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Apache Land
By
J. L. Kramer
I confess, when he found me, I was lost and half crazy with thirst. I had thought it would be easy crossing this New Mexico land, but I didn’t reckon on the distance, the sameness of this wild land. The dryness or the oppressive heat, nor of the distant mountains and box canyons.
To his credit and much to my relief, he didn’t call me “Greenhorn” or “Pilgrim”. He just rolled his chew around in his gob, spat, and let his eyes take me in.
What he saw wasn’t much. A tall, gangly young man of nineteen. Sandy colored hair, brown eyes, reddened by the glare of the sun. Faded blue jeans, black shirt now grey with sweat and dust and a battered old brown hat.
“Wa’ll I reckon everyone’s entitled to one mistake.” He cackled with something that might have been a secret laughter. “Only thing is, out here, one mistake can cost you your life.
“Better take yourself a sip of this water,” He added, handing me his canteen. It was luke-warm, stale, but my tissues soaked it up. A sip at first, then mouthfuls until he took it away from me.
“Slow there, Boy!” His voice took on an edge of impatience. “Time enough to get your fill once we get you back to camp. Till then, you go easy.”
That had been earlier in the morning. Of course I thanked him. Not in the way that I felt, for I had been wandering in that wasteland most of yesterday, into the night, and again this morning.
Frightened I had been, and like I said, out of water. That horse of mine was game, but it too, had been without water and meaningful food and it was showing signs of giving up till that old timer poured him a hatful of his water.
Now,
Now we were in trouble worse than I had been before. “How can you be so calm?” I asked him, feeling the sweat running down my back and off my forehead into my eyes.
It gave me a chill, leastwise that’s what I told myself. In truth though, I knew it was those Apache out there. Lying and waiting for a chance to blow my brains out, that sent the chill along my spine.
Zedadiah Juckman turned tired eyes up to gaze at the slowly setting sun. Even nearing dusk, the sun held heat, harsh in a land of bitterness. Still, there was beauty here if one took the time to look. Few however, had time.
At fifty seven, though I didn’t know his age at the time, he still moved with the ease of a much younger man, but there was no hiding the signs of age. Age lines creased his leathery face, sun and wind cured through many a night and day in the harsh New Mexico land.
In his youth, he had stood five feet ten inches tall, though now he stooped over slightly. Still, the strength of living in a harsh land carried his one hundred and ninety odd pounds with little trouble.
He wore thread bare blue jeans, patched here and there, over knee high Apache moccasins. A faded tan shirt, stretched by the girth of his barrel chest. A beaten brown hat laden with dust of many travels covered his grey and thinning head.
“Close,” He cackled to himself, wiping a gnarled hand over his sweaty face. A smear of blood showed on the back of the hand and I knew he felt the salty sweat working its way into the slight graze on his left cheek. “mighty close indeed!”
Shifting his chew in his mouth and easing a cramped hip, he spat a slimy brown stream of tobacco juice at a black scorpion. “Didn’t think I saw ye, did ya?” He spoke conversationally, ignoring the question I had asked him. There was no urgency, no worry in him. We weren’t going any place soon.
“What would you have me be?” He asked finally, looking over at me. “Those who lose their heads out here, are the ones who die. You stay calm, do what you have to do and you’re going to make out just fine.”
Above us a trio of vultures circled lazily on a blanket of air. Their time would come, but not today.
Before us, in the vast wasteland lay the old timers dead horse and pack mule. Beside it, my own horse. A little to the side of these lay a dusty Apache, a heavy .50 calibre round deep in his chest. Further out, some one hundred yards lay a second dead Apache, his face blown away by the heavy round.
Inside the circle of rocks where we waited and watched, a third Apache lay dead, his midriff slit open from belly button to sternum.
Again, a thick stream of tobacco juice squirted at the scorpion. “That’ll learn ya.” The old man chuckled. He moved quickly. Arms lifting the heavy rifle above the rocks. Followed briefly the target he had detected at the corner of his eyes…
The old Sharps recoiled against his shoulder. The percussion echoed off the rocks and faded away into the setting sun. Burnt powder smoke singed his nose and eyes clouding his vision momentarily. He needn’t see clearly. His aim had been true. “Nailed his hide to the door stop,” He cackled loudly. “That’s four of them bastards, Betsy and Jez, that’ll follow ya into the big desert up yonder.”
He was talking to his dead horse, Betsy, and his mule Jezabel. Life spent alone so much had that effect on man. Loneliness and solitude closed in on the mind until you learned to talk to yourself, to the animals in your possession or those around you. Company just the same, though not human kind.
Moving once more to a new position, he settled down to wait. They would be coming soon. Just before the sun set for the day. That’s when they would attack.
Withdrawing his pistol from his waist belt, Zedadiah checked the loads. Spun the cylinder and set it near hand. “Let ’em come.” He said softly. He was ready for them. I was not so sure, but like him, I checked my loads in my pistol then took up my rifle and settled myself down into a more comfortable position.
The Apache had jumped us just before noon time. Nine of them. Medium tall, barrel chests, sweat and dust streaked. Long black hair, strips of cloth around their bronzed foreheads tying the hair out of their dark eyes.
A running fight ensued. Zedadiah had fooled them though. Driving his horse and pack mule hard toward the most known watering hole, me following along as best I could.
The Apache had spilt their force in an effort to arrive ahead of us and cut us off from the life giving water. At the last moment though, Zedadiah had veered off and struck out toward the rocks and the tiny seep that lay with-in.
The Apache knew of this place. Few white men did. The old timer knew. It was that knowledge that had saved our hides. That and his old sharp buffalo gun and keen steady eyes.
For a time there, I thought we were going to make it. I was wrong. A hail of bullets brought down our horses and pack mule just short of the rocks, burned my ribs and thigh and left a hole in my battered hat.
The Apache had paid a price too. One thing I can say for sure about that old man, he could shoot!
“Yes Sir’ee,” He cackled, his gaze wandering out across the seemingly lifeless land. “let ’em come. We’ll show ‘em a thing or two or die trying.”
Movement, no more than what a slight breeze might bring to the desert grass grew his attention. He watched only briefly. It was too obvious for a knowing man like him.
“Ye want me, come get me!” He spoke, his voice loud this time.
From the opposite direction of the movement he had seen seconds before cam two Apache running hard. His pistol barked once, twice, a split second apart. A third shot sounded.
“Chalk up another ’un.” He spat the words with tobacco juice dribbling from his mouth. “Another dead, and one hurt some. Yes Sir‘ee, fine shootin if I say so myself.”
Mentally I began to calculate our chances. They had improved greatly though I was not foolish enough to believe we had won anything. The Apache was still out there, just not as many as there once was.
They might attack again at any moment. Then again they might not. They had looked for an easy kill. What they found was trouble aplenty in the shape of that old man. True enough, I had done my share of shooting. I just didn’t hit anything.
Wiping the sweat from my brow anew, I settled down to a watching position. A cool breeze from off the mountains touched us bringing slight relief from the heat. I was thirsty, but dared not chance going to the seep for a drink. That would come later. After the sun had set.
“Ain’t looking so bad no more. Kind of whittled things down to size. So ladies O‘ mine don‘t be looking so sad.” He mused ruefully speaking again to his dead livestock. “I’ll get us out of this fix, don’t ye worry none at tall.” He added gazing over at me.
It was easy for him to say. I still had my doubts.
If the remaining three remaining Apache took the chance and rushed us, we would fight them. If they didn’t, we would slip away in the night and leave little trail for them to follow. Not that that mattered any at all. I was quickly learning that everything in this sun baked land was dependent upon water and there were only so many places a man a foot could go.
“I surely do hate the thought of leaving all my gear behind.” His voice was soft, sad like. I knew what he meant. I too, had left things behind when I came west. For him though, it was a life time, a way of life itself.
Prospecting equipment mostly, battered coffee pot, fry pan, plate, tin cup, fork and spoon, a worn thin blanket, and other odds and ends that made camp life a little easier.
“Hey young feller,” He spoke to me, a quick glance to look me over again. “You never did tell me if you got a name or not.”
He was right of course. We had just gotten to his name and such when the bullets started flying back where he found me. I had not introduced myself yet.
For a moment I sat back and thought. What do you say when your whole life had been one miserable failure after another? “I got a name all right.” I told him. “Its Clark Owens.”
I let it lay like that, but the old man was having nothing of it. He was curious I knew. Finding a man lost out in the middle of no where’s had that effect I’m sure.
“Well,” He cackled. “you got a story don’t you?”
“Like what?” I asked back, trying to put him off.
“Oh, hell,” He voice took on a disgusted tone. “if’n ya don’t want to tell me nothing ‘bout yourself, then just tell me to mind my own damn business.”
“No,” I told him honest enough. “its not that I don’t want to tell you anything about myself. Its just that I’ve had a sorry life. Its hard to talk about it.”
“Then don’t.” He said brusquely.
I don’t know why, but that made me want to talk. I told him about my old man, a drunkard and no good wife beater. He had beaten me as well until I was old enough to stand up to him. Then we had it out. Fists at first. Later, I used a piece of board on him.
It was enough. I was just sixteen then and I left him bleeding on the front porch. Saddled up and took out of there like my britches were afire. Sure I beat him, but he was a mean son of O’ Bitch and he had that scattergun of his. I wanted no part of it.
I wasn’t worried none about Ma, she wasn’t much count either. Whoring around with every Johnny come a traipsing. She didn’t care a damn for me. I was just another mouth to feed and extra clothes to wash. She would shed no tears for me now that I was going.
For a time of nigh onto two years I drifted. Scrounging food, doing all the sorry jobs no real man would take on. Stealing when things were really low down…
Then I had met Cindy Lou. Pretty as the morning sunrise she was. Corn silk hair down around her waist, baby blue eyes and a smile to melt the coldest winter grouch. Trim waist, curvaceous bottom and breast that showed clear in her gingham dress, round and firm.
Back home in Wisconsin where I came from, we had pretty girls, but none of them ever paid me no never mind. Cindy Lou did. I should have known better. Any girl who looked at my ugly mug surely must have wanted something.
That something turned out to be her husband. He was big and burly. Nearly six foot five and weighed upward of two fifty. A jagged scar creased the left side of his face adding to the ugly of an already ugly face. Mean, he was. Damn rotten mean to the core.
Call me stupid. When I caught site of that girl, I fell head over heels. We spent time together and she filled my head with more than just the sweet scents of her perfume. We could be together, she told me, if just we could get rid of…
She never did tell me his name.
When I started to wise up and back off, she set me up. That big meanness of her husband appeared one day when he was suppose to be out of town. He thumped me! Thumped me good and true, then he took out his knife.
What was I suppose to do? I shucked that old colt from out of my waistband and with shaking hand I let him have it.
Cindy Lou screamed her head off and folks came a running and asking questions of me and her.
I was scared.
Good thing for me that big bastard had no friends in town. Hell, it turned out they were more than glad to see him dead. No one said anything to me. “Got what he deserved.” Is all I heard.
Well, I couldn’t believe my luck. I lit out of there right fast. All that I owned beside my blankets was in my saddle bags so I threw on the saddle, tightened the cinch and raised dust behind me.
My Ma being what she was and all, still hadn’t raised no lunk-head.
Well, maybe she did.
After Cindy Lou, I fell in with two drifting cow hands. Least that’s what they told me. I ambled along with them for a few days and then it happened.
We were out away from town and just taking it lazy like. When the stage come up the trail, I gave it no thought until those two jaspers I was with dragged iron. “Stick ’em up!” I heard Billy Perkins yell as he levelled his six-shooter at the driver and express agent. “This is a hold up.”
Me, I was plumb shocked. I just kind of sat there looking stupid, right there in the middle of the trail. Billy, he speaks over his shoulder to me, “Keep ’em covered, Kid. If they make any move at all, drill ’em.”
Eighteen and a wanted man for a stage hold up I had nothing to do with. I was there though and that made me guilty by association, I guess.
I took out of there too! I had like Texas, but I liked my neck better.
“And here ye are in New Mexico.” Zedadiah cackled with mirth when I had finished my story. “In trouble again. If’n I didn’t know better I’d say yah was jinxed.”
“Jinxed? I questioned, not knowing the word.
“Bad luck, Kid.” He chuckled then added somewhat more seriously, “Ain’t your fault. You’ve just run up against some bad ’uns.”
“Now then, get yourself comfortable. We got some time to wait.” He told me, letting another stream of tobacco juice fly.
Time dragged slowly as we sat, watching and waiting for the time to come. He told me that it mattered if the Apache came in the last rays of the setting sun. We’d do what we had to do.
They didn’t come.
Darkness descended quickly. The heat of the day giving way to the coming night. And still, we sat and waited for a long hour before slipping silently out from the rocks on our bellies.
Above us, a bright orange-yellow quarter moon shown, casting the
landscape into a myriad of shadow. Vague outlines, distorted shapes, dark
and sinister.
A nighthawk winged passed on its way toward the distant peaks. Insects chirped in the distance. Nearer us though, silence. The creatures of the desert would wait this night for their water. Man was here. Death too!
As I lay near him clutching my rifle, I saw his arthritic fingers toiling at the ropes of the pack saddle, careful to make no sound. A slab of bacon wrapped in cloth, jerked beef, and stale crackers…
He wanted it all! He had spent good money and several days in the saddle getting those supplies. It rankled, tore at his stubbornness. Good sense however, told him he would take what he could carry and nothing more.
For that I was thankful. “Here, take these, Kid.” He hissed, handing me his recovered goods.
A canteen, a second by careful digging in the sand and gravel beneath his dead horse. Saddle bags and the spare cartridges we would need soon enough. He moved to my horse next. There wasn’t much to be had, a bit of grub and a few shells in my saddle bags, spare clothes and ragged blanket roll and my battered canteen.
“Enough.” he told me. It would get us where he planned to take us. From there, we could rough it and live off the land if need be.
Raking my eyes over that silent wasteland once more, I waited, attentive ears sorting the sounds of the night.
The Apache, or at least two of them were out there. Watching and waiting too. One, it was more than likely, had gone after help. They would want us dead. They had suffered losses. They would not let us go.
Tomorrow…
Snaking our way back into the nest of boulders, we filled the canteens. Then sat back, the old mans mind following the route we would take. There was time, he told me quietly. Might as well rest while we could.
Dawn found us five miles distance from the rocks. I was dead beat, my legs aching, mind dull with sleeplessness. That old man though, he was game as anybody I had ever knew. He just kept on going, one foot at a time.
“All right,” He told me when the sun was up full. “this’ll do just fine.”
I looked at him. There was nothing but sand, gravel, a scattering of brush and nothing more. “What’ll do fine?” I asked.
“Sit down and rest.” He told me, easing his stooped frame down into the sand. “I’ll take the first watch. You can take over in two hours time.”
It was madness, I told myself, but I was staking my life on that old man, so I did what he said. I sat down and was soon fast asleep.
Heat awoke me, heat and the touch of his hand.
“Anything?” I asked, sitting up and stretching the sleep from my body.
“Nary a thing,” He cackled. “but don’t you get careless. Those ‘pache’s are out there and I reckon their plumb mad as hell by now.”
“I’ll watch.” I told him, taking up my rifle and settling down.
“You do that.” He said. “You just make sure you watch all around you. And don‘t move around much.” With that, he lay down and was soon sleeping.
Looking at him after awhile, I suddenly felt alone. He was there, right close to me, but I was alone just the same. Maybe it was my fear or maybe it was the vastness that surrounded me. I don’t know.
The heat of the day began to build. Sweat trickled down my neck and shoulders, beaded my forehead, and wetted my palms. Shimmering heat waves danced across the openness.
I sat, sweated and watched in all directions.
Time moved ever so slowly. It grew hotter still. Thirst was upon me, but I hesitated to drink more than a couple of sips. My nerves were on edge, raw and ready to explode…
“You see anything, Boy?” I jumped with fright. He had been asleep just seconds ago.
When my heart had settled back into my chest, I answered him. “Nothing for sure,” I told him, then added. “I thought I saw dust over East of us. Too far away to be sure though.”
“East of us, you say?” His gnarly fingers scratched at his chin stubble. “Interesting, interesting for sure.”
“Doubt its Apache.” He went on, knife slicing of a bit of plug tobacco and sliding it into his gob. “Leastwise not the bunch that jumped us. Could be other whites in the area.”
He worked his jaws, shuffled that bit of tobacco around two or three times, then he spat. “Getting crowded here about’s. Yes sir’ee, plumb crowded.” He was talking to himself again, as if I wasn’t there at all.
“You get some more shut eye,” He told me, finding me again in his mind. “I’ll have a look around and see what I can see.”
Try as I did, sleep wouldn’t come. Not at first, at least. The longer I lay there, the hotter it got. At last however, I must have fallen asleep.
When I woke next, the sun was high overhead, beating down on me with all it ferociousness. Sweat soaked my clothes, beaded on my face. My tongue felt huge in my dry mouth.
“Damn!” I said it softly, and thankfully I did.
“Don’t move.” Came the soft voice of Jedadiah Juckman. “We got company.”
I lay perfectly still. Fighting the urge to move. I did not wish to die just laying on my back like some stiff. If the Apache had found us, then I wanted to fight to the last breath. Still, I trusted that odd old man. It was a safe bet he was ready for any attack.
Five minutes ticked by. Ten, fifteen. I was getting impatient when he finally spoke. “Its all right.” He said, breathing a sigh of relief. “They’ve gone on.”
Sitting up, I wiped the sweat from my face, unstuck my shirt from my back and dried my hands on my pant legs. If there was a Hell, then I had just saw a part of it.
“Took ‘em long enough to get here.” The old man said. “Fooled them, we did.”
“I never want to do that again.” I told him, breathing a sigh of my own and feeling the shudder course through my body.
Taking my canteen, I drank two big mouthfuls. Warm as it was, it felt good going down my parched throat.
Slowly, I let my eyes go to him. He was tired looking, hot and sweaty to be sure, but in no way did I see weakness.
That old man… he was bred for this land!
“Better grab yourself some more shuteye if you can.” I told him, shifting my position so I had a better view of the land around us.
He didn’t answer me. Just laid down where he was, tilted his hat down over his eyes and went to sleep.
Me, I just sat there, watching and waiting. Waiting for the sun to go down and take away this accursed heat. Half expecting an Apache to show, to hear the sound of rifle fire or the twang of an arrow. Feel it slam into my chest and choke on the last breath I would ever take.
It didn’t come.
Time dragged on. With each passing minute the sun swung lower into the western sky. A breeze came up. At first, hot and sweltering, but slowly it took on a coolness and for that I was thankful.
“See anything?” He asked, rolling over onto his knees to survey the area behind him. Then snaking around to look at the rest.
I had a feeling that old man already knew what I was going to say, but I told him anyhow. “Smoke over to the northwest, another a bit further west.”
“Uh hum, well whoever they are,” He began in that cackling voice of his, then added more quietly. “they bought themselves a packet of trouble.”
“Who?” I asked. He didn’t answer. He just stared off to the west, scratching his chin in thought.
We sat that way, waiting for the sun to go down, watching with red rimmed eyes at the nothingness. Hot, sweaty, silent. Nibbling on pieces of jerked beef and sipping water from our canteens.
The vultures were there, soaring high in the sky. Like the Apache, they had patience, they could afford to wait. In the desert, their time would come.
“How much longer?” I asked, breaking the silence. He just sat there for a long minute not answering. I thought he hadn’t heard me so I asked again.
“Patience Boy,” He said looking irritable at me. “Patience.” He left it like that and the silence fell again.
Once, just before sunset, I thought I heard gunshots far to the west. Sound travels far in the still land of the desert, yet I still couldn’t be sure. Looking at Zedadiah Juckman though, I knew I wasn’t imaging things.
Coolness flooded the land with the sunset. Still, we sat. The old man dozing on and off. Me, I was busy with my own thoughts. Looking back on that sorry life I had had up to this point.
What did I have to show for things? What was I ever going to have?
I had dreams and hopes, but a man needs a start in life or a lucky break. Sure, a lot of folks made their own start through hard work and careful planning. Could I, I wondered?
I hadn’t had much schooling and I never claimed to be no shucks at thinking and knowing. Back there in Wisconsin my Pa never had no use for me except as cheap labour and when I say cheap labour I mean, “You get this done Boy, or I’ll tan your hide with a willow switch.”
That’s what I knew, I guess. I knew how to work and wasn’t afraid of working. If I could get me a grub stake and a piece of land… I could start a place of my own.
It was wishful thinking on my part. Right now I didn’t know if I was going to live to see the next sunrise let alone the next week, month or year. A man needed time to build a dream and that…
Looking over at that old man gave me heart. He was one tough old man and if we were going to get out of this mess, it was going to be his doing and no one else’s.
As if reading my thoughts, he looked over at me, pushed up onto his knees, then stood. “Well, what ye waiting for?” He asked, picking up his canteens and saddle bags. “I ain’t getting any younger Boy, and we’ve a fair piece to travel yet.”
I was up and moving before he finished speaking. Trailing after him as he set off at a mile eating pace and without a backward glance to see if I was coming along.
Twice I had to ask him to stop and let me catch my breath. It was hard going for me. A man whose ridden most everywhere for any amount of time is naturally out of shape for chores like walking. My legs ached and I was breathing hard.
“How much further?” I asked him, when we had stopped the second time for a blow.
Again, he didn’t answer me. He just sat down where he stopped, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, cut off a piece of that plug tobacco of his and filled his cheek. Rolled it around a couple of time and spat.
“Lets go.” He said after a bit. I got up, yet I sure didn’t feel like following. I was done in, but what choice did I have?
The last stars of the night gave was to the coming dawn. Cool, crisp, tinged with grey-black clouds. In the air, a fresh breeze blew, hinting of rain.
“Almost there, Boy,” Zedadiah cackled over his shoulder to me. “almost there.”
He lead us down into a small basin, its rim choked with rock and scrub brush. Further down, a hint of greenness showed in the gathering light and somewhere off to my right, I could here a gurgle of water.
Questions formed in my mind when we reached the bottom, yet I left them unspoken. Instead I used my eyes.
A lean-to stood butted against a huge boulder. Three walls of rough cut wood. A brush and dirt roof, an old blanket for a door and flour sack for a window covering. It wasn’t much to look at, yet it appeared snug.
Further along, I found the source of gurgling. A tiny trickle of water ran from between the rocks and gathered in a small pond, its run-off disappearing back into the ground.
There was grass here as well. Enough to feed a horse or maybe two for a few days. Ample brush for firewood…
“Yours?” I asked letting my eyes settle on him.
“It ain’t much, but its dry in wet weather and cool in the heat of the day.” He told me, pulling up a rock for a seat. “Safe enough too, I reckon. The Apache know of this place, but they think its haunted so they don’t come around.”
“Haunted?”
“Apache are superstitious.” He began, “most Indians are for that matter. They have their own Gods and their own beliefs and what don’t match up is bad medicine.”
“I can’t rightly say they’re wrong about this place being haunted or not. I’ve been around a long time and I’ve seen and heard some strange stuff.”
“Here though, I reckon what spooks the Apache is nothing more than the wind howling between the rocks. Its spooky for sure when she starts a groaning and howling especially at night, but I got used to it. Now I don’t even notice it except when the wind is really blowing up a gale.”
I heard it then. Low and mournful. The small hairs on the back of my neck lifted and I felt a chin run the length of my spine.
He looked at me, smiled, then slapped gnarled hands on knees. “Wa’ll, we better get some food into us.” He told me sudden like. “I got me a battered coffee pot and some fry-pans in the lean-to. You rustle up a fire and I’ll fetch them. Then we’ll have us a meal.”
He got up then. Headed for the lean-to in a stumbling gait. Me, I just sat there for a minute thinking about haunts and ghosts before getting up and gathering dry leaves and twigs. A lucifer struck against my pant leg sparked to life and I set it to my kindling. The flame took hold and I fed it larger sticks. Then added a few piece of wood.
By the time Zedadiah got back, my fire was going and I sat back letting the tension go out of my aching muscles. I was tired, dog tired, but he was home now and for some reason talkative.
“We’ll rest up here for a day or two then take out north of here.” He was saying. “Ben Hopman’s got a ranch of sorts over that way. He’ll loan or sell us some horses.
“Grub staked me a time or two, Hopman has. Don’t know why, got enough trouble of his own. Reckon he just likes the company and to hear whatever news I might have.
“Lonely too, I suspect. Ain’t no place for a woman though. When the soldier boys get a handle on the Apache maybe, but not now. To dangerous.”
While he talked, I had filled the coffee pot with water, threw in a handful of coffee beans and set it near the fire to boil. Taking up his slab of bacon, I sliced thick chunks off into the fry pan and set it over the flame to sizzle. When finished, I added bit of water, molasses from his lean-to, salt and dried beans from my saddle bags.
I leaned back then, smelling the good aroma’s of cooking food and coffee. I listened too, as he went on.
“You’ll like Hopman. He’s pushing forty or so, but there’s no flab on him. Rawhide tough, he is.
“Those Apache have hit his place four, five times. Hopman’s buried some good men and lost some fine horse flesh. He won’t give up though. He’s a fighter. Each time they hit him, the Apache leave behind dead of their own. Has a special spot out back of his barn where he buries them. Last time I counted there was eleven graves.
We drank our coffee in silence, each of us alone with his own thoughts. Me, I was thinking about that place I was a wishing I had. This here was a wild, wide open land. If a man had the courage and the will to put in the effort, he could make something of himself.
Water is what a man needed. This was a dry land, but if a man had a good source of water and a bit of green grass…
“Is that grub ready yet?” The old man asked, butting into my thoughts. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse and I’ve done that a time or two. Ain’t to my liking, no sir’ee. Too damn stringy for my tastes.
“Now you take them Apache. They don’t care none. They’ll ride their horses to death, stop and cut off a chunk and eat it, but what they like most of all is mule.”
My stomach kind of turned and I gave that pot of beans and bacon a stir. They weren’t quite done, but like him, I found myself hungry. “Give it another ten minutes.” I told him, rustling through my saddle bags for some dry biscuits.
“What ye gonna do when I get ya outta here, Boy?” He asked. It was another of his sudden questions and it took me off guard.
“Don’t know for sure.” I told him honestly enough. “Been thinking about finding me a piece of land, a few head of cattle and maybe some horses…”
“Why don’t you throw in with me for a spell?”
That set me back on my heels.
“Listen Boy,” He stopped dead, gave me the once over again, then went on without waiting for my reply. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Clark,” I told him. “Clark Owens.”
“Hell of a damn name to remember.” He cackled, and went on. “Listen Clark, I found me some color last time out. Weren’t much, but I got a feeling it’ll prove up some.
“You say you’re thinking of land, cattle and horses. Well, that takes money. So unless you got yourself a packet-full tucked down in them saddle bags of yours, your bucking a stacked deck. With me…”
While he was talking away there, I threw my dried biscuits in with the beans and dished up two plates. Handing him his, shut him up for a spell and I sat back, my mind churning with what I had just heard.
“You think about it, Boy.” He said around a mouthful of beans.
I was thinking about it all right. Thinking and eating both at the same time.
“I don’t know a thing about digging gold.” I told him at last. My plate was nearly empty. His was, and he was filling up for seconds.
“Hell,” He said looking up at me from where he knelt by the fire. “You can learn, can’t ye?”
“I guess so.”
“Ain’t no guessing about it. You were smart enough to get away from your old man, smart enough to see through that girl you told me about, and smart enough to get clear of them two hombres that robbed that there stage.
“You’re smart enough. You just need someone to set you in the right direction.”
“You might be right.” I told him, still thinking about what he said, but not really committing myself to anything just yet. I needn’t to have bothered. The old man did the settling for me.
“Its settled then.” He said, then went on. “When we get to Hopman’s spread we’ll get us some horses, pack mule and grub, and go it together. Fifty-fifty. Partners!”
“All right.” I told him, finishing my food and gathering up the dishes I headed for the seep. My mind was racing, churning with thoughts and some of them were fear filled.
This was still, Apache land!
The first drops of rain fell as I sat back down from my chore. It irked me slightly. I had spent the night traipsing through sand and brush and now I was ready for sleep and not a wet sleep either. Still, I knew rain would be a blessing.
In this dry land rain meant life. Life to the creatures who inhabited this country and life to the plants of the region. With moisture there would be an awakening, a blooming to life, then the plants would drop their seeds and wait again for the rains to come.
“Lean-to is dry.” He commented casually. Whether he guessed my mood or not I didn’t know. Didn’t care either.
Getting up to my feet and gathering my stuff, I followed him inside. Like I said before, it didn’t look like much. A single room. On one side stood a stacked set of bunks. On the other side near the rock wall, a crude made table and two rickety looking chairs. A coal oil lamp in the center.
A pot belly stove stood in the corner near the table. Pegs on the wall furthest from the opening and near the bunks held odd bits of clothing, a shelf over by the table, held food stuff.
Surprisingly, it was clean and orderly save for a bit of dust.
“You take the top shelf.” He told me and plopped down on the lower bunk. “Don’t ye worry none. We’re safe here.”
Sleep, glorious sleep!
I slept the morning and half the afternoon away. Outside, rain fell in sheets, driven by the wind. Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rolled, but I heard none of it. I was lost in a world of dreams. Dreams of that little ranch I would have one day. And dreams of the Apache waiting to take my life.
Dropping socked feet to the hard packed dirt floor, I rubbed the last of my sleep from my eyes, stretched, then searched out my boots. Shaking them out, I pushed my feet into them, stomped them into place, then stepped through the blanket door.
The old man sat on a rock puffing away at an old corn cob pipe. What he was thinking I didn’t know.
“This here place,” He said when he caught sight of me. “I use it as my base camp. When the weathers too hot to do anything I come back here and just set and rest up or I take out of country and visit the towns.
“I haul in supplies when I need them. Was doing that when I came upon you and those Apache. Have to start over again.” He told me, waving one gnarled hand in the air, the other holding his pipe to his lips. “Won’t be so bad though. I still got a sack of gold dust. There should be enough for what we need.”
He was looking at me just then. “You got any money?” He asked. Well, what could I say. I hadn’t more than nine, ten dollars stuffed down in my pants pocket. “A bit, but it won’t go far.” I told him truthfully.
“Don’t let it fret ye none. You’ll earn your keep around here.”
“Gold’s a mighty fine thing, but it ain’t so easy to get. Less easier to keep. Folks would kill ya right quick if’n they thought ye had some.” He was speaking to me, but I got the feeling his mind was somewhere else. Seeing some long ago event perhaps. I don’t know.
Getting up, I took up an old axe and started chopping wood for the fire. It was mostly dry brush, but it burned well and gave off mighty little smoke. In a country like this, a smokeless fire was something a man needed if he wanted to live.
After a time, I went back and sat down, scraped together a few twigs and a bit of grass and started another fire. Coffee was what I wanted, coffee and a bit more grub in my belly.
Pan bread, beans and bacon. A man could get sick of the same thing meal after meal, but I liked beans, and I liked bacon. The pan bread I made myself so there couldn’t be any complaints on my end. What the old man though I couldn’t guess, but living the way he did, I just reckoned he was used to eating the same thing here and there.
“What’ll we do once we’re outfitted again?” I asked him, a curiosity growing with-in me. Now that I had come to terms with the idea of hunting gold with the old man, I was keen to start learning.
We set off two hours before sun down with two days of sleep under our belts and a bellyful of food.
I tell you honest enough, I wasn’t looking forward to that trip. Three days of walking would do my already tender feet no good and the soles of my boots were already paper thin.
Twice we caught sight of raised dust, but it was far in the distance and might have been anything. Just the same, we walked where we were off the sky line and carried our rifles ready.
“There’s water out here if you know where to look.” Jedadiah was telling me as we went along. “Some of the places a man could be with in ten feet and never see it unless he knew what he was looking for. There’s hidden seeps, water tanks amongst the rocks, and a few spring hole.
“You’ll learn to find them, Boy,” He went on. “I’ll show you the ones I know, others you’ll find on your own. Watch the signs of animals, they know where water can be found. If you see bee’s, follow them and you’ll almost for sure find water.”
Daylight gave way to the twinkling lights of the night and we set our course by the north star.
We walked in silence for the better part of the night. There was no need for talk. We had a long way to go and beside’s, as he told me, and as I had learned already, sound travels far in the thin air of night. One never knew who might be out there in the darkness listening.
Two men a foot where easy pray for the Apache. Not that they were the only ones we had to worry about. Just about anyone out here in this vast wasteland might be an enemy. There were those who would kill a man for whatever little they carried. Some would kill you just for the killing.
At midnight we stopped in a small nest of boulders. We rested, ate jerked beef washed down with water from a canteen. My feet hurt, but I complained none at all. If that old man could stand it, then I would too.
Birds flittered passed our resting place. Other small animals moved leaving only a small rustling sound to mark their passage. Somewhere a lone coyote called.
Above us a million or more stars shined brightly. The moon, pushing on toward half full lit the land. Here and there a puffy white cloud drifted passed on the slight breeze.
It was indeed a beautiful country, I realized. Beautiful and mysterious. Eerie in a way, for the shadows seemed to take on a life of their own or maybe, that was just my imagination.
“How long have you been out here?” I asked, a yearning to hear something other than the sounds of the night creeping over me. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”
“Lonely?” He sat for a long minute before he went on. “You’re never really alone out here. It might not look like it, but there’s an abundant amount of birds and animals out here to keep you company. My horse and my mule, they were like best friends and I’m going to miss them.”
“But what of people? Don‘t you miss talking to them? Don‘t you ever get lonely for the comforts of a woman?” That last question set me back. Brought color flaming in my cheeks and I was glad for the darkness. Who was I to ask a man about the comfort of a woman? I, who had had only the experience of Cindy Lou and that was nothing to be proud of.
“I see people from time to time.” He told me almost sadly. “A few of them I would call friends, but the rest,” He paused, shifting his chew in his mouth, then spat. “thieves, cut-throats, murderers. The dregs of the earth and most fit for only one thing. Hanging!
“It wasn’t like that when I first come out from New York. I was just sixteen and off the boat from England. New York was a hell of a place for a boy on his own.
“There were no jobs to speak, no place to sleep except out in the streets or if you were lucky a barn. The scum, street thugs to be accurate, were there for all too see and if you wanted to survive, you fell in with them. Did their bidding. Pick pocketing, rolling a drunk for what he had…
“Fortunately for me, I heard tell of the gold rush in California.
Didn’t know where that was. Didn’t care for that matter. Gold! California gold! Its a chance of a life time, that’s what they were saying and I fell in among them.
“That was back in forty nine. Well, actually it began in forty eight when Sutler’s crew first found gold. I was too late to get in on that first rush. By the time I got out there almost a year later, that boom had ended an another one was starting somewhere else.
“Man, that was a journey, just getting there. Two thousand or so miles across some of the meanest country a man ever set eyes on. Some of the prettiest too. Took me some months to get to Independence Missouri where most folks where gathering to be outfitted out.
“From there, we followed the Oregon-California trail.” He paused for a moment, thinking back. “Boy,” He spoke up then. “did you ever see the likes of Chimney Rock, or Scottsbluff?”
I shook my head no and he went on.
“Ye missed out then, Boy.” He told me with a shake of his head. “Followed the Platte river, some in wagons, some a horseback, others like me a walking along. Most of us had never been out of the cities and we had to learn things a-mighty quick.
“Ye hear tell about how bad the red-man is, scalping and murdering. Weren’t like that back in them days. Sure there were a few bad ones, but for the most part the Indians helped us out. Taught us things, traded food and horses. It wasn’t until the white man started bad treating them that they started fighting back.
“What mostly killed folks heading to California was sickness. Cholera, mountain fever, pneumonia, diphtheria. There was other ways to die as well. Thirst, starvation, a fall from a horse or off the side of a cliff, snake bite… lots of ways to die.
Once we reached the Humboldt river, we had to cross desert. Dry as a bone she was. Nigh onto forty miles of pure hell. Then we reached the Carson river and those who survived gave thanks to the Lord above.
“I was done in, gaunt from the journey itself and from eating short rations. I went to digging just the same. Found me a little color. It wasn’t much, I’ll admit, but it gave me the fever so I shuffled around a fair bit.
“Sometimes I went off on my own. Other times I went with others. I learned from them, the old timers that is. I’d sit back and just watch. Ask a question now and then.
“Most times they’d tell me what I wanted to know because I wasn’t a hanger on. I worked right along side of them doing a mans work from sun up to sun down.
“It was a wide open country for sure back then. Indians galore. Like I said, most were friendly, but some were a just a waiting to lift your hair. It was touch and go for time, but after a while I got know the land around me. Knew where to find water. Game was plentiful, so living off the land wasn’t as difficult as one would think.
“Learning, that’s what it was, always looking to learn while doing what I was. That’s what kept me alive. You pay attention, Boy, and you learn all you can learn.”
“So how’d you wind up out here?” I asked.
“I’m getting to that part. You just hold onto your britches.” He cackled back at me.
“In them first few years there was a time when all you had to do was say the word gold and I would have come a running. I grew up though, or maybe I just wised up. Both, I reckon are just about the same thing to me.
“When a feller heard tell of another gold strike chances were it wasn’t as big as folks thought. Most times it turned out that you wasted a lot of time chasing after dreams.
“By the time I was twenty four, I had covered most of California, least-wise all the likely places gold might be found. Then I started hearing tales along the trail of Spanish gold, lost mines and buried treasures.
“Most of them early old timers had put aside their prospecting equipment. Some had gone back east, others took up land and started building something for the future. Others still, took to hunting and trapping as way to make ends meet.
“Not me though, I still had the fever. Gold does that to a man. I’ve seen men go half out of their minds with their cravings for the stuff. Never had it that bad though.
“Anyhow, I started this way. Took a job here and there to keep me a going. Worked until I had me a grub stake, then I’d set off out into the hills. Sometimes I found gold, most times I just rustled about trying to keep my hair.
“Thing is, I was growing up all the time. The need for finding gold lost some of its shine. The land was changing me. I was becoming a part of it and it a part of me. Guess you could call it love for I do love this country.
“Now, I just do it because its in my blood. Its all I know how to do.” He went quiet for a time then, as if he was tired or lost in some memory.
“Best be going.” He said at last.
Sadly, I got up and followed after him. It had been a mighty fine thing sitting there listening to him talk and I was a wishing for another chance.
We walked until the suns first rays began to slide up over the horizon then he led me into a nest of boulders. A piece of one of the larger rocks had sheered off and fell across some smaller ones making sort of an open ended cave.
Brush choked the base of it and unless you where standing bent over and looking for it, you’d never see it for what it was.
The opening was two and a half maybe three feet wide and there was just enough room for a man to crawl inside and roll over. It was cool inside, but I had a feeling she’d get warm with the coming sun.
Zedadiah stood the first watch, waking me just before ten O‘clock. Nothing moved in all that waste land. It was quiet. Too quiet!
Heat waves took shape as the noon hour approached, dancing, shimmering across the land. A lake of cool blue water appeared, but I knew it to be a mirage. Sweat beaded my brow, trickled down my back though it was not as hot as it had been.
I sat, waiting and watching. A nervous tension building with-in me. Why, I could not explain. Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was my fear of the Apache. Whatever it was, my mind cried out for relief, companionship, conversation and an end to the silence.
The buzzards, high in the sky, circled on currents of warm air. They were a constant reminder to me that death wasn’t far off and could come at any moment.
What was I doing here, I wondered. This wasn’t my land. Zedadiah Juckman seemed to have been born to it. Not me though. I belonged back in Wisconsin where there was no Indian trouble, no desert, or terrible heat to shrivel a mans skin. No thirst to blacken the tongue and drive a man insane from lack of water.
I belonged behind a store counter, on a farm plowing fields and planting seeds, driving a freight wagon or using an axe in a lumber crew. Anywhere, but here.
And yet, I did belong here. I was quickly coming to love this land. The beauty of it. The many shades of blue, green, red and brown. It was the fear that held me back. Given time that would pass and I would become a part of the land just like Zedadiah had.
Learning, that’s what he had told me. Learning was the key to making something of yourself. Learning and hard work. Well, I could learn all right. I would too. I would learn all I could from Zedadiah Juckman.
It went that way; walking through the nights, sitting, waiting, and watching through the day. Catching sleep in turns. Eating jerked beef and washing it down with luke-warm water from our canteens. And thinking about the past, present and future.
On the morning of the third day out, we stumbled into Ben Hopman’s ranch yard. The Apache had been here too. We passed three newly filled graves out behind the barn on our way to the main house.
“Zedadiah!” Hopman called, coming from the house to greet us. “I’d of thought the Apache would have gotten you by now.”
“They done tried.” The old man replied. “Looks like you’ve had trouble of your own.”
“Come on into the house and I’ll tell you about it… Who’s your friends?”
It was a solid built house made of rock and lumber hauled in from afar. We were seated at the old plank table, worn smooth by years of usage, scarred by knife and cigars left burning on the end. A coffee cup in our hands, hot black coffee that could peel paint before us.
“Ben, this is…” The old man stoped, scratched his chin thoughtfully. “What did you say your name was again, Boy?”
“Clark Owens.” I said with a frown. How many times did a man have to tell another what his handle was?
Ben Hopman laughed, his voice booming in the quiet of the house. “Don’t take it to heart, Clark. Hell, it took Zedadiah two years before he got the straight of my name. Where ye from?”
We talked small talk for an hour or more. Shared whatever little news we had. Eventually though it came around to the Apache. They had hit the ranch the day before yesterday.
Three Apache died in the raid. Two of his ranch hands had been wounded though not seriously. Some stock had been run off. Not as many as they might have taken. Ben Hopman’s dog had given them the warning early.
“That dogs a canny one. Part wolf, I think.” Hopman was telling us. “Must have smelled them. He gave a low growl and then set to barking.
“Probably saved Bud Saville and Steve’s Fischer‘s life. Gave ‘em a chance to throw the horses into a run toward the ranch yard and get back themselves.”
I was tired, bone weary tired. My feet were blistered. The sole on the right foot giving way to all that walking we had done. Sitting there, listening to the low conversation, I started to doze off.
“Where’d you find him, Zed?” Hopman asked, I heard none of it. I was fast asleep.
“Found him out there, lost, looking worn thin and his horse wasn’t doing much better. Didn‘t have much time to get acquainted afore the Apache hit us.”
“Caught you a burn across the cheek I see. You must be getting old.”
“Hah! Old you say. I reckon I can still out work any of them jaspers you got working for you.”
Ben Hopman chuckled. “I reckon you can,” He said, then went on. “Lost your horse and mule. Must have been a close thing.”
“It was. Mighty hairy there for a time. This here Kid, he’s green, but he’s got sand. Had some troubles in the past, but given a chance he could make something of himself. I can see it in the way he looks at you. His eyes never waver. Steady and watchful, alert.”
“So you figure to take him under your wing and teach him a thing or two.”
“Something like that.”
We stayed at the ranch five days, sleeping, resting up, drinking and eating our fill. Hopman had a good cook and he piled the plates high. Man sized food for man sized work.
Borrowing a horse and saddle on the third morning, I lent a hand. I wasn’t no shakes at it, but those ranch hands took me under their wing so to speak and taught me what I needed to know. Zedadiah was off with Ben Hopman. Where I didn’t know. Didn’t have time to know or worry about it either.
It was work from sun up to sundown. Riding, roping, branding the odd maverick, checking fence lines, and making repairs where needed. Be it fence of barn or any other thing that might need a bit of work.
“You’ll do, Kid.” Bud Saville told me at the end of the second days work for me. “Put a little more beef on them bones of yourn and you’ll make a top hand.”
I hated to leave that place. It gave a man a sense of something, I don’t know, maybe it was pride, but knowing I was accepted as one of them made me feel good deep inside.
We rode out just after the evening meal. Zedadiah rode a grey, fifteen hands tall with an ugly glint in its eyes, a pack mule that took a whole lot of haggling to get off Ben Hopman trailed behind laden with grub.
Me, I rode a painted horse. An appaloosa gelding, with a quick lively step. Hopman himself had suggested the paint. “Second best horse I have, next to that grey, Zed just picked.” He had told me.
“How much?” I had questioned. No one needed to tell me it was worth more than the nine dollars I had in my pocket. Just looking at him I knew here was a horse to be proud of.
“Well,” He began, studying the horse, me and then Zedadiah. “You’re going to need a saddle, a saddle blanket, and bridle to go along with the horse… a blanket roll for yourself and some other necessaries. What do ye say to sixty dollars?”
My face fell. I had tried hard not to show the disappointment, but it was there just the same. “Don’t worry about it, Clark,” Hopman spoke up seeing my face. “you’ll pay me when you got the money. I have no doubt about that.”
“But…”
“Take him, and best of luck to you.”
“Thank you,” I told him, a lump coming up in my throat. “Thank you so very much.”
“Ah, it ain’t nothing. You just take care of yourself, and take note of that old sidewinder. He ain’t much on knowing names, but there’s little else he don’t know.”
“Zed, you look out for the lad, and yourself for that matter. And don’t forget to stop in once in awhile. Just so’s I know you’re alive.”
We had shaken hands and waved our goodbye’s, then headed back out into the harsh and beautiful wasteland.
“Where to first?” I asked when we were out of sight of the ranch.
“We’re going back and see what them red devils left of our gear. That’s what we’re going to do first.” Came Zedadiah’s cackling reply. “Then we’re going back to camp and make some plans.”
I don’t have to tell you, I wasn’t looking forward to going back where those Apache had pinned us down. Scared? Hell yes I was scared. Only a damn fool wouldn’t have been.
Most folks thought the Indian nothing more than an ignorant savage, but that ain’t the case. Take those Apache for example. They didn’t just a come running at us. They planned out their attack. Killed the horse’s and pack mule right off and setting us afoot. Then they used every bit of cover they could find to close in on us.
Their only problem was Zedadiah Juckman. He had out thought and out fought them. And then we had slipped away and left little behind for them to follow.
Now we were going back. Sure enough, I was scared.
Circling around, keeping off the skyline and making as little dust as possible, we took two days in getting back to the seep in the rocks.
The heat and the vultures had done their work. The stench of decaying flesh reached my nose before we saw it. Nausea filled my belly and choked my throat. What the old man thought, I’m not sure. He just told me to sit my saddle and keep my rifle handy.
There wasn’t much left. Leastwise, not of the food supplies he had bought and toted out here. The Apache had taken what they could or what they wanted, and dumped the rest on the ground. The prospecting equipment was there though, and that’s what he really wanted I guess.
Pick, shovel, and pan, a few other odds and ends like small sacks to store his gold dust in, a candle or two…
When he had salvaged what he could, we wasted no time waiting around. The bitter ugly stench of death lay heavily there and neither wanted any part of it for any longer than we had too.
“Now, lets get back to camp, Boy.” He said, around blowing his nose as if that would cleanse the stench from it.
There was a sadness in him. He had loved that horse and mule like a mother loved a child. Seeing them like they were hit him harder than he would ever admit, if he ever did. He was a strong, hard man with no time for feeling sorry for anything or anyone.
“Dust over to south.” I told him. We had been riding for a little less than hour when I first saw it and you had to look close or you wouldn’t see it at all.
“You’re learning. Got good eyes too!”
Circling wide, we took our time. We carried our rifle in our hands ready for trouble we hoped would never come. “Country’s filling up of a sudden.”
It was one of those comments meant for no one and I let it lay. I had been thinking about that ranch again. Doing the bit of work I had done at Hopman’s had given me an idea of what I could expect. It was hard work, but good work and with a little luck I’d have my own place someday.
The Haunted Spring was as we had left it.
Coming in we had come across unshod pony tracks, yet they had steered well clear of the place.
This was home of a sorts and getting down from my saddle, I let my eyes roam. It was crude, but it was a good set up. From a distance it looked like any other jumble of rocks. Even the crudeness of the lean to shack lent itself to being lost from view.
Few, if any white men knew of its existence, the Apache avoided it because of their superstition.
“You fix the fire, I‘ll unload the packs and store our gear.” I told him. It was getting on toward dusk and I was hankering for some grub, but mostly I wanted coffee.
“Fixing to rain.” He told me, rubbing his chin and working his chew around in his mouth. “Getting onto the rainy season.”
He paused there, a stream of tobacco juice spewing from between his lips. “I wonder what all the who-haw is. Most times you can’t find anybody but Apache’s out here. Seems like now though this country is crawling with folks.”
“Could be the army is out.”
“Could be, but I don’t believe it. We best ride a wide circle and see what we can learn.”
“The thing is,” He went on. “with all these folks around and the Apache up in arms, its dangerous for us to be out hunting gold. Might be just as well to sit tight and wait for it to calm down.”
I could see his point. It was a damned if we did and a damned if we didn’t situation. The one thing I was sure of, I wasn’t keen to get tangled up in any shooting match. Be it white or red-man.
Now why had that thought crossed my mind? Might be all those folks here about were hunting one and other and the Apache were just a waiting to pick up the pieces. I said as much to Zed.
“You probably hit the nail on the head.” He replied. “Best sit tight for a spell and see what happens.”
So many men, not that there could be many men in this bitter land. A half dozen, maybe a few more. I knew what it was that was making that old man edgy. Water and the Apache.
There were only so many places a man could find water out here. Many of these held only limited amounts of the precious life giving fluid. That many men and horses could threaten those resources. Threaten his and others who passed through the area’s very existence.
Then of course there was the Apache. They would come here in numbers. Prey on the weak and one by one destroy the strong. We ourselves would be forced into hiding out here at the haunted see or we would have to leave the area.
We had food for now and we had a good source of fresh clean water, but horses need to be fed as well and…
Gunshots!
They were off some distance to the north. A mile or so, but it was hard to be sure. Sound travels far in this country.
“Get your horse.” Zedadiah was up and looking off in the direction that the shot came from. His jaw was set, eyes scrunched up, crows feet standing out. He was a man who had just made a decision that he didn’t want to make, but felt he had no other choice.
“Ain’t no sense going off into the night.” I told him. “Be dark soon. Won’t be able to see nothing and we might just ride up to a packet of trouble we don’t want.”
He looked at me. Looked hard. Looked as if he was seeing me in a fresh light. Then he scratched his jaw a mite, smiled and sat down, fished out his pipe and struck a match. “By heavens name, you’re right Boy,” He cackled. “You’re learning, that you are.”
We ate our meal in silent reflection. In the distance dark clouds gathered in the gloom of the coming night. A streak of lightning split the sky to the north and a few seconds later thunder rolled across the land.
“Best be getting inside the lean-to.”
“You go ahead. I’ll just finish cleaning up the dishes and check on the horses.”
We rode away from the Haunted Spring into an eerie land. A drizzling mist surrounding us, hampering or visibility. It had been a sleepless night for me. Long I had lain awake listening to the mournful wail of the seep.
My thoughts had been many as I lay there in that old bunk, but the one thing I kept coming back to, was that I was changing. I was growing up. Learning, and developing a confidence I had not had before I met Zedadiah Juckman.
We rode sitting loose in our saddles, rifles ready in hand, not knowing what we would find ahead of us. The rain had washed away whatever tracks we might have seen, yet we knew the general direction we must travel.
“Spring over to the northeast.” Zedadiah told me as we rode along. “We’ll circle around and come in from the west. Got fair cover most of the way. Should be able to get in there and have us a look-see without too much trouble.
We were riding into trouble. I could feel it in the way the short hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I was sweating and I shouldn’t have been. It was cool this morning and with the mist…
“The way I figure it, we got two maybe three parties out here. Have to figure two of them as enemies and maybe third one as well.” He had stopped his horse for a moment, hands busy with cutting off a piece of tobacco and slipping it into his mouth. “We’re going to take it real easy like, Boy, real easy.”
We heard the first shots as the mist gave way to the sun. One solitary shot, alone in the stillness, slapping and echoing off the rocks. Then several more ripped the morning.
“Close,” Jedadiah said softly. We were getting near the battle site.
“There’s a rise up ahead. We can climb up onto the rocks and get a fair idea of what’s happening.”
“All right.”
We still rode cautiously. The last thing either of us wanted was to ride into a fight. Me least of all. Oh, I was ready, leastwise that’s what I told myself, but my shooting back when we first hooked up wasn’t nothing to give a man confidence.
“I’ll go up and look around.” I told him when we reached the rise and the rocks. He wasn’t having any of that until I told him he shot better than me. This was a dangerous place at the moment and at any time it could come our way.
That set him back. He knew what I said was the truth. He didn’t like it though. He was a man given to doing for himself, trusting in just himself. It rankled that the situation called for him to give way to me.
“All right,” He told me, tobacco juice spitting from his mouth. “but you keep your head down. Don’t need to add to our troubles by you being seen.”
“Don’t worry, I ain’t anxious to get my fool head blown off.”
Removing my hat, I hung it on the pommel of my saddle then started up the rocks. With the sun shining, it was shaping up to be a hot muggy day and though still early, I was already sweating.
Even as I started climbing, another volley sounded. Their having a party over there, I told myself, a real shooting she-bang!
She was tricky and damn hard work. Snaking myself up those last few feet so as to not show myself to anyone looking this way. I made it though, sweat beading my forehead, shirt stuck to my back and sucking air into my starved lungs.
From a top I could see them, not more than a three hundred yard away. Two men in a nest of boulders… no, a third man was there. He was laying off in a corner of the rocks, a hand pressed to a shoulder.
Out further, just with-in rifle range of those rocks, I counted seven other men. One was dead for sure. I could see him laying there, face up and unmoving.
More shots sounded and briefly an angry word reached my ears. What it was I could not say, it was muffled and unclear.
Looking from the rocks back out to where the seven men were, I caught a glimpse of sun light reflecting off metal. It might have been anything, but I was sure that reflection had come off a shirt pocket. A lawman then, a lawman and his posse.
Letting my eyes survey the country side around, I caught a faint movement a mile or so off to the east. Riders, and by the looks of them, I figured a dozen or more. To the west, from where we had come in, I saw another band of moving riders. These were closer and coming on fast.
“Zedadiah,” I called scrambling down the rocks. “We got company coming.”
“I see ‘em”
“More coming in from the east.”
“Damn!” He looked again to the riders still some distance off. “What did you see out there aside from them.” He asked, working his chew around quickly.
“Posse, seven of them, though I think ones dead.” I told him without wasting words. “Three in the rocks. One of them hurt.”
“Hell,” He spat, scratched his cheek in thought then added, “lets go. We got our tails in the crack for sure. Might as well combine forces and make the best of it.”
Taking the lead, Zedadiah set a hurried pace around the rocks and down to the lower area where the posse lay. He rode directly toward them so as to make sure we were seen.
I don’t have to tell you, I was nervous. This was a touchy situation we were riding into. One of those posse members could take us the wrong way and open up on us. Or one of those jaspers down in the rocks might take a notion to let fly. Still, we made it all right.
“Who’s in charge here?” Zed questioned loudly. The shooting had stopped and they were all looking at us.
“Who wants to know?” A big burly fellow with cow skin chaps, dirt stained jeans and faded red shirt asked. He was surly, heat and sweat and the inability to dislodge those in the rocks blackening his mood.
“That’ll do, Conners, I’ll handle this.” This man spoke with authority and when he stood up I could see the badge on his tan shirt. “I’m Steve Prescott, U.S. Marshall for this territory. Who are you two?”
“Ain’t got time for nonsense.” The old man replied then went on without waiting for the protest he saw forming on the marshal’s lips. “In just a few minutes we’re all going to have company. Lots of it by the look of things.” His hand indicated the advancing riders from the east.
“More of them coming from behind us.” I spoke up.
“Apache?” It was a fool question and everyone turned their heads briefly to look at the speaker.
He was a rather small man. Five eight at best and less than a hundred and fifty pounds. He wore the clothes of a townsman. Good quality clothes, dirt, sweat and dust stained now. Above the bridge of his nose sat a pair of wire rimmed glasses. “What?”
“Perry you and Skip go get the horse, and hurry the hell up about it.” I could see Steve Prescott was a man of action, but I also saw that he was impatient and impatience can get a man killed real quick.
Trouble of a different type than what he was having before we came was shaping up and he was prepared to meet it head on. “Loan me one of your horses.” He said to us. It wasn’t a request, it was an order and one he thought would be obeyed.
Zedadiah shook his head, spat. “I ain’t that foolish.”
“You then!”
“Uh huh,” I told him. “Been a foot once before, didn’t like it none at all.”
“As U.S. marshal, I order you…”
Before I had been scared, but now I was getting mad. I cut him off. “You’re figuring to ride over to them rocks and let them know what’s headed this way. They might up and shoot you, they might tell you to go to hell.
“All right, we got Apache trouble coming. Like Zed said, lots of it, so I’ll save you the bother and go have a talk with them jaspers. Not for you though. Those rocks are about the best place around here to make a stand.
“That’s why I’m going to do it, not because you think you can throw your weight around.” He was looking at me with his mouth wide open. Zedadiah was looking too.
“Don’t do it, Boy.” He told me, but I had started my horse forward already and I wasn’t about to back down now that I had run my mouth.
I rode slowly, my rifle across my saddle. My mouth felt dry as the sand around me and I could feel the sweat running down my back. Nervous, scared, I surely was, but I wasn’t turning back.
They watched me coming and they surely must have thought I was a fool. They could have blown me out of the saddle at anytime there, but they let me come on until I was twenty feet from the rocks.
“That’ll be far enough, Mister.” The man called. He was tall, wide of chest, with narrow hips. He wore a blue shirt, dark now with sweat. A black flat topped hat with a white band around it.
Cold, steady brown eyes met mine. They took me in, discarded me as being much of a threat to him. “What do you want?” He asked sharply.
“Got company coming.” I told him, my voice clear and calm, though I felt nothing like it. “Apache, fifteen, maybe twenty of them.”
“What’s do I care?” He asked, but I could see he was doing some thinking. His tongue went to his lips, licked them, then he swallowed hard.
“That Marshal out their,” Now here I lied some and it wasn’t something I was proud of, but my neck was on the line, the others as well. “He’s for mounting up and riding out of here. Apache might follow, but then again, the just might stop and have a go at you three first.”
“What do you think, Clay?” It was the other man speaking. Like his partner he was tall, nearly six feet two and he must have weighed upward of two hundred pounds. Beard stubble covered his face. His green eyes showed weariness.
“Could be right.” Clay replied not taking his eyes off me. “What’s your play?” He asked making up his mind suddenly.
I waited for a slow ten seconds. Time was a wasting and those Apache had to be getting damn close. “Whatever your trouble with the law is, you put it aside for now. The more guns we have, the better our chance of getting out of this mess with our skin in one piece.”
“All right.” He said, then added. “Hollow just behind us. It’ll be a tight fit, but the horses will be safe there.”
Not taking my eyes off either of the two, I lifted my left arm and motioned for the other to come a hauling it. “You got sand, Kid,” The other one was saying. “I didn’t figure you for much when I first saw you, but I reckon I was wrong.”
I heard them coming up behind me, leading their horses. “Mathew’s, you and your men are under arrest.” I never turned my head a little. I knew who was speaking.
“No one’s arresting anyone.” I snapped loudly. I was still watching those three in front of me. The one man might have an injured shoulder, but there was no mistaking that pistol he held. It was cocked and ready for trouble. The other two were just as ready.
“Now hold on just a damn minute.” It was the townsman speaking, I could tell by his whiny nervous voice. “These three robbed the bank in…”
“I don’t give a damn what they did. We got a job before us and we best get set or…”
I heard the solid thwack as the heavy slug hit home, heard the boom of the gun, then I was out of the saddle and dragging horse into those rocks.
Who it was that had got hit I didn’t know until I had scrambled back up from the hollow where we stashed our horses. It was town-man, the back of his head on the right side blown away. Blood and bone fragments pooling on the ground where he lay.
“Get your ass down here, Boy. Less you want to end up like him.” It was Zedadiah and his hand jerked me down.
Beside me, rifles opened fire and were answered by the Apache. A bullet struck just below where I knelt spitting dirt and rock fragments into my face and eyes.
For a moment then, my rifle was forgotten. My hands rubbed at my eyes trying to clear them, tears welled and spilt down my cheeks. It burned like hells fire and I could feel a little trickle of blood on my cheek.
“Close.” Zedadiah commented giving me a look and a grin. “Mighty close.”
Me, I was mad clear through. Picking up my rifle, I jerked it to my shoulder. Searched out a likely spot and let fly. It was a clean miss, but it had been close enough to set the Apache moving. It was his bad luck. That old mans shot followed on the heels of mine and Zedadiah’s aim was true.
After that, things settled down. Watching and waiting. A shot here and there from one side or the other.
The noon hour came, the sun high overhead baking down on us. We built a tiny fire using brush from down in the hollow. Whatever else these men might be, they were rawhide tough and new their minds.
Coffee was made. Bacