Nick Stolter

by Lee Anne Wonnacott

  “He had always liked staying up at that cabin. So him being buried up there where he was happy, that was alright with me. Damn waste of a man.” Stolter chewed on the cobbler.

  “I’m feeling kinda put out because he was my partner and all, and I really did expect him to come back to work and us continue on. He always did. I brought both his horses back with me. On the walk coming back to the ranch I realized that I’d have to hire on a hand to help me run horses up to Phoenix and Santa Fe. Now, I tend to ride my hands pretty hard. Keep them working. I don’t have time for slackers.” Southcott looked at Stolter.

  Beulah chuckled. “Griff would never make one of those lovely welcoming ladies at the church social. He’d be after you to get off the grass and don’t be making any work for him.” Stolter grinned. Another sharp crack of lightning made Stolter jump and Southcott chuckled.

  “About a month later, I’m in Red Springs delivering horses and there’s a message at the hotel for me. It’s from Mac,” said Southcott with a grin. “He said to leave twenty dollars in the envelope behind the hotel counter for him and he’d pick it up.”

  Stolter sat up straight and exclaimed, “Mac was alive? Who was in that grave?” Southcott held up his hand to calm down Stolter.

  “I asked the clerk at the hotel to describe the man who left the message. He described Mac right down to the ugly belt buckle he used to wear. Said the man left it over two weeks ago. Now I’m not someone to just toss out twenty dollars here and there. But it’s Mac.” Southcott swallowed the last mouthful and drank some coffee.

  “So I went over to the First National Bank and got out twenty dollars in paper money and had them fold it up like it was a letter. I left it for him and came back to the ranch.” Beulah picked up the plates and took them to the kitchen.

  “Week, maybe ten days later, he rides up to the corral and gets off. Skinny as a rail. He’s got a tremble in his hands. Turns out the person in the grave up at the cabin was one of the men who tried to kill him. There were two. He ran out of money tracking the other man down.” Southcott raised his eyebrows.

  “Something had happened to Mac in all this. He’d changed. Asked me to buy out his part of the business. Said he wanted to move to Los Angeles to be closer to his daughter and grandkids. I never figured him to be someone to sit in a rocking chair on the front porch.” Southcott grimaced as if in pain.

  “I asked him about Alton Camp and he said he wouldn’t live next to the grave of someone who tried to kill him. I guess I could understand about that,” said Southcott. “Never heard from him again.”

  The rain was coming down heavy on the roof. There was the sound of water puddling in the front of the house. There were still frequent blinding flashes of stabbing lightning that lit up the house followed by thunder that rattled the windows.

  Stolter shed his clothes in the bedroom and laid on top of the quilt. He watched the lightning strikes and listened to the thunder until his eyes grew heavy. It felt like he still had the entire length of the world in front of him before he would step onto the threshold. He remembered then how he used to hold Marianna in his arms during storms and that put a smile on his face as he drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 18

  At noon the next day, they saddled up and trotted the six miles to Tucson. From the stables, Stolter bought a pack saddle, another set of saddle bags and four lengths of rope. From the general store he bought another pair of jeans, socks and boots as well as a red plaid cotton shirt and a couple of handkerchiefs. Southcott loaded up a box with coffee, beans and beef jerky as staples. Beulah made sure to buy twenty pounds of apples in a burlap sack for the trip.

  At the Wells Fargo office there was a telegram waiting for him which puzzled him to no end.

  ‘Moving stock to new home at Flint Hills Ranch. Bring herd there. Kelly, Lola, Colton.’

  How would they have moved thirty head of cutting horse stock to the ranch at Flint Hills? Unless they had help. Maybe the attorney hired people to help. But why would the attorney have allowed them to move in the first place? Things were happening with the children that he did not understand.

  Stolter sent a telegram to the kids.

  ‘Arrived Tucson, heading for Flint Hills. Nick’.

  Southcott introduced Stolter to the owner of the store with steel bars across the windows. “Nick, this is Gary Reynolds. Gary, this is Nick Stolter.” The two men shook hands.

