Several of the women had cried in the gray light earlier. Chita had hugged Stolter as hard as she could with her small arms and kissed his cheek. She had tears in her eyes. Cook had packed enough food for ten people. For a moment, when Stolter’s horses assembled in the driveway, it seemed like Icksy was walking along with them. Then the big mustang stopped next to Emmie and pawed the ground twice and tossed his head and whinnied.
He had been welcomed into a unique family, shared a moment in their lives and allowed them into his. He felt richer and yet more alone. Again, he made the silent promise to himself to never stray from his family again no matter how strong the call to the trail.
Nine miles had loped by and the waterhole was deserted. River willows leaned out over the water on the opposite bank. Flying insects skimmed the water surface. Here he found more buck horn cholla cacti with those fragrant velvety yellow petals shot with purple. There was a bit of beauty in every stop, every slope, and every vista.
As he watched the horses drink, his fingers explored his left side. The wound still made a stabbing pain from time to time but he was healing. When he looked at his hands there was a slight tremor but he shoved that aside for being hungry and tired. All the time was the sound and agony of rage and despair in the back of his mind over Marianna. He was counting on Kelly, Lola and Colton to help soothe the canyon-like void that he now had in his life.
###
The map had a mark for a small town up ahead. A half mile farther on the north side of the road stood the little community of Cactus Verde with its ramshackle assembly of buildings. Corrals and lean-tos that sort of got thrown together by accident had become a town for the locals.
Two hundred yards outside of the main town stood a wooden one story building that might be a stables and blacksmith shop. A large corral with seven foot high rails, three water troughs, and stanchions stuffed with clover hay stood south of the building. When Stolter pulled up to the corral he saw the posts were six by six railroad ties with two of them banded together with an iron band.
A hunched-shouldered older man with blue gray watery eyes and gnarled fingers limped out to the corral.
“Howdy, mister. You selling horses? You got quite the assortment here,” said the man with a grating rasp.
“No, Sir. I was hoping to put them in your corral for an hour or two while I get some supplies. They’re young ones and tend to get into trouble if they’re not minded. What do you charge for keeping them?” Stolter dipped his bandana in the cool water and wiped off his face. He could see the teeth chewing on something while the old man ran up the figures.
“Mike Goodson. You don’t want ‘em rubbed down or the feet checked?”
“Howdy, Mr. Goodson. Nick Stolter. No, no, nothing like that. They’ll drink the water and eat your hay. The fewer people running hands over them, the better off they are.” Stolter gestured to the herd of feisty horses.
“Your corral is built mighty strong, Mr. Goodson. You expecting elephants?”
Goodson laughed. “Well, young feller, you never know what a wily cowboy will bring in off the trail. I’ve had mules, buffalo, longhorns, horses of all shapes and sizes. I’m sure that there’ll come a day when a big herd of house cats come tearing into town and I’ll be ready.”
Stolter laughed for several moments. “I know a few house cats back in New Orleans that would tear a dog to shreds. I wouldn’t want to run that herd.” Goodson wiped his eyes while he chuckled.
“Five dollars for the lot of ‘em.” Stolter dropped several coins into the outstretched leathery palm. .” Goodson unhooked the swing gate and Stolter pushed the herd into the big corral. Goodson peered at the horses with a skeptical eye. Three ropes and two latches later the animals milled around inside the roomy corral.
“Looks like one of them yearlings’ gotta bad cut on its hind leg. You want me to get Brent over here to take a look? Shame to have a good looking horse lost over a wound like that.”
Stolter shook his head. “I’ll tend to it before I get back on the road. Which saloon has cold beer?”
It was a guttural, coughing laugh that came out of the weathered face. “Only saloon in Cactus Verde is Jack Molly’s place. Three Points. Yonder. Around back of Molly’s is Walker’s Emporium. You might find your supplies there.” Stolter touched the brim on his hat with his fingers in a mock salute to the old man and walked across the street chuckling.
###
At the end of the bar, Stolter put a dollar on the smooth, shiny wood and asked for a beer. The commotion in the corner brought his attention around for a moment. Stolter shook his head with a chuckle turned around to find the hand of the bartender.
“Jack Molly, Bartender.”
“Nick Stolter, cutting horse trainer.” He nodded his head towards the corner.
“Your regulars? From the outside, your establishment looks higher class than the likes of them.” Molly sneered and harrumphed.
“The three of ‘em rolled in a couple of hours ago.” A tall, skinny man with deep set eyes let out a deep breath and turned away towards the bar. From the mirror, Stolter could see the two men at the corner table talking and laughing at each other. The table held three empty beer mugs and a whisky bottle. Stolter frowned as he realized that they looked familiar.
“I dunno, but they’re a couple of loudmouths,” Molly swabbed the bar top with a damp rag. He hung the white towel on a narrow metal bar to dry and poured himself a white mug of hot coffee.
The tall lean man held out a hand to Stolter. “Brent Terwilliger, rancher, builder, too-bit no account man about the town.” Molly chuckled and refilled the short glass with amber liquid.
“Nick Stolter. You must be the Brent that Goodson told me about, unless you got kin running around here somewhere.”
Terwilliger leaned his body against the bar resting his arm along the shiny wood, looking across the saloon. “You come far?” Stolter shook his head.
“North of Santa Fe. Been on the road for more than a couple of days now. Met some good friends, ran into some bad luck, caught a couple lucky breaks.” Stolter sighed. “I got word in Yuma that my wife came down sick with the pneumonia and died a couple weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Nick.” Molly refilled the beer with a concerned look.
“My oldest girl is fifteen, then my girl, Lola who will be ten in a few days. My son, Colton is almost nine now. I have no idea on how they are getting along. I figured neighbors were helping them out. There’s good people in the town.” Stolter took a couple big swallows of the cold beer.
“People watch out for kids. I’d think your kids know who they can trust.” Terwilliger lifted his glass in a short salute.
“To your health and luck getting home, Nick.” Stolter smiled and lifted the beer glass.
“Thank you, sir.” Stolter had just set the heavy mug down when he heard the chair scrape against the wood floor.
A thin, wiry man leaned back in his chair at the round table and had to catch himself before he toppled over. The older, grimy man picked up his saddle bags and in a gruff voice said, “Spike, keep your nose clean. Remember we got work to do.”
Spike righted his chair and then grimaced, waving his hand to dismiss the other man. The first man strode through the swinging doors, pulling his hat down.
“Barkeep, another beer!” The belligerent dirty blonde man stood up and staggered his way to the bar. Stolter glanced and saw a thin bearded profile with a thin white scar from the ear down to the curve of the chin. The horseman frowned trying to remember where he’d seen that.
“And I want a clean glass this time!” Molly glared at the man and Stolter saw the vein pulse in the barkeep’s jaw as he set his teeth. “The last one I got looked like it had lipstick on it.”
Jack Molly slammed the beer glass down on the bar and a doubled up right fist backhanded the fool across the mouth, smashing his lips. Molly was a big and very powerful man, but the blonde man while was lighter in weight, he was almost a
s tall and a man with that wiry tendon strength. The force of the blow knocked the man’s head back and his eyes flew open. That was when Stolter recognized him.
“Wait! Wait!” Stolter took a tense step towards the bloodied lip.
“Check his Colt. On the underside of the barrel is number 62, the year I married my wife. If that’s my gun, this man jumped me the other side of Tucson over a week ago.”
Terwilliger had moved over closer to the door and the next click was the hammer on his Colt revolver. The bloodshot eyes of man at the corner table were wide as he raised his hands.
Just then Molly brought out a double barreled shotgun and drew back one of the hammers. “Go check his gun, Nick. Just stay out of the line of my fire. I’m not in the mood to be moppin’ up blood today.”
Stolter sidled over to the blonde man. “The man that was with you that day. Big, heavy gut, fat hands. He called you some odd name, like Riley or Rufus or something.”
The drunk man in the corner with his hands up, chuckled. “Oh, that there’s Rafe.”
“Shut up, George.” Stolter emptied the one revolver and set it on the bar.
“You tried to take my horses, but they were too smart for you.” Stolter lifted the heavier Colt and inspected it. He laid it on the bar and pushed it to Molly.
“1862. Wedding present from my wife, Marianna. May she rest in peace.” Stolter pivoted and brought around a right fist slamming it into Rafe’s left jaw. The man dropped like a stone.
Rafe got up to his knees, shaking the fog out of his head and looked around to get his bearings. He lowered a shoulder and jabbed a right up under Stolter’s chin, forcing his head back then a quick left and right into the ribs, and shoved him off. Two other patrons hurried around to the backside of the bar to get out of the way. Rafe charged him like a bull with its head down with an ugly sneer on his face. Stolter pushed himself away from the bar and rolled free, smashed a wicked short right that tore Rafe’s ear into a bloody mess.
Stolter shook the stabbing pain in his right hand, flexing his fingers. Rafe fell, rolling over and struggled to get up but he fell to one side, panting and heaving. Stolter walked back to the bar and slugged down his beer.
Molly yelled to the other man in the corner. “Get your friend and get him out of here before we do some real damage.” The wobbly-legged man dragged Rafe out of the saloon.
“I’ll probably be looking over my shoulder the rest of the way home now. At least I’ve got my gun back.” Stolter pressed the damp rag to his reddened hand. Molly nodded and poured him a shot of whiskey to go along with another beer.
Stolter had drank down his beer. “I need to get some food in me before I forget my manners.”
Molly gestured to the north. “Go out the door and cut down the alley and go around back. You’ll come to Walker’s place. On the other side of it is the restaurant. Laurie should have dinner ready about now.”
Stolter put two dollars on the bar and picked up his Colt. “Good to meet you, Jack Molly, Mr. Terwilliger.” He put his hat on and walked out onto the porch.
As he walked up the narrow alley between the building Stolter felt annoyed with himself. He had lost his temper and thrown judgement off to the side when he had revenge in his hands. He hated himself for losing control yet a piece of his confidence was back that he’d bested the blonde Rafe.
Stolter had no illusions about who he was or what he was doing. After leaving the Mexicans it had become a roiling urge to ride to home and safety. He’d lost his better judgment for a few minutes and he told himself to be smarter than that. He had to be patient and smart if he was to get there alive.
Two buildings down there came the faint sound of dishes rattling together, voices and a drifting scent of food. As Stolter walked past the general supply store he saw it, too, was closed with the draperies drawn over the windows and the chain and lock in place.
When Stolter stepped in through the open double doors to the high-ceilinged room he saw round wooden tables and chairs scattered about the room. There was maybe a dozen people eating, chattering and reading the newspaper around the room. The far wall was a series of long tables and benches. A tall, thin girl scurried past with two plates heaping with steaming food.
“Find a seat, mister. We’ll be right over to you.” She flashed a smile and then hustled along.
Near the window he put his hat on one of the chairs and sat down to a small vase of flowers, a cloth napkin and two clear glass salt and pepper shakers. A cup and saucer appeared at his elbow and he moved back a bit as black coffee poured into the vessel.
“Good morning!” Blonde curly hair piled on top of blue eyes and a white smile. The young girl sat the pot on the edge of the table. “My name is Laurie. Are you ready for breakfast or are you waiting on someone?”
“Hello, Laurie. My name is Nick. No, I’m not waiting on anyone. What do you have for breakfast?” Nick smiled at her.
“This morning we have baked ham, eggs, country home potatoes, pancakes and sliced apples. We also have sliced steak in gravy with biscuits, beans and yams.” She pushed a strand of hair that had fallen down. Nick gave her his order and then watched her scurry back to the kitchen.
He looked around the room. Several lone men in jackets, white shirts and bolo ties drank coffee with their eyes down on assorted papers. In the south corner was a heavier woman with three small children chattered arguing about food portions.
The platter of food slid onto the matt in front of him and Laurie filled up the coffee cup. With a smile she was off to another table. Several couples came in, two of the men paid their bill and left. Stolter worked on the tasty ham and soft pancakes.
He held up his napkin to get Laurie’s attention who nodded from across the room. She was carrying several empty dishes when she made her way to him. “I’m head west later today. Can I get some food in a tin to go along with me?”
“Yes, Sir. We usually put sliced steak, beans, gravy and biscuits into a small tin pan for the fire. It’s three dollars because we have to charge you for the tin, sir.” She smiled.
“Can you tell me when Walker’s opens up? I’d like to get a few things before I leave town.” Stolter wiped his mouth with the soft napkin. Laurie nodded towards the heavier man near the kitchen who was drinking coffee with a newspaper.
“Mr. Sullivan owns Walker’s Emporium. Most times when he is done with his breakfast, he goes over to clean up and get ready for the day. I’ll let him know he has a customer waiting.” She smiled.
Just as Nick took a sip of the coffee, there was a voice at his side. “Laurie said your name was Nick? I’m Jeff Sullivan. I own the emporium next door. I’m headed that way if you want to come on over.” Over six foot, curly black shorter hair and a broad forehead over brown eyes, the store owner had that calm, knowledgeable face of someone who had weathered more than one storm.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. I’ll be over directly.” Stolter nodded and swallowed. Sullivan nodded and tucked the newspaper under his arm as he left the restaurant.
After Stolter signaled for a refill of his cup, he glanced around the room and found several pairs of eyes looking away. Folks sometimes did that with strangers so he thought nothing of it. After Stolter made his food arrangement with Laurie he paid the bill and left. The sky had brightened with the bottoms of the clouds dusted with gray. Two noisy crows were perched on the pointed roof of the shop down the street.
One of the store doors was propped open and when Stolter knocked, a voice called out. “Come on in, Mr. Stolter.” It was a deep room with wood plank floors and thirty foot long shelves and cases and three mirrors mounted on the wall behind the counter. Sullivan poured a small glass of whiskey as Stolter put his hat on the smooth, gleaming wood.
“I’m on my way home to California and there’s no telling where I’ll get another chance for supplies.” Stolter rubbed his eyes. Sullivan poured himself a drink.
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.”
“How far have
you come? We get a lot of travelers that come through.”
“I helped out a couple of friends in Tucson for the last few days. I’m head home now. I figure I’ve got about one hundred fifty miles to go.” Stolter watched the man start folding a stack of thin, white cotton towels.
“I feel the same way when I head for Santa Fe. I’ve got a sister over there that I ride over to see once a month. She married a fella raises goats and pigs. She’s happy and I don’t stay for longer than three days so I’m happy.” He laughed and winked. “What do you do at home? You raise beef or what?”
Stolter watched the man lift bottles and clean under them on the counter. “No, we breed, raise and train cutting horses. My wife was a champion cutting rider and I met her at a rodeo. She beat me for the blue ribbon. Our oldest daughter learned to train the colts and fillies and she’s a natural at it, like her ma.” Stolter became quiet and took a long drink.
Sullivan had glanced at the horseman in the mirrors a couple of times. When he turned around he squinted with a frown and leaned on the bar. “Something bad happened while you were away from home, I’d say by the look on your face.” Stolter averted his eyes and nodded.
“Aside from a cold and sniffles, I can’t remember Marianna, my wife, ever being sick. She was always healthy and hearty. The only thing I can figure is that she worried herself over me being away and the pneumonia came and settled into her lungs. She died over a month ago. There was a telegram in Yuma waiting for me at the Wells Fargo office.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Nick.” Sullivan lifted a stack of papers up onto the counter and began sorting them into piles.
“Thank you for that, Jeff.” Stolter drank down the rest of the shot. “I’m going to need bandages and some ointment for cuts and scrapes. I’ve been getting bad headaches, too.”
Sullivan nodded and went into the back room. A few minutes later, he came out with two clear glass pint bottles. “Two dollars each, as I won’t get the bottles back. Molly puts it up for me.” Stolter moved around the store setting his socks, a shirt, two bandannas and a pair of gloves on the counter. From his pocket he put the money on the bar.
Nick Stolter Page 22
