Southcott asked, “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand it.” Stolter shrugged.
Beulah leaned her elbows onto her knees and put her chin on her hands. “So what happened to Johnny Stefano and Richard Bright?”
“Ginger and I were sitting in Beatrice Springs having a beer, just relaxing, when Stefano walked in and ordered a beer at the bar. I didn’t even recognize him. He had worn his long straight black hair swept back off his forehead. Liked to wear a pomade, slick look. That last day I saw him, his hair was completely white and his brown eyes were gray and watery. I saw he had a shake to his hand when he lifted the beer.”
Stolter said, “We asked him to come sit with us and catch up on things. The first snow of the season had hit the day before, but Stefano was dripping sweat and took off his duster when he sat down. We’d been shooting the breeze for about half an hour when Stefano blurted out that Bright lost his mind.”
“I asked him what he meant. I asked him if Bright was still living.”
“Stefano said that Bright had taken the train to Chicago to see some special doctor. Bright had started seeing the image of his late wife more and more often. Sometimes when he’d walk in the door of a hotel and see her. He would see her out riding the road and once on a ferry in Mississippi. Then he started hearing voices in his head when there was no people around. Sometimes old people get that way, but Bright was only forty years old. He never saw or heard from Bright again.” Stolter shrugged lifting up his hands.
“So whatever happened to Johnny Stefano?” Beulah asked.
“He told us that day we saw him in Beatrice Springs, that he was headed for Tucson. Life on the road wasn’t the same without Bright. Plus, there was something about him taking over a family ranch out there.”
Southcott sat up, startled. “There is supposed to be a big ranch out south of Tucson, right where the desert starts to climb up the Shaking Dark Mountains. That’s about a hundred miles out south. It was told to me that ranch was deserted, haunted. I didn’t pay much mind to it.”
“Here’s the sad part. Stefano was in the First National Bank in Tucson signing the deed and papers and a couple of outlaws came in to rob it. The newspapers said it was a ricochet bullet that struck him in the head and killed him. There was a big write up in the papers on it. Some other people got shot and died during the robbery. Stefano was about to settle down and live on a ranch happily ever after, so to speak.”
Southcott squeezed Beulah’s hand. “I remember reading about that shoot up in the First National. Some Pinkerton man was in the bank that day and was wounded. There was a man and his wife killed in that robbery, too. They left three young girls, I remember.”
Stolter stood up and brushed off his jeans. He tossed the last drops of coffee off into the brush. “Stefano was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Beulah and Southcott both shook their heads at the same time. “Every time we went through that spot, both of us remembered what had happened. But five miles past, we would forget about it. I can remember it clearly now, though.”
“I’m going to walk over and check on the horses. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Beulah waved him off.
In the night, Stolter had tried to listen to the crickets chirping, but the sadness in his mind and the wounds on his body refused to let him rest. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked to find Beulah offering drops of laudanum. With a quivering tongue, he tasted the bitter liquid and forced himself to keep his eyes closed. After a few minutes he loosened his clenched fists and fell into sleep.
Chapter 12
Stolter woke with a start, disoriented as to where he was at and then relaxed as he remembered. He sat up and rubbed his eyes in the graying light. He saw Beulah was still asleep wrapped up in the blanket in between two rocks on the far side of the fire. Southcott stood gingerly leaning against a tree stump, smoking. He motioned for Stolter to be quiet. Stolter nodded in acknowledgment.
Stolter laid back with his hands behind his head and looked up at the gray sky shot with streaks of pink. Perhaps another nineteen miles to Tucson. He would stay overnight at Southcott’s ranch with him and Beulah. He’d have to untie one of the mane pouches to see if it was gold and then buy another saddle horse and supplies enough to get himself and his horses back to Yucca Valley. That was if he didn’t run into more trouble.
“You must be feeling better if you can stand up to smoke, Griff.” Beulah had sat up and was busy twisting her into a bun at the back of her head.
“Yes, sleep does a body good. I woke twice in the night hearing animals out in the brush. My bandage is dry so I figure the bleeding has stopped. I just got to take it easy.” Southcott gestured with his cigarette towards the wash.
“Horses been nickering out there for about an hour now. They’re chatting about something,” he said.
With a glance at Stolter he said, “You might want to mosey on out there and see what the commotion is all about. I’m afraid it’s too far a walk for me.”
Stolter wiped off his feet and pulled on his socks and then his boots. He ran his fingers back through his hair and put on his hat. He missed his gun belt. He’d have to buy another weapon in Tucson before he would feel safer.
“Let me go take a look. I’ll be back in a while.” He nodded to the older man.
Stolter hurried up to the road and trotted south about fifty yards and then on the opposite side ducked down into the trees and threaded his way out to the grassy area. He could see the big hammerhead, the gray and the paint grazing on the north side. Stolter clucked his tongue twice and the roan’s head came up and the gelding nickered.
Two other buckskins head came up, too. Stolter frowned as there had been three buckskins in the original ten. He was still missing the four blacks. Stolter walked out into the grass about twenty yards and listened. To the south was a high-pitched whinny and crashing, breaking wood. Stolter broke into a run through the grass and then up a small hill into some trees.
The lead rope on one of the black yearlings was tangled up tight in brush under a tree. The horse’s eyes showed white in panic as he thrashed and reared to get free. The two chestnut colts stood looking at the tangled black. Stolter held out his hands to try to calm the young horse. He took out his knife and eased the blade under the bloodied rope on the neck. His other hand searched under the mane for the tiny pouch. When Stolter tugged on the pouch, it fell off into his hand and he stowed it into his pants pocket. It took a few more minutes to calm the horse so he could cut it free. The skittish black yearling reared back and ran a short distance away and tossed his head and nickered.
It was the same lead rope that Stolter had put on the horse back at the clearing, if a little more shredded. It didn’t look like anyone else had tried to rope him. Stolter clucked his tongue twice and headed for the grassy area. When Stolter came into view the big hammerhead whinnied and trotted over to touch noses to the young black.
The black yearling added up to eight of his ten that included the unknown white stockings gray mare. He was still missing his own horse and Beulah had lost her gray mare in the robbery. And to say nothing of the two mares taken from Southcott when he was first robbed. He grimaced as he felt the shame of the loss. If he would have stayed at the ranch, none of this would have happened. If he’d done as Marianna had said and used her father’s money, he wouldn’t be here right now. Stolter knelt down onto one knee and picked up a handful of dirt as he watched the horses grazing.
He’d have to accept the loss and move on. There was nothing more he could do. After one more glance at the grazing horses, Stolter walked back up the path and onto the road to find both Texas Rangers waiting for him.
###
“We need a word, Mr. Stolter.” Inside Stolter a groan was building. The morning was too young for such a serious countenance.
“Did you bring coffee? And a pot for coffee?” Stolter fought down the irritation as he walked past the horses. They followed him up t
he hard packed dirt road then stepped off onto the rocky trail. “We’ve got very little with which to entertain the Texas Rangers on this beautiful morning.”
After they had dismounted and handed coffee over to Beulah, Elliot explained what they had found. Worthington went to talk to Southcott over to one side of the clearing.
“It’s good to know that Mr. and Mrs. Lambert and their daughter will all be just fine. Mrs. Vallarian, you most likely saved that man’s life with your stitching and care. They send their thanks,” Elliot said as he nodded once in acknowledgement.
Beulah nodded as she looked up from boiling water in the pan. “Thank you for letting me know, sir.”
The Ranger cleared his throat as he looked with narrowed eyes at Stolter. “Mr. Stolter, I believe you described your horse as a buckskin palomino gelding with one hind leg white sock and the single letter “R” on an inverted half-moon. You called it a rocking R, is that correct?” Stolter frowned and nodded.
“About five miles to the northeast from here is an abandoned ranch and corral. We found what we think is your horse there in the corral. He’s not injured that we could find and it looks like whoever was riding him tossed the saddle onto the ground. He’s got water, but no food. There’s been nobody around that house for many months now so I’d say that someone left your horse there and took off.” Elliot pulled off a glove and accepted a tin cup of coffee from Beulah. She gave another to Stolter who thanked her.
Stolter’s eyes brightened and tried not to glare at the Ranger. “Can I go get him or do you want him left there?”
“We’ll accompany you back to get your horse. You still don’t have a and if anyone means you harm, well, you have no way of fighting them off,” Worthington said as he walked to the fire with Southcott.
Southcott said, “It’s a long shot but my roan might let you up on his back. It might be a better thing to catch that stockings gray mare out there and throw the saddle on her to go get your horse.”
Stolter nodded. “Call your hammerhead, Griff. I’ll try it with him. He helped me get one of my blacks untangled from the brush on the other side of that gully. He acted friendly enough to me so I’ll take a chance.”
Southcott turned towards the road and gave out a loud two-tone whistle twice. “Gentlemen, you might want to step over to the side as he’s gonna come running.”
Both Rangers moved over nearer to Beulah and after a few minutes they heard the heavy hooves of several running horses.
Beulah burst out laughing as the roan, the gray mare, both of the chestnuts and the black yearling tried to squeeze into the little camp. She reached down into the sack and brought out several apples. With a few cuts of the knife, she severed the fruit for the horses.
The Rangers gave the horseman a suspicious glare. “These your horses, Mr. Stolter?”
The horseman shifted his weight to one foot and gave them a matter-of-fact look. “My bill of sale is in the saddlebags that were on my horse. I don’t suppose you saw those saddle bags anywhere, did you?”
“Not that I recall. We can look a little closer when we get back out there, though.” Worthington nodded to Elliot.
Stolter repeated Whelihan’s explanation and story without mentioning the gunman. It was apparent that both Rangers doubted this explanation.
Worthington said, “There’s more going on here than I care to know right now. Let’s get Mr. Stolter’s horse recovered and then I need to file a report on this whole matter.” He turned around and looked at Southcott.
“Griff, would you happen to know where abouts is the nearest telegraph?” Southcott looked to the side, opened his mouth and frowned. He started to shake his head.
Beulah stood up and wiped her hands on a cloth. “That ranch where Nick’s horse is at, that’s the Goldeneye Ranch. Or rather, what’s left of it. Charlie died the year before my husband died. Kathleen walked away from the ranch, packed up everything that wasn’t nailed down and moved back to South Carolina where her kin are from.”
Worthington and Elliot stared at the woman. She continued. “In the ranch house, just inside the front door on the left side, you’ll find a loose floorboard. You’ll have to lift it out like a little heavy door on a leather hinge. Down in the space is a telegraph machine.”
Elliot started to say something and Beulah hushed him. “Take that machine with you when you walk out to the corner of the barn. Now walk due north up and over the hill. You’ll come to a small shack sheltered by a big weeping willow tree next to a spring. Inside the shack are the wires that attach to the telegraph machine.” Beulah smiled and took a sip of the coffee.
“How do you know this?”
“Who built that shack?”
“What is that telegraph doing under the floor?”
“When did Mrs. Goldeneye move away?” Both Rangers started firing questions one after the other.
Beulah tossed her hand as if to swat a fly away. She raised her eyebrows once or twice as the questions poured out of the Rangers about the telegraph.
“All I will say is that Charlie Goldeneye conducted certain business where he needed a telegraph for his communications. My husband helped Charlie build that small cabin. I and my husband, to my knowledge, was never part nor party to any of those communications.”
Worthington narrowed his dark eyes. “That’s the way a lawyer would speak, Ma’am.”
“Yes, well, I still have those words memorized from an attorney who made me learn them just that way.” Beulah smirked. The Rangers once again poured out question after question. Beulah stopped them.
“Gentlemen, you are keeping a perfectly good horse waiting. And I will thank you to return that telegraph to the place where you found it.” Southcott and Stolter chuckled watching Beulah dodge and parry with the Rangers.
Southcott held the roan steady while Stolter saddled him. It took an apple from Beulah before the roan allowed the cowboy to mount up. The Rangers led the way out to the road and then they moved into a gallop east.
###
Two of the boards and one rotten fence post was laying cockeyed on the ground when the three men arrived at the Goldeneye Ranch. The buckskin was fifty yards away grazing in a patch of green grass and lifted his head chewing a mouthful when they approached. The hammerhead nickered and the buckskin replied.
Situated on a gentle rise to the north, the long low ranch house had seen better days. The veranda roof had fallen to the porch in several places. All the windows were broken. The front door leaned against the doorjamb. It was four bedrooms with a big kitchen, a floor to ceiling stone fireplace on the east wall and a full width back porch. Stolter clenched his jaw thinking about how this house had been a home and remembered his own back in that green valley.
The saddle, bridle and blanket had been dropped into the dirt next to the corral. Stolter looked around to see if the saddlebags were left but they were gone. A quick tour through the ranch house found where someone had slept overnight a while back, but not in the last few days. Parts of the wood floor in the barn were scuffed up and scraped as if someone had worked on something there.
The telegraph device was under the flooring where Beulah had said it rested. Worthington made a couple of indistinguishable comments to Elliot while Stolter wiped down the buckskin and saddled him.
Stolter pulled the saddle cinch tight. “If you’d send word to my family in Yucca Valley, let them know I’m alive and coming home, I’d appreciate it. They don’t need to know about any of this trouble, just that I’m working my way back home.”
Elliot shaded his eyes from the sun, squinting. “I can do that for you, Mr. Stolter. Thank you for your cooperation and patience in this matter.”
Stolter looked at Worthington. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to get back to camp.” Worthington waved a hand to dismiss him.
“Safe travels, Mr. Stolter.” The horseman climbed up on his buckskin and clucked his tongue at the hammerhead. Both horses moved into a trot down the long driveway.
> Chapter 13
Once he had gotten on the road, he urged the horse into a trot and was surprised to find the hammerhead trotting alongside. Stolter had ridden about a mile when the hammerhead whinnied and veered off down a side trail to the south. It was a steeper trail and the man let his buckskin pick the path down through a tangle of brush. After about thirty feet the trail broadened out to a clearing next to a creek. Stolter dismounted while both horses drank.
The hard packed dirt around the creek had been chewed up by horse hooves. A lot of hooves had pounded through there in the last few days. Stolter made his way west along the creek looking for a place to cross. There was none. He had been looking at the rushing water when he heard the hammerhead nicker and saw both horses had stopped drinking and were looking north.
Stolter walked back to the buckskin and patted his neck while he listened. He could hear the sounds of splintering and cracking wood, but no voices. The narrow footpath curved around a fallen oak tree, past a couple of old agave cacti and then went down through a wash where the creek became broad and shallow. The breaking wood sounds had stopped and Stolter stood trying to listen above the water. Whoever had been there had gone quiet and with Stolter not having a weapon, he started back towards the horses.
Just before he started the climb back up the path, Stolter stopped and looked back at the trees and brush on the other side of the creek. He took in a deep breath and pushed out three loud short whistles and waited. After a minute, the breaking, crashing, splintering wood started up again and this time he heard the nickers.
Stolter waded into the creek and started pulling the brush away dotted with tiny orange flowers. Using just his knife, he started hacking away at the head-high tangled mass. He could hear horses stomping and snorting on the other side. After pulling a dead cactus back out of the way, Stolter stepped through into a makeshift corral.
Two of his missing black yearlings still had short leads ropes around their necks. There were three tall paint stallions and a chestnut mare that milled around looking at him. Temporary fence posts and some crude boards built right up to the brush had kept the horses penned in. Stolter crept around to the edge and tried to see if there was a guard or anyone lounging nearby. He tugged the rope loop holding the gate shut and lifted the gate so it rested back against the fence giving the horses room to escape.
Nick Stolter Page 12
