Nick Stolter

by Lee Anne Wonnacott

  “Two men and one woman in a hotel room?” Clark raised his eyebrows. Moss smirked.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought until she shot Beadle with his own gun. At least in the darkness I’m pretty sure it was her that shot him. Might have been that man yonder with the horses. At any rate, Beadle is dead.”

  Clark looked out over the scrub, felt a slight breeze and wiped his face with the ragged handkerchief. He had cultivated the knack for separating unsuspecting folks from their hard-earned money. Over the years, he had a couple of close calls and always managed to go left when the bullet went right.

  “I’ve never known you to get caught up in revenge, boss. It’s dangerous. People do stupid things when they go out for revenge,” Clark said with a note of caution in his voice.

  Moss tossed the last bit of his cigarette into the sand and crushed it under his boot. His eyes squinted at Clark for a moment, who had been successful at this over a dozen times. He was the veteran of the crew and was looking to make good money on this run in California.

  “That’s not it, Clark. You’ve always been a damned good judge of horseflesh. You got a good up close look at them down there while he was in the trading post. You need to tell me now if we should go after that herd and make some money or bide our time and wait for something else.”

  Clark took out the makings and rolled a cigarette in his stubby fingers. “That man down there is a good judge, too. Those are some prime, feisty yearlings he’s moving. Like I said, we’re gonna need a buyer close by. The only one I know is Swanee up at Red Bluff. That’s fifteen miles north up through that Smiling Bear Canyon. And that ride gives me the heebie jeebies.”

  Moss adjusted his hat. “Only thing I can figure is that he bought them horses in Tucson. Somebody had ‘em on a ranch because they weren’t in the corral in the town. Mount up. I wanna see which direction he’s taking them horses. It might take us a day to get ‘em up to Swanee but it will be easy money.”

  Moss swung up into the saddle and his jittery appaloosa danced sideways. “From here on, we have to watch out for stray bullets. There ain’t a doctor for twenty miles so y’all gotta stay in one piece out there.” They began a slow walk down the steep trail.

  Now three miles ahead Stolter wrapped the reins once around the rail at Camino Pequeno so the roan could drink at the trough. He slapped his hat against his jeans and dust flew. He felt like he was carrying an extra ten pounds of dirt off the road. The Western Union door creaked like it had never been oiled.

  “I’d like to send a telegram, please.” Stolter looked at the bar wooden walls and the high counter.

  Thinning long black hair was combed back over the shining bald head of the clerk behind the iron bars. “Yes, sir. There is paper and a pencil over on the desk near the window. We charge two pennies each word, mister, so if you need help writing it out, I can take a look.” He gestured to the far wall.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you kindly.” Stolter touched the brim of his hat and walked across the wood plank floor to the desk. A few minutes later, Stolter handed the sheet through the slot to the clerk.

  The clerk cleaned his glasses and put them back on. He read out loud, “Arrive Friday. 15 head. Prepare corral. Nick Stolter.” His mouth hung open and he stared at the horseman.

  “You’re Nick Stolter?” The horseman nodded. “Yes, I am.” Stolter leaned on the counter and pushed his hat back on his head.

  The clerk wiped his face with a white cloth. “Mr. Stolter, did you know the Texas Rangers are looking for you?”

  Stolter looked around and said, “Are they in town? I’ll talk to them right now.”

  “They’ve been looking for you for the last couple of weeks.” The clerk cleared his throat and fidgeted with his collar.

  “Well, I, uh, I am privy to certain wires that come over and, well, just let me say that I am sorry for your loss.” The spectacles came off and were rubbed with the cloth to clean them again.

  Stolter nodded. “Thank you for your concern. Am I supposed to wait here to the Rangers? I’d like to get home.”

  There was an obvious tremble to the clerk’s hand and the sheet looked like it was in a windstorm. “Well, no, I don’t know anything about that. I’m supposed to notify them if anyone here has a sighting of you.”

  Stolter fished out a handful of coins from his pocket. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now, can you send that telegram for me? Most likely my kids are worried sick.”

  The clerk’s fingers tapped out the message and then waited for minute. “Did you want to wait for an answer, Mr. Stolter?”