  “I’m riding to Southern California soon and I’m needing a few things,” Stolter said. Reynolds nodded and welcomed the three inside.

  Reynolds had run a gunsmith shop for over twenty years. Stolter bought a Colt. 45, gun belt and a Winchester rifle and ammunition for weapons. Southcott made him buy two sharp knives and a small machete.

  “So you taking the northwest route or are you going straight west then turning north?” Reynolds folded his arms across his broad chest and his blue eyes looked amused.

  “I don’t know,” said Stolter. He turned to Southcott. “Which route am I taking?”

  “The northwest route. Too many Mexican banditos on the straight west route. You’ll be safer going northwest,” said Southcott nodding.

  Reynolds leaned both arms on the counter and looked at Southcott. “Did you tell him about the Blue Springs waterhole? Might save him some time.”

  Southcott looked pained. “No, I forgot about that one. I’ll put it on the map for you, Nick.”

  Reynolds winked at Beulah. “Did you tell him about the shack at Willow Creek? It ain’t much for half a mile off the road but if he needs to stop for the night and rest, it might be handy.” Beulah laughed at the sparring travel experts.

  “No, that one escaped me, too. Why don’t you get a piece of paper and a pencil out, Gary, and start writing down all these places he is supposed to stop? It’ll take this young man a month to get to California.”

  The gunsmith laughed as he drew out a sheet of brown paper and used a small knife to sharpen a pencil. Beulah poured a hot cup of coffee and sat down on the stool at the end of the counter. For another ten minutes and another few sheets of paper the men bandied about the pros and cons of a variety of stopping places all the way to the border.

  Stolter shook Reynold’s hand after he folded up the sheets. “According to your map, it looks like I’ll actually be able to ride for at least a mile without stopping in some places.” They all laughed.

  Gary chuckled. “In my younger days, I drove a freight wagon on a route from Denver all the way to San Francisco. I had my favorite spots to camp out, to spend a couple of days and good friends along the way. When I get the itch, I’ll take a ride and think about the old times. As I get older, I like staying close to home.”

  The three walked out of the store and mounted up. They waved to the genial gunsmith and walked their horses out the north of town. Beulah and Southcott trotted side by side with Stolter hanging about thirty feet back. He thought about getting home and trying to find some semblance of a life without Marianna. His couple of days gone had turned into a month.

  ###

  For dinner that night Beulah warmed up the thick slabs of honeyed ham she had purchased in Tucson. Sweet potatoes and small ears of corn along with buttermilk biscuits and butter rounded out the meal. Nobody could fit in the tempting strawberry rhubarb cobbler and it was covered over on the counter.

  Stolter spread out the brown paper map on the big living room round table alongside the written information from Reynolds. Southcott brought over the big hurricane lamp that threw out a yellowish light. There were two wider rivers to watch out for in case of a heavy rain and a flash flood. Several of the stops piggybacked on top of an old stagecoach run so the road would be plenty wide.

  “If’n I was a younger man and in better shape, I’d most likely ride along with you on the drive, Nick.” Southcott’s voice was low and sincere. Stolter gave him a warm smile and gripped his arm.

  “I’ll be alright. But if you wake up one morning and find me sleeping out on the veranda, y
ou’ll know I ran from trouble.” Both men chuckled.

  Beulah wiped off her hands and stood next to the table looking at the map. “It’s been interesting knowing you these last few days, Nick. If you are ever back over in this area, stop in so we can hear how everything is going.”

  Stolter rubbed his tired eyes and folded the map. “Thank you kindly, Ma’am. Knowing you two nice people is about the only good thing I’ll remember from being here.”

  Stolter stepped outside to walk to the corral. As he leaned against the rail he watched to two buckskin fillies grazing. Home was so much nearer now, but the danger was increased. He had heard a multitude of stories about the Tucson to Los Angeles stage runs where crews, passengers and complete stages had disappeared. He tried to shake the thoughts from his mind.

