After they had walked away about twenty yards, Ricky yelled back. “Remember Mr. Nick, go to Valdez. Go around Farwood. Run for home.” The four people waved and then walked into the trees leaving him alone once again.
He stood there for another twenty minutes looking out over the grass. He cursed those black yearlings. He wondered where his roan was at. Every muscle ached and throbbed. He came in carrying ten stitches and now he carried close to one hundred.
Alejandro had cut a small pile of firewood and laid leafy branches over it as a makeshift shelter. Ana Maria had filled his two tins with food and covered them over with the mended strips of his torn shirt.
His senses were not keen and his head felt like a knife was in it. He wanted to lay down and sleep but it would be agony to get into the blankets. Then he realized that he had taken a step towards to alder pole platform. He had intended to go look for the buried pouch of the documents and money. But he stopped and his common sense told him other eyes might be watching. He’d have to wait until the cover of darkness.
He groaned as he knelt down and pulled the blanket over for warmth. He had no idea how long he had slept. When he opened his eyes, the sun was climbing up the trees on the far side of the clearing which meant it was late afternoon. He didn’t fight the urge for more sleep.
It was in cool darkness the next time his eyes opened. His watch was gone. Maybe it was lying in the grass somewhere. He’d never find it. He sat up and fought the desire to lay back down. The fire had gone out and it seemed a monumental task to strike the flint and blow the kindling into a smoking fire.
As he stood waiting for fire to build, he looked out into the darkness. There was comfort in a fire and he just wanted to feel the warmth and try to gain some strength. “Where are you horses at? The cricket’s song answered him. A slight breeze rustled the leaves overhead. The stars seemed to twinkle a little faster.
After he ate and drank the hot coffee he felt better. He still felt cold. Part of him wanted to see the healing on his back and part of him couldn’t bear the sight of what had happened to him. With a snort he considered the supposed remarks of the salty doctor in Rio Mesa.
He felt the energy drain out of him. His eyes grew heavy. His feet seem full of iron. He pushed the gear under the edge of the platform and laid down.
“Nick Stolter!” He came up out of the heavy sleep and almost chuckled to himself thinking that the horses could talk. It was cold.
“Nick Stolter! Wake up!” That was someone calling his name. He threw back the blanket and gritted his teeth in pain as he sat up. He rubbed his eyes and looked around.
It was a tall, skinny man. He stood thin with narrow, hunched shoulders and a body that looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. The white skin was in hard contrast to the black, deep set eyes. “I think I found your three hooligan horses. I put ‘em out there with that gray mare.”
Stolter saw long, bony hands with dirty nails. The coat was patches on patches but looked warm. “Who are you? Where did you find them?” Stolter coughed and looked away to spit the vile taste out of his mouth.
There was a heavy pack on the man’s back and he steadied himself with a long, gnarled wooden pole. “About two miles down along the river, they were grazing in between some young threes.”
Stolter shook his head and tried to stretch his back but he twitched in pain. “How’d you find me?”
The man chuckled. “Everyone knows you’re here. I know you’re not doing too good. I had someone cut me a break years ago so I’m sort of turning the favor.”
Stolter wanted to scream in agony as he pulled on one boot and paused to catch his breath. “Friend of mine got shot and his horses stolen. I helped him get back on his feet and a couple of snake bellies took my horses. I was sleeping in a nice hotel room and couple men busted in and tried to rob us. I haven’t caught a break yet.”
The man knelt down next to the fire ring and picked up a stick to drag in the dirt. Every so often he glanced out at the horses. “Yeah, I saw a couple of graves a mile out. Those the guys who roughed you up?” A sparse black mustache and five days of stubble surrounded a slight grin.
Stolter rubbed his face. “Might be. You here to try your luck?”
The man held up a bare hand, palm out. “No. You don’t have anything I want.”
Stolter held his ribs as he coughed twice. “I had someone tell me that the trip home has been easy up to here. The miles from here to home are going to be the hardest I’ve ever ridden.” He pulled on his other boot. After he had looked around, Stolter frowned because he didn’t see a saddled mount anywhere.