  “No. The nearest telegraph to the ranch is, I believe, The Faraway Inn and that’s nigh on to fifteen miles out. I’m not gonna wait for someone to ride out there and ride back. I’ll check in the next town to see if there is a reply.”

  The clerk screwed up his face in thought. “The Faraway Inn. That would be Chi LaCosta. She doesn’t bring the telegraph on the wire very often. Only in emergencies. Most likely, Mr. Boardman at the Hotel Bradford will get your telegram and have someone take it out to your children.”

  Stolter’s voice had an edge of exasperation over the nosy clerk’s too much information summary. He pushed eighteen cents forward to pay for the message. The clerk wrote out a small receipt and handed two pennies along with the original message to Stolter.

  “There used to be a telegraph at Franklin Valley. But it was disconnected. There haven’t been any wires out of there for well over a year now. The next one going west is Farwood. But that is forty miles. I believe Bradford is twenty miles the other side of Farwood.” The clerk stood up rubbing his hands together.

  Stolter paused in the doorway and looked back at the clerk. “Is there a doctor in town?”

  “Oh, well, yes. Most likely he is in the saloon at this time of day. Dr. Peterson. Nice gentleman when he is sober.” Once again, Stolter saw the forced smile and the blinking eyes.

  Stolter drew over a dozen pair of eyes as he walked into the Running Bronc Saloon. At the bar he asked for the doctor. He was told that the doctor was visiting over at the general store. The clerk at the store said he went over to the blacksmith’s barn to see someone over there. At the blacksmith barn the smithy with the broken finger said the doctor had been there but he’d gone. Stolter gave up.

  As Stolter walked back to this horse, the bartender had come out onto the porch, the general store clerk stood on the porch and the Western Union clerk came out of the little office. They all inquired if he had found the doctor and Stolter answered that he had not. It made him laugh to himself about people in small towns knowing the business and whereabouts of every citizen. Daylight was running by and he’d used up over half an hour in this tiny berg. It was another six miles to Eddie’s next camp.

  The horses were tired. He couldn’t keep them together. Twice the pintos came to a complete halt and he had to feed them four apples to get them to move. Then the black yearlings raced past him nipping at each other in some horse spat. Stolter yelled at them with no results.

  The long streaks of reds, golds and oranges lined the sky as Stolter hunted for the turn off. The Mexican camp was a quarter mile down a single wide foot path that broadened out on a sheltered creek with willows and alder. Twice, Stolter got slapped in the face with branches because he wasn’t watching the path. The blackened rocks in the fire ring had not been used in many days. Stolter knew that meant there had not been any traveler going through. The raised alder pole shelter had four dry pieces of firewood stashed behind it.

  The sky did not look threatening, but just in case, Stolter tied the canvas shelter between the trees over the pole platform. He carried in the saddle, bedroll and saddlebags. He was perturbed at himself for being so irritated in the town that he didn’t buy any food when it was right in front of him. He got the fire going and made coffee. He made the mistake after pulling off his boots and lying back on the saddle.

  When he woke and looked up it was a black night sky with only a sliver of a moon. The fire h
ad burned out leaving glowing warm embers. He thought it was the shivering from the cold that woke him up. As he pulled the blanket up over him, he heard the cracking splintering of wood out in the darkness. He held his breath and listened. Not even the crickets were singing. It felt ominous.

  He threw off the blanket and sat up. Nothing in the shadows moved. He reached for his boots and pulled them on. Both his knees popped as he stood up. About twenty feet into the grass, he stopped to listen.

  It was a stinging thump on the left side of his back. A red hot jolt shook him forcing him to one knee. He twisted around but could not reach the wound. There was no gunshot. When he fell to the side, his fingers pulled on cold steel and he felt the hot gush of blood run down his back. The blow to the side of his head made everything go black.

  ###

  It felt like he had been thrown in the river when the water splashed into his face. He coughed and blinked his eyes open. His shirt had been ripped off him and he knelt on his knees. When he pulled his arms he found he was tied between two trees facing into the brush. The left arm with the stitches was numb.

