into his mouth. Ginger Whelihan walked through the doorway, crossed the lean to floor and reached for the heavy ceramic cup for coffee.

  Across the table a brown skinned, black haired Mexican leaned with his forearm on the table twirled a fork over the same breakfast into his chewing mouth. The white linen napkin was tucked in under his rough green plaid shirt.

  “Take your time eating, Zippy. It’ll be another four hours before we have to be anywhere.” Dark green eyes flecked with gold looked at dark brown eyes. Almost in unison they both turned to look at the doorway. For being early in the morning and in a small town where neither of them had ever been, they were both a might edgy.

  Zippy Montoya Presceniande Romero was known as Zippy to all his friends and relatives. He ate, relishing every bite. He wiped his mouth with the white cloth napkin and nodded.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Nobody will bother me with Mr. Two Lightning Guns here with me.” Zippy laughed and took a bite of bacon. He gestured for them to sit.

  The black-haired younger boy with the too-big apron brought around the coffee pot and filled their cups. Whelihan spooned in a heaping teaspoon of sugar and with deliberate slowness stirred the black liquid.

  From the corner of his eye, Whelihan could see the cook peering out from behind the half wall to the kitchen. The lean gunman nodded once and the shoulders of both men slumped in relief and they nodded in acknowledgement.

  His reputation preceded him almost everywhere. He could still sneak into towns but stopped trying to hide from prying eyes once he was recognized. The boy brought a plate of food and a matching one for Stolter.

  “Compliments of the house, Mr. Whelihan.” It was a round cheeked fresh young face on the boy with wide open innocent brown eyes. His hair had been combed with pomade.

  Whelihan pressed a coin into the boy’s hand and the child smiled brilliantly and ran back to the kitchen area. Stolter grinned as he watched the transaction.

  “Always tip your waiter, Mr. Stolter.” Whelihan winked and Stolter grinned.

  Twenty minutes later after they were done eating, Stolter leaned against the railing as Whelihan lit a cigarette on the steps of the shack. Zippy gazed around the yard and then subtly watched Stolter. The Mexican smoothed down his drooping black mustache and then ran his fingers back through the long hair.

  Whelihan jerked his head to the left and together they stepped down into the dirt. Twenty yards to the east was another shack with just one window. A man had just finished sweeping off his porch and stood with a broom.

  “We saw sixteen head earlier. You sure those others will be where you think they are?” Whelihan’s eyes scanned the far horizon moving from left to right in a slow, examining manner.

  “Come on in, gentlemen. Everything is ready.” Whelihan winked at Zippy who chuckled.

  Zippy said, “We came through in January and saw the ranch house had been almost burned down. There was a grave just up the hill on the other side of the river. There was nothing in the barn, like someone had backed in a wagon, loaded up and rolled away.” Zippy shook his head and laid his guns up on the plank table to clean them with a rag from his pocket.

  “Victor counted over one hundred head in three valleys around the house. We’re only taking the yearlings, not the breeding stock. Nobody will even know
or see or care. Almost a year now this ranch has been just sitting here in the sun. It’s like someone died and everyone up and left.”

  Stolter turned over a small stone in his hand as he listened. It was a familiar story. Brave souls came west to start fresh, build lives, find a home and raise a family. Most times when the man died, the women packed up the children and moved back east to where her kin were from. The West was a daunting, overwhelming force to be tamed and some backed away from the challenge. Somebody died, the family packed up and walked away from what had been started.

  Zippy loaded three bullets into his Colt. “Last time Victor was here, he dropped in three paint mustang mares and three stallions just to see if anyone would take them. I’d like to see if them mares are still grazing here or if someone up and took ‘em.”

  “Like loading the deck? Good idea.” Whelihan watched the lazy smoke drift up into the low hanging branches of the old cottonwood.

  “Anybody question what we’re doing out there, we say we just stopped by to pick up the mustangs. The black, white and red of that coat make them stand out against them solid color horses. They are carrying the Three Z brand so there’s no question.”

  Stolter had seen angry ranchers take the law into their own hands with horse thieves. A few years back, several ranchers had commissioned Whelihan to track down prized breeding stock and return the animals to their owners. The tall gunman had earned more than a few dollars to make sure that the thieves never stole another horse.

  Whelihan had hinted to Stolter that he had unfinished business still in the wilds of Colorado. It would be cause to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life if he didn’t track down who had shot the man. Whelihan still wanted to know who it was that got off a shot at him in the hidden valleys of the Rockies. The lean man lifted the coffee cup and took a sip listening to the sounds around him. Zippy asked for another coffee fill up. After the man moved away, the dark eyes looked at Whelihan.

  “You got bones of the skeletons rolling around in your eyes, Mister. You’re thinking about things that nobody can do nothing about. Time is the only weapon sometimes that you got.” Zippy wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin again and looked at the green eyes with gold flecks.