The stick pushed into the dirt making a design. “I’ve had folks tell me that. What I learned was it might have been hard for them, but they don’t know me. You might be the same.”
Stolter took in deep, ragged breath and looked at the man while he let it back. He watched the man lay in a couple more chunks of wood to the flames.
The thin man stood up and lifted his hat off his head. Bony fingers combed back through his hair. “I heard tell there is a trail from north of here that winds up through the Rockies up to Oregon. I’m looking to see what is up that way.”
Stolter rubbed his hands together and then rubbed his fingers. He was stiff and sore and his belly was empty. With considerable pain, he walked out to the edge of the grass and could see the pintos and chestnuts grazing. Farther out, he saw the yearlings with their heads down. It was disturbing to think that he had lost days and almost lost his herd. He turned around and the man was gone. He hadn’t heard a sound, not heard a word as far as he could tell, there were no tracks leading away. He rubbed his head and walked back to the shelter and looked at where the man had knelt down. The dirt was smooth and undisturbed with no marks from the stick.
He sat down and pulled his boots off. He was cold and his head was pounding like a drum. He couldn’t think straight. He laid down and pulled the blanket over himself. As tired as he was of sleeping on the ground, he had no choice and dropped into sleep.
Later that afternoon, with monumental effort, Stolter put on his jacket and went out in the grass. He was surprised to see the black yearlings walk up to him for scratching. He stood with his arm draped over the back of the roan. He had never dreamed a vivid dream like that. Lola used to tell him about her dreams but only when they were away from the house and just him and her. He had always listened and smiled at the active imagination of his youngest daughter. She had a sensitivity that he had never understood until now.
He had a couple pieces of beef jerky left, two pieces of dried fruit and Ricky had left him four pieces of spicy caramel candy. Stolter knew he’d have to ride out today and head for Valdez so he could get that doctor to look at his wounds and find food.
Twice he dropped the saddle trying to get it up onto the back of the roan. He could not get the cinch tight. After he loaded on his gear and made sure to stow the soft leather portfolio with straps, he used the stacked firewood as a ladder to mount up.
Chapter 24
Every jolt of the horse, every time he twisted around to look at the horses following him made the stitches scream in his skin. He tried a trot and it made his back feel like all the stitches were being ripped out. He hung onto the saddle horn and concentrated on staying in the saddle. He found the wagon wheel and the long leafy driveway.
It was a ten foot wide wooden gate built from milled boards, aspen poles and iron braces. It looked like it would stop a herd of elephants. As Ricky had said, there was a heavy iron link chain threaded through the gate and around the log that had been sunk into the ground. The wide, worn driveway led about one hundred yard to the west and disappeared in a stand of alder trees.
Back at the buried wooden box hiding place, he debated walking so he wouldn’t have to get back up on the roan.
A young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen trotted down the lane on a pony. When he got down he stood looking at Stolter swinging a key on a chain. “What you want, mister? You selling horse
s?”
Stolter took in a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Doctor. I need a doctor.”
“You’re riding. What’s wrong with you?” The boy had a drawl sometimes found in those with a mental impairment. He leaned to the left. The afternoon sun glinted on the reddish highlights in his hair and showed his freckled skin.
“If there’s no doctor here, I’ll ride on. Thank you, kindly.” Stolter reined over his horse to head back out to the main road.
“You’ll have to pay. The doctorin’ ain’t free.” The kid tilted his head to one side and made a lopsided grin as he twirled the key. Stolter pretended to fish around in his left front pocket and then took off his glove and fished around in his right front pocket. He looked at his hand.
“I got two dollars left.” He lowered his hand and showed the boy the coins. The boy clucked his tongue and started to unlock the gate.
“What you got to trade? If the doctorin’ costs more, you’ll have to pay somehow,” the boy said as he swung the gate back. Stolter counted his horses that were by then nibbling grass near the trees on the opposite side of the lane.
“I’ll leave these horses out here. They’re somewhat ornery and I do want anyone getting bit or kicked.”
“No, sir. They’ll be alright on this pasture right here. We aren’t running any stock here right now.” The boy waved him on in. Stolter walked the roan inside the gate and turned the horse to watch the chain and lock thread back through the wood and iron rings.
Through the trees, over a wooden bridge and then up the side of a hill, they came out in front of a long, low ranch house with a veranda along the entire front. Several people got up out of chairs and stepped to the porch rail as the boy and Stolter walked into the yard. “He’s needing a doctor. I don’t know what for.”
A short, heavy man with spectacles and suspenders walked down three of the steps and peered at them. “Who is he?”
The boy cursed under his breath as he got off his horse. “Sorry, mister. I didn’t ask your name. I’m always supposed to, but I forgot.”
“My name is Nick. Couple of men ambushed me in my camp few miles back to the east. A husband and wife stopped to help me. She sewed me up the best she could.” Stolter coughed and then spit off to the side.
Right then, a gray haired woman came out of the house wiping her hands on a blue apron. Her long skirt fanned about in the wind and several strands of her gray hair bobbed about. All the men backed up a step.
It was a melodic voice. “Did you say you needed a doctor, mister?”
“Yes. Ma’am. I think I tore a couple of them stitches in my back. I think I might have a broken bone in my left hand.’ Stolter took off his left glove with a grimace and held it out to the side.
“Jimmy! Help that man down offa his horse. Joe, go get my medical bag! Jorge, clear off that table there and go get one of my white sheets! Move!” She pointed at a man and he started to run.
Stolter held up his hand. “I told your boy I only have two dollars left, ma’am. I was beaten and robbed back on the road. It’s all I have.”
“That will be plenty, mister.” Jimmy stood holding the bridle of the roan while Stolter slid down to his feet. He stuffed his gloves into the saddle bag and laid his coat over the saddle. Jimmy took the roan to the water trough and glanced back.
“Lordy, your whole back is bloody, mister!” Stolter nodded and clenched his fists as he fought the scream rising in his throat.
Jorge ran down the steps to Stolter. “Mr. Nick, my name is Jorge Valdez. This is my mother, Wilhemina Valdez. She’s pretty good at doctorin’ and your back looks bad.” He spoke with a heavy Spanish accent.
Stolter towered over the five foot tall woman who bustled about like a whirlwind. The horseman put his hand on Jorge’s shoulder to get up the five broad wood steps to the veranda. Her blue gray eyes were clear and steady.
“It’s gonna be painful to get that shirt offa you, Nick. If you have another, I can cut this one off you and make it easier.” She held her hand to her mouth as she walked around him.
“No, ma’am. I’m out of money and out of shirts. Just help me get it off and maybe rinse it out and I’ll put it back on.” Stolter had to stifle the scream that tried to escape his lips when she pulled the fabric away from his wound.
“I’m gonna need you lay face down on the table. Would you like a shot of whiskey for the pain, first?” Stolter shook his head and took a couple breaths. His back felt like it was on fire. She had a light touch and for the next ten minutes cleaned him with a damp cloth.
“You’re right, Nick. You’ve got five torn stitches. I’ll have to pull those out and put in new ones. You’ve been bleeding for a while now.” Her fingers worked over his entire back.
For half an hour he could feel the needle sliding in making new stitches. An older man sat down in a chair a few feet away. Black, straight hair, hard black eyes with a back mustache. “I am Ricardo Valdez. What you doing with them horses, Nick? None of them carry brands.” The man gestured with his head towards the front gate.
“They belong to a friend of mine. I picked them up in Arizona for him and I’m delivering them to his ranch in Yucca Valley. You’ll have to be careful of them, if you go near. They like to bite and kick.” Stolter flat out lied. Then he coughed and grimaced again.
“I had Joe go down and take look at them. You are right. The blacks rushed him and tried to bite him. They are mean. I don’t see why they are so special.” He felt the small hand on his shoulder and turned his head in her direction.
“I have a compote that I use on stitches. Help them heal right nice like. I’m going to put it on and then put on the bandages. The next doctor you see will check your stitches again.” She patted him twice and then went to work slathering him with the cool salve.
When she was done, they helped him sit up. A bowl of hot soup was brought out to the table and he was given a slice of bread and a spoon. He wanted to lick the bowl. “Been a while since you’ve eaten, mister?”
Stolter nodded. “I ran out of food two days ago. The men who robbed me took the saddle bags with my food stores. When I get to Franklin Valley, I’ll get more food.”
Jimmy had been leaning against the porch rail snorted and with a laugh said, “How you gonna get food with no money, mister? We’re taking your last two dollars.”
Stolter wiped his mouth with the cloth and then stared at Jimmy. None of the Valdez had not tried to take his gun.
“I’ll send a wire. He’s five days behind me on the road from Santa Fe. He’ll make sure money is waiting for me in Farwood. I can make it that far.” The woman stood up with a brisk movement. She reached and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You stay right there. I’ll pack a lunch for you. Jimmy, go fill up his canteens. Jorge, go get that small bottle of whiskey and bring it here.” She looked at them blinking at her. “I said move!” There was a clattering of boot heels racing across the veranda.
“Your friend sounds like a generous man.” Valdez pursed his lips as he spoke. Jorge came back with the small bottle of amber liquid and Stolter gulped down two swallows and then gasped for air. The soiled shirt had been rinsed out and hung on a hanger on the porch to dry. As Stolter struggled into the damp shirt, he turned and looked at Valdez.
“I don’t know the whole story about the man who used to own these horses. I just know he died and I was asked to take them on to California. I’m a friend helping a friend.” His eyes held steady on the Mexican’s.
Wilhelmina came back carrying a cloth sack and handed it to Stolter. “When you get into Franklin Valley, stop at the Laughing Coyote saloon. That’s my brother, Bob’s place. Tell him you want Willy’s beer. That’s the one beer he allows me to have when I come in. You can sit at the table out on the boardwalk and eat this little supper. You can leave the sack with Bob and I’ll pick it up next time I’m in town.” Stolter put the two dollars in coins onto the table and smiled to the woman who picked it along with the bowl and walked ba
ck into the house. After the door shut, Stolter walked down the steps.
Jimmy walked over to the rail with the roan. “Your saddle is pretty loose, mister. You want me to cinch it up for ya? No sense in falling off your horse and tearing them stitches.”
“Jimmy that would be right kind of you if you would, please.” Stolter nodded. Valdez walked down to the bottom step and leaned on the rail.
There was a hint of accusation in the voice. “I never got your full name, Nick.”
“Nick Stolter.” The horseman watched the raised eyebrows and mouth drop open with no sound.
“You’re the Nick Stolter that the Texas Rangers are looking for?” All three men came to stand on the bottom step.
“They were looking for me, yes. I talked with them in Yuma. Everything has been settled.” Stolter watched Jimmy threading the cinch.
“I’m sorry to be nosy, but what was that all about?” Valdez looked curious.
Stolter felt a slight annoyance. “They only look for people if a bank’s been robbed or somebody is dead. I made sure nobody saw me do either one.” Stolter touched the brim of his hat, clucked his tongue, and winked. Valdez looked alarmed.
“Thank you for your hospitality and tending to my wound. I appreciate it.” He waved.
Stolter eased himself up into the saddle. He with his back and stitches numbed from the salve, he felt refreshed. Maybe all he had needed was food and a couple gulps of whiskey. He followed Jimmy and the pony down to the gate.
“You are kind hearted people, Jimmy. People on the road will try to take advantage of you. I see why you keep those gates chained up.” Stolter leaned on the saddle horn and looked at the boy.
Jimmy squinted with his forehead creased in a frown. “When I was little I used think that it was just here to keep us in. So we wouldn’t run off. Now I know it’s to keep others out, too. Happy trails, Nick Stolter.”
Nick Stolter Page 26