  There was no one else to come to his aid. He had to do this himself. It was time for him to take charge and get it done. He’d lick his wounds behind the safety of his own gate later. That night he had twisted and turned in front of the mirror to look at the angry red scars of his wounds. They were still tender and sore. One showed a moist, bright read as if it didn’t want to heal. Using his fingers, he spread the cool salve over it. And then put a clean bandage over the top.

  From the safety and comfort of the warm bed, his eyes looked out the large window to the night sky. There were too many things to think over and try to resolve. He had no answers as he closed his eyes.

  ###

  Stolter sat up on the edge of the bed and tried to remember where he was. Brilliant streams of sunshine shone into the room and a flurry of dust mites floated in the warm air. He rubbed his face and combed his fingers back through his hair.

  From the pitcher of water on the small table, he poured water into the white basin and washed himself. He’d have to find a place to wash out his dirty shirt. Barefoot, he walked out to the main room. The smell of cooking foot and hot coffee enveloped him. Beulah smiled at him and gestured to a chair at the table. Southcott who was bare chested and sporting a fresh white bandages sat drinking hot coffee.

  The elder man lifted the coffee mug in salutation. “It’s good to be home.”

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to being home myself.” Beulah set down a plate of browned potatoes, three eggs, soft fragrant beans and four thick slices of bacon. Stolter’s eyes go big.

  He gave her a big grin. “I didn’t know you could cook like this, Miss Beulah!”

  Beulah winked and waved the spatula. “Well, I don’t do it often so enjoy it.”

  Stolter picked up a fork and began to eat. “How’d you come to have this place, Griff?”

  Southcott took another sip of the coffee. “This used to be the Grayson Ranch. My pa’s place is the ranch to the west of here. When Johnny Grayson died, his widow, Molly rode over to our place one day and asked my pa if he wanted to buy it. She decided to take the four kids and move back to St Louis, where she’s from.”

  “Turns out that Johnny told her he knew he was gonna die. He had came down with that pneumonia that everyone got that year. Johnny told Molly that if she decided to leave, to come over to pa so the land would stay with people he knew rather than go to city slicker strangers.” Southcott laughed as he took another bite.

  “My brother, Randall and his wife Cherie and their kids live over at my pa’s place and I moved in here to run this place. Been here ever since.” Southcott wiggled his eyebrows and smiled. “To me, it’ll always be the Grayson Ranch even though my name is on the deed as owner.”

  Beulah sat down and they all ate in silence for more than a few minutes. Stolter pushed back from the table and taking his coffee cup, went out onto the veranda. Southcott sat down on the wide bench near the horseman and rolled a cigarette.

  Stolter gestured out towards the two story barn in the distance. “My pa came over from Germany. The only one in his family that would take a risk, or so he said. At eighteen he’d been here for two year when he met my ma. She and her sister walked into the general store there in north New Orleans and he said after that he never looked at another woman.” Stolter laughed and took a drink of his coffee.

  “The first couple years were rough for them. They moved around some. My older brother was born over in Natchez, Louisiana and they had started up a little trading post. Thing started to get better for them. Two years later, they had gone back to New Orleans for a visit when my mother had me unexpectedly, a month early. Ma always said I came kicking and screaming into the world and haven’t shut up since.” Stolter laughed.

  “I’ve never known life without being hungry or feeling pain of some sort. I got the pox when I was three, almost died. The neighbor’s dog bit me something fierce and I almost bled to death before they could get me to a doctor. I’ve been run over by steers in a stampede, bucked off far too many horses and I tend to black out when I’ve drank too much. I’m sure there are things I’ve done when I’ve been drinking that I don’t know I’ve done.” Stolter sat up on the top rail and looked at Southcott.

  “I was nine when the pain in my left ear started up. I thought I had something in it, but ma looked, aunt looked and nothing. Went to the doctor and he said it was all swelled up and red down inside. The doc told ma to get some medicine over at the general store for my ear. But we went home without it. My folks didn’t have the money for it. The pain just about drove me crazy. I tried everything you could think of, water, oil, juice from a lemon, and it got worse.”

