When Stolter looked back before the curve in the drive he saw Jimmy with an arm raised waving. The horseman had been apprehensive of the Valdez Ranch and its owners from the words of the Mexicans. Stolter waved once, whistled twice and then headed for the road followed by the herd.
###
After Stolter doubled back to the hiding place, he sat for a few minutes surround by pancake prickly pear with brilliant orange with white cluster stems in the centers. He was exhausted once again and just wanted to lay down and rest. He half expected someone would make a play on the horses and knowing his injuries, leave him to bleed out along the road. The sky looked like it was almost noon.
He put the horses into an easy gallop. Six miles went by. At the seventh mile a long straight driveway went up a gentle slope to a small white house perched on the hillside. Not long after, there were three small houses with fences around the front yard clustered together on the south side of the road. The whitewashed sign hanging from the lean-to rail introduced the Franklin Valley Ranch.
“Hallooo.” A long haired older man with a cane walked around the side.
“Howdy, mister. My name is Stolter. Can I water my horses here? I been pushing them sorta hard and they get feisty if they don’t get water.”
“Yes, sir. Come on around this side and they can get to water.” The man hurried around the south side of the corral and gestured to the long water troughs. Stolter whistled for the horses and they came to drink.
“You want that roan rubbed down? Fifty cents, comes with a cup of grain, mister.”
Stolter smiled and flipped a dime coin to the man who caught it out of the air. “No thanks. He’s okay as is. Can you point me to the Laughing Coyote? I need to see Bob.” The man nodded.
“The third building on your right in town.” The old man winked and hobbled back into the lean-to.
The Laughing Coyote had six men standing at the bar and another few around wooden table on the east side. There was a husky, young cowboy at the end of the bar who had a split lip and a raw welt on his cheekbone. Stolter suspected this was one of the men who attacked him back oh the trail, but couldn’t be sure. A hand appeared in front of him.
“Bob Lassiter, bartender.” The man was gigantic at six foot four. He tipped the scale over three hundred pounds and his hands looked like twin Christmas hams.
“Nick Stolter, horse trainer.” Stolter nodded. There seemed to be no recognition from him, but the young cowboy twisted around in his chair.
Lassiter grinned an open-mouthed smile. “What can I get you, Nick Stolter?”
“I was just out at your sister’s place. She said I should ask for Willy’s beer.” Stolter had a look of hope on his face as he raised his eyebrows. Bob squinted and pointed a finger at Stolter.
“You see? That’s why she can’t be in charge of running my saloon. She’d give everything away because she is too kind hearted.” He winked and smiled. He lifted a heavy pitcher and poured beer into a tall mug. Stolter winked and put five cents on the bar.
“You mind if I sit out front and eat my dinner? Wilhelmina packed a good bite to eat and my belly started growling four miles back.” Stolter gestured to the front and Bob waved him out.
Several folks rode by on horses while he ate and they waved at him. He waved back. Lassiter came out and cleaned off a chair and sat down. “So Nick Stolter, why were you out at my sister’s place? Not very many folks stop by there. Her husband is not the most hospitable.” Lassiter sipped the small glass of beer he brought with him.
Stolter nodded. “I was ambushed on the trail coming from Yuma. I stopped looking for a doctor. She replaced my torn stitches.” Lassiter looked alarmed.
A scrawny cowboy in worn leather chaps tied up his paint at the rail. His boots were worn down at the heel and his leather gun belt was smooth and shiny from use. He and Lassiter exchanged greetings before he went into the saloon.
“Virgil Franklin built this little town mainly as a gift to his wife, Rosalie. She felt she was out in the middle of nowhere after living in St. Louis and so he built what you see. People moved in. It’s mainly the families of the cowboys on the ranch who have these little businesses for travelers like yourself.” Stolter listened while he shoveled potatoes and beef.
Lassiter asked, “You going very far tonight? It’s nigh on to four o’clock. You might want to stop for the night.”
Stolter said, “The men who ambushed me took my watch. I just know the sun is up or it’s down.” He pushed the small cloth sack towards Lassiter. The big man held it in his hands with a little smile.
“Our mother liked to pack up snacks and food for us to eat. She always put them into these little sacks she sewed with her own hands. I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
Stolter wiped his bandanna over his face. “I wish I knew what that salve was that she put on my back. I don’t feel those stitches so bad now.”
Lassiter pushed his lower lip out in thought. “I’d have to say she mashed up nettle and aloe vera cactus. That would take some of the pain away and cool down the skin. We use it on burns and such.”
Two narrow hipped cowboys walked up onto the porch and touched the brim of their hats to Lassiter. One of them wore the patched, shabby suit coat of a hard-grained man with a layer of dust. The other grim dark-faced man wore black jeans and a heavy leather vest over a black long sleeved shirt. Something about the men looked familiar to Stolter. He had seen similar men all across the west.
“Bob, is there a telegraph machine in the town? I’d like to send word to my family that I’m coming in early Saturday morning.” Lassiter drummed his fingers on the table.
“Our Miss Lillian is in charge of the telegraph machine. It’s two doors down and in the office at the back of the restaurant.” Lassiter nodded. “Don’t eat the pie.” He tapped a finger alongside his nose as if to impart secrecy. Stolter stifled a laugh and drank down the last of the beer.
“Thank you, sir. And thank you again to Wilhelmina.” He stood up and picked up his hat.
“Safe travels, Nick Stolter.” Lassiter did a mock salute and went into the saloon.
Lillian McCarthy was a petite brunette with a long ponytail, a white apron and balanced a tray dishes as she hurried by him near the door. “I’ll be right with you, mister.” She went to the counter at the back and put the dishes into a tub. She came back smiling.
“Did you want to sit and eat? I just pulled fresh apple pie out of the oven,” she said with a big smile.
“Ah, no. I need to send a telegram, please.” Stolter held up a hand and smiled to her.
She looked surprised. “Oh! Alright then. Please come with me to the back. You can write out your message there.” She halted in front of him and he ran into the back of her. She turned. “I charge five cents a word, mister.” Stolter stopped and shifted his weight to his other foot and put his palm against his cheek as if to think.
“I can pay that.” He smiled. She led him to a small desk with paper, a quill, and an ink well.
“I have to go see to my other customers. I’ll be back in a few minutes, mister.” She patted his shoulder and hustled away.
Stolter looked at the blank page. He had been gone from them for a month and a half. He was coming home injured and in need of help. They would have to be ready in case of the worst. He thought about having them ride to Farwood to help him with the horses. Stolter felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at Lillian who hustled away again.
He scribbled, ‘Coming home Saturday. Prepare for herd. Make guns ready. Nick Stolter.’
Lillian picked up the page. She hissed, “You’re Nick Stolter? Come with me.” She gripped his sleeve and drew him along with her out the back down, down some steps and across an alley. At the back door of a grayed wood building she knocked twice and then towed him in with her. She pointed to a chair. A man in a white shirt and a black buttoned vest looked up in alarm over the top of his glasses.
Again, Lillian hissed a whispered statement. “Thi
s is Nick Stolter.” The man gasped and then put both hands out as if to stop any sound.
Lillian gripped his shoulder and made Stolter flinch. “Stay here until I come back. They’ll miss me at the restaurant if I’m gone too long. I don’t like suspicious, nosy people.” She flew out the door.
The man leaned a bit closer to Stolter. He whispered, “Mr. Stolter, my name is Mel Tegan. I wish I could have met you under better circumstances.”
Stolter had lowered his voice. “What is this about?” Tegan brought out a key from his vest and unlocked a desk drawer. He lifted out a leather portfolio and unwrapped the string. Nine telegrams were inside.
“These are from your friends and family. They’ve been trying to find you, along with other parties.” Tegan slid the portfolio to Stolter who sat down and started reading. Windy Ridge was paid off, free and clear. Two horses had been sold. The Flint Hills ranch house had been repaired. From Mary the message was that the children were healthy and waiting and not to worry. There were others but the one that caught his eye was from Lola Stolter, his daughter. It read,
‘Guns ready. Bring the war.’
He shook his head grinning and after a minute felt the hot burn of tears in his eyes. She had found the book and had been reading. Stolter chuckled. Tegan looked alarmed.
Stolter explained how he had given tasks to the children to keep them busy while he made his way home. The Sun Tzu book on warfare strategy had appealed to his daughter who had an interest in weapons. Gauging by the look on Tegan’s face, Stolter doubted the man believed him.
“We thought you were headed into a range war of some sort.” The bloodshot eyes blinked behind the glasses.
Stolter shook his head. “No. But I think there are a couple of men following me that are going to try to kill me and take those horses I’m running. And I can’t bring danger to my children’s doorstep. I have to figure out a way to stay alive and get home in one piece.” Tegan had sat back in his chair.
Stolter said, “If I was closer to home, I’d know the road and I could run at night. The map I was using is long gone so I’m riding blind.” Tegan jumped up and put his hand over his own mouth.
“Lonnie over at the corral knows that road. I’ll go get him and we can draw another map. You are twenty two miles out of Farwood. I’ll be right back. Don’t move!” The man put out his hands as if to stop Stolter from moving.
Tegan had been gone five minutes when Lillian came running in and slammed the door behind her. “He left you here alone?”
“I do have a gun, ma’am.” She waved her hand as if to dismiss the weapon.
Exasperated, she put both hands on her hips. “Where did he go?”
“To get Lonnie at the corral to help draw a map of the road to Farwood.” Stolter was starting to feel like he was called to the principals’ office.
“Oh, that’s a good idea. I’ll go pack up a slice of pie for you!” Stolter reached to put his hand on her arm.
“No, please don’t go to any trouble for me. I’ve already eaten and I’m afraid the saddlebags would squish it like a bug.” He let go of her arm and she opened her mouth to speak but just then Lonnie and Tegan came in the door. Tegan unrolled a large piece of brown wrapping paper and handed a pencil to Lonnie.
“I was over to Bradford two weeks ago. Max’s wife makes a right soft doughnut and I’ll eat them all day long.” He leaned over the paper and drew jagged circles, tree shapes, wavy lines indicating water and other assorted insignia. Twenty minutes later, Stolter was confident he would know where to get out of the way of trouble, where he could fall back to and when to go into a full speed gallop. Vaguely, images of the country and the road swam in his mind.
“Do you want to send that wire, Mr. Stolter?” Lillian asked.
“Yes, but now I want your advice on what to say.” The three mumbled and murmured amongst themselves and after a few minutes, Lillian wrote out the message. “Arriving Flint Hills noon Saturday. Warm the cannon.” Stolter grinned.
“I need to get on my horse.” Stolter laid sixty cents on the table. He shook Lonnie’s and then Tegan hand. “I and my family thank you for your help.” Lonnie folded the map and Stolter stuffed it inside his shirt. Tegan gave Lonnie a burlap sack and Lonnie nodded as he took it.
“What’s that for?” Stolter asked.
Lonnie grinned and winked. “Apples. Come with me.” Down the alley three doors and Lonnie cut in between the buildings. He led the way through a grassy area and then saw an old overgrown orchard of apple trees. In the lean-to against the fence on the north side were stacked crates full of apples. Lonnie held the sack.
“I’m not sure if your horses will eat these sour apples. I’ve got to get rid of them before Lillian makes any more pies. They’re so bad. They are just horrible.” Lonnie looked apologetic and Stolter laughed.
Two cowboy figures leaned against the front of the Laughing Coyote and they turned their faces away as he rode by. There was something familiar there but it eluded him. Tegan and Lillian waved as he rode by the restaurant. There was a flock of black crows in the alders along the road. It was twenty two miles to Farwood and he had a hunch that it might be the longest twenty two miles of his life.
###
Bob Moss put down the field glasses and said, “Yeah, I’m sure now. That’s him. He’s been running them horses since before Yuma. Far as I can tell, he ain’t got anyone riding with him.”
In the massive grove of poplar and ash surrounding Farwood was an outlaw camp. The tall white trunks swayed in the light wind and the silvery leaves rustled as to block out any other sounds. Three men lounged around a fire.
Moss poured coffee from the tin pot into the cup. “Did you ever wonder why you keep running across the same people again and again? It’s like the world is putting them in front of you for some reason and you are supposed to guess about why they are there.” He smirked. Clark shrugged and sipped the hot coffee.
Jeb Kadon looked like any of the other hundreds of lone men on the western roads. Tall with a black stubble beard. Even though he could put enough food for three other men inside him, he still had a whitish pallor drawn look about him.
“You gonna pick him off or does he know something you want to know?” Long bony fingers took a long time to roll a smoke. He was a lean, frowning, dark man, about thirty five with black hair and mustache. Even after bathing in the river, he still looked dirty.
Moss said, “He’s carrying money. Four sets of saddlebags on that roan. He’s got to be carrying money. Knock him off that horse, take those bags, and be on our way. No fussing with negotiations, no pleadings, and no breaks.”
Kadon said, “I don’t expect no breaks from anyone and I’m mighty stingy with giving breaks out. I won’t say I’ve lived a hard life because I could be standing next to a fella at the saloon who’d had it much worse than me, I’d never know it. That man down there has had a couple of lucky breaks, I’d say.”
Clark said, “I was never one for sitting and reading to learn something. I always watched something be done and that’s how I learned. Keep my mouth shut, watch and learn. We been watching this Stolter fella for a couple of days now. We know he was ambushed and beaten pretty bad. We talked to one man who says Stolter is carrying stitches.”
Moss gestured to the other men. “Check your guns. Let’s go make our payday.” He led the way down through the rocks and threaded between the trees. The dust hadn’t settled from the passing of the herd. They all pulled up their bandannas and broke into a gallop.
###
Three miles out of Franklin Valley, the roan started to climb a low hill. Near the crest, he glimpsed the last rays of a golden red sun. It flooded him with a memory of another road.
Coming out Chisholm late one night, the trail had been lit up by the full moon with hundreds of stars overhead, Stolter’s horse was rested and moving with ease through Slater Valley and then started climbing Crismayne Hill. It had been a dry few days with light wind and only morning clouds
that burned off as the sun rose higher. He had passed shacks, horses, people and wagons never paying them much attention. He had been focused on getting somewhere.
Then another man on a horse had slammed into him in the darkness. He’d been thrown and hit his head and passed out for a few minutes. When the stranger ran to jump him, Stolter fired one shot and killed the man. The horseman climbed back up on his mount and made it into Shreveport with an hour to spare before his riding job with the Kingman Stage pulled out.
Back then, Stolter could not remember what had happened aside from the gunshot. It was months of working it over in his head before he could piece together why he had fired his gun. He rode back and forth over that part of the road several times hoping the area would help him remember, but nothing came. It had been a long, nagging mystery in his life about what had happened that day. All these years he had considered that missing time a personal loss, as if an unlucky incident took it from him.
The map showed a lake or creek to the south about a quarter mile off the road. He took the horses into the narrow path. Cobwebs were strung like white silk from tree to tree and he had to hold up an arm to keep them from his face. Around the waterhole were tall, white trunks that swayed in the light wind as the leaves made a low hissing rustle. A company of army soldiers could be marching by and Stolter wouldn’t know it.
He got off while his horses drank. One by one the animals began to graze in the short grass along the water. The gray and white spotted Appaloosa cross filly had lost weight and had slimmed down. The Appaloosa cross colt had more muscle in his flanks. The chestnut colt had taken to following around with the three feisty, black yearlings who bit at and kicked each other in play. The chestnut filly seemed to be more of a loner but when she ran she followed behind the gray mare. Perhaps the filly wasn’t as mature as he thought her to be. When he ran his hands over the gray mare, he didn’t find anything unusual. She had lost some weight like they all had but she’d get that back once she pastured.
The three buckskins were always near each other. Even running in the herd they would run side by side or follow each other. The light tan of their coats was accented by the black stockings, manes, and tails. Eddie had told him that these three were the most promising as they seemed to be intelligent. The black yearlings had a fiery spirit that would need to be tempered. But the buckskins wanted to carry a rider. That had made Stolter laugh at the time. The older chestnut mare and her colt had never accepted an apple from Stolter. They had shied away when he had walked amongst them. The mare bore calloused from a halter or bridle so it had looked like she had been ridden. Colton had a knack with shy animals so maybe he could figure this one out.
Nick Stolter Page 27