  “Where’s the money, partner? We know you got money.” Stolter could smell the sour sweat of the man when he leaned in close. The horseman tried to jerk away but the ropes held him tight. The whistling slap of leather scraped his back and he jumped in pain.

  “Just give us the money and we’ll put y’all out yer misery, mister.” Stolter could hear someone wheeze and cough. Stolter could feel the bile rising in his throat.

  With a hoarse voice he said, “There is no money. It’s gone. I was robbed before you even got here.” The heavy steel belt buckle slammed into the side of his head just missing his eye. Twice more on his back he felt the bite of the buckle.

  “You lyin’. You hid that money before laying down here in your nice camp.” Again, the sour sweaty man grunted with every ragged breath.

  “You gonna tell us or we’ll take the hide offa you, mister.” There were teeth missing in the mouth that said those words. Stolter had just enough time to gasp for breath and then heard himself scream as the whip coiled around his body. He jerked with every cut. He strained against the ropes. Drips of blood slithered down his sides and arms. There were red drips on the ground at his knees

  As he started to fall over, another drowning splash of water soaked him. He lost count of the number of times he coughed and choked from the water. When Stolter moaned and fell, he could hear one, maybe two others cheer on the torturer.

  He’d been cut several times. His body shook from the strain. The sweat and blood made his vision blurry. He kept falling in and out of consciousness. It was a gunshot that jerked him awake and he twisted around with a groan.

  Someone moaned and it wasn’t him. There was a scuffling, dragging, wood breaking and grunting murmurs. The terror was too much and he let the darkness overtake him into oblivion.

  It was still dark when he next opened his eyes. When he tried to move, he groaned in agony. He laid face down on a blanket. Spanish voices spoke near him and he breathed a sigh of relief. A soft cloth wiped his face and said his thanks and slipped back into sleep.

  The next time he woke, it was dark and he heard the crackle of the fire and smelled cooking. The young boy that saw he was awake called others.

  “You are hurt very badly, mister.” The boy said with slow care. After he spoke, he translated his words.

  “Did they take my horses?” The cut at the corner of his mouth was deep and his tongue tasted blood.

  “No. They won’t be needing horses anymore. I think your horses are still in the grass, mister.” The boy stood up as he listened to someone who spoke in a murmur to the side.

  “Abuelita put in the threads to close your cuts. You’ll have to be careful of those for a week.” Stolter thought about nodding but the pain was too great.

  “Estoy amigo de Ofelia Romero Pelayo. Gracias por su ayuda.” A great pandemonium broke out and people began running and shouting instructions. The boy shrugged and looked overwhelmed.

  “My name is Emilio Jacente Ricardo Macias. They call me Rickie. Ofelia Romero Pelayo is my grandmother. We are going to see her. What is your name, mister?” The small boy knelt down with a smile and looked at Stolter.

  “Nick Stolter.” The boy turned and talked with someone telling them the name.

  He shrugged. “We don’t know who you are, Mr. Nick Stolter.”

  Over the next half hour, Stolter was careful to choose his words and told Ricky the story of meeting Eddie, Juan and Chita and how he helped them get to their grandmother’s house. There was great interest in how much the three children had grown. There was disappointment in missing the chance to see Emmie and Miguel as well as others.

  “Rickie, what happened to the men who hurt me?” Rickie looked away biting his lip. He frowned and looked at Stolter, started to say something and then grimaced and looked away griping his small hands together. He turned and said something in Spanish to a man who said something back.

  “They are walking to the city of dust.” The boy raised his eyebrows and nodded.

  “What?” Stolter blinked his eyes hard and shivered.

  Rickie nearly put his nose on Stolter’s. “They’re dead, but I can’t say that. I’m just a kid.”

  Stolter shook his head and groaned. “Alright.” Someone said something to Rickie. Stolter felt his frustration rising with his limited Spanish and the tedious translating back and forth.

  “Mr. Nick. It going to hurt now. You have to sit up so you can eat. You have to eat. And it is going to hurt. Hurt a lot.” Those small child’s brown eyes were serious as an adult’s.

  “No. I’ll stay here.” He could see Rickie pursed his mouth shaking his head.