  Beulah settled on the bench alongside Southcott. “What did you do?”

  “I stopped going to school because I couldn’t concentrate on the studies. I picked fights just to take my mind off it. Little by little I noticed that I couldn’t hear out of that ear any more. I begged my folks to help me, tried to tell them how much it hurt but they did nothing. They had other kids to worry about. Told me to ignore it and it would go away. My ma prayed to God to heal me. I felt like they had abandoned me, like I was still that kicking and screaming baby ma talked about.”

  Southcott said, “You seem okay now. How did you heal up?”

  “One of the boys I went to school with, Lucien Bell, lived down in the bayou. I used to beat up the punks and bullies that made him miserable. He always told me to come visit him so I headed to his place. After an hour of being there, his ma asked me why I kept rubbing my ear. I had nothing to lose so I told her. She was French creole and black and had family medicines that she used. She mixed up some God awful smelling yellowish goo and shoved it in my ear and made me lay down for an hour.”

  Beulah asked, “What was in it?”

  “I don’t know. But it did the trick. I started hearing again that day. By the next morning my ear was still tender but I could hear faintly out of it. I didn’t know that Mrs. Bell had sent word to my folks that I was staying with them while I healed up. Lucien and I bummed around for almost a week and one day Mrs. Bell announced it was time for me to go home. They took me as far as center of New Orleans and gave me two dollars to get back home.” Stolter paused and looked at his coffee cup for a silent moment.

  “Except it wasn’t home for me anymore. I’d seen how other families lived. I knew how to work hard and put money in my pocket and food in my belly. It felt like a death sentence walking back into the small house. My pa tried to strike me for running off like that and I caught his fist before he could hit me. My ma just sat next to the fire crying. I packed everything I wanted, threw the saddle on my horse and walked off the property. I was eleven years old.”

  Southcott looked off into the distance and said, “Every family is different. Most parents love their children and are willing to do just about anything for their health and happiness.”

  Stolter cleared his throat and set the coffee cup onto the rough wooden table. “I’d like to get a good look at them horses before I get on the road with them.” Southcott nodded.

  “I need to get supplies along the way, too. I’m thinking that I’ll make ten stops on the way home, try to make fifteen miles each day. Griff, you know
that road a lot better than me. I’ve got Gary’s map of where I can stop the horses. I was hoping you could mark down where I should avoid, places where you know I shouldn’t be. Maybe you could work on that while I check over the horses?”

  Southcott stood up. “Sure, Nick. I can do that. Beulah, would you help me find my paper and ink. I think it’s in the cabinet in the main room.” They walked through the front door and Stolter stepped down into the yard.

  ###

  Straight up twelve noon, Stolter rode out of Southcott Ranch. Beulah and Southcott had stood on the porch and waved as the horses fell into line by Stolter’s whistle. They were waiting to see if the big Mexican mustang stayed with Southcott on the ranch or continued on with Stolter. The horse tossed his head as he trotted by the house and was the last onto the road.

  Four miles went by fast as his thoughts drifted. At different times, the feisty black yearlings loped alongside him and then dropped back. When Stolter twisted around in the saddle, he saw the big horse twenty yards back running along. It must not have been the right place for the mustang to stay. The Mexicans would know the reason why the animal was on the run west.

  The small creek gurgled right across the road and he stopped the herd to drink. He got them back up to a gallop and five miles went by. He went through a small community with a church and saw an afternoon picnic where folks waved at him as he galloped by. As good as he was feeling, he was bound and determined to get farther along the road.

  It was another hour gone by when Stolter reined his horse in up on a slight rise above the road, taking in the building below. It was an old stagecoach structure surrounded on the east side with hedgehog cacti with brilliant pink flowers. The station was nestled like a sleeping behemoth its back up against wide jagged rust colored canyon walls. One old cottonwood tree leaned against the southwest corner with heavy branches splayed out dropping leaves and twigs onto the roof.