  “My family are good people. Nice people. They help a lot of people. But Mr. Nick, you have to do as mama says even if it hurts. Because she is going to help you.” The big brown eyes with dark lashes blinked with a deeper understanding.

  It was his own voice he heard screaming when they moved him. The blackness overtook him and he swam in inky darkness. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Ricky sitting next to him on small chunk of wood.

  Stolter had bandages from his neck to his waist. Both arms were swathed in cool, moist cloths. His hands were swollen and his fingers wouldn’t straighten out. His neck was stiff. A dark haired woman in a long colorful skirt shooed Ricky away and sat down with a bowl of steaming broth. Spoon by spoon, he swallowed bits of beef and corn.

  Ana Maria Pelayo Macias had married Alejandro Luis Zendejas Macias and the couple along with Alejandro’s brother, Jose, had come into the camp to rest and found the men beating Stolter.

  Stolter winked to Ricky. “When you see Eddie, Juan and Chita, you’ll have a good story to tell them about me. They have a good story to tell you about me.” Ricky nodded. Jose spoke to Ricky for a few minutes.

  “Uncle Jose wants to know what you do for work and where you live at.” Jose dragged another chunk of wood over and sat next to Ricky.

  Stolter went through another half hour telling them about Marianna and the children, which made them all sad. He told them about his training of cutting horses and they all smiled and talked about Emmie. Jose said that he had found the eleven horses grazing. Stolter told there should be fourteen. Three are missing. It took another few minutes to figure out the three black yearlings are missing.

  Stolter laughed and it hurt he tried to hold his ribs and it hurt worse. In a halting voice, he told them how Eddie had tried to get the yearlings to accept him as a rider and the apples. Alejandro and Jose went out to see if they could find the missing horses. Ana Maria ordered Stolter to rest.

  Twice in the night, he woke and his back felt that it was on fire. It was agony to change the bandages. The pureed cactus and plant mixture had a slight numbing quality and while it did not stop all the pain, it allowed him to sleep.

  It was on the third day that Stolter was able to stand and walk with the aid of a strong,
straight branch. Close to sunset in the evening, Ricky’s family began to pack their gear. Alejandro talked with Ricky for a long time and then the boy came to sit with Stolter.

  “It is time for us to go, Mr. Nick. You have to be careful, rest, eat, and drink a lot of water for two more days. It would be better if you walked but you will try to ride so be careful when you ride.” Stolter nodded.

  “Papa says you are nine miles east before you get to Franklin Valley. Go one mile past it to the southwest, you’ll see an old wagon wheel half buried along the road. Turn down that road and you’ll come to a wooden gate with a chain. You have to wait for them to open the gate. Stop and wait. If you go through it by yourself, they’ll shoot you. You have to wait. That land is the Valdez Ranch. There is a doctor there.”

  Stolter managed to use two of his fingers to rub his eye. And that felt good, but his vision blurred. Ricky shook his head and squirmed for a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” Ricky shook his head and grimaced. It bothered Stolter that such an innocent young boy would know the difficulties of adults.

  “At the gate, you’ll have to give them two dollars. They will want one of the horses in payment for helping you. But you should give them two dollars only.”

  Stolter struggled to sit up. “Alright. I have two dollars.”

  Ricky wrung his hands together and shifted from foot to foot. “Mr. Nick. You have to hide your money and important things someplace along the road before you get there. Because while the doctor helps your cuts, those Valdez will look through all your things. They will take anything of value.” Ricky’s father put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and murmured in Spanish. Rick then told Stolter the location of a safe hiding place.

  “But, Mr. Nick. Whatever you find in the hiding place, you must leave there. It is meant for someone else.” Ricky leaned his chin onto his hands and frowned. Stolter tried to take a deep breath and it caught making him twitch.

  “I can wait until I get into Farwood to see a doctor.” His fingers skipped over the bandages.

  Again, Ricky shook his head. “You must stop at the Valdez. Mama says if you don’t stop and get help, you might not make it to Farwood. Papa says the men in that town at Farwood will take your horses and kill you. He says you have to go around Farwood.” Just then, Ricky’s father stood up with a serious expression and gestured out to the horses and spoke. He put on his hat and beckoned Ricky to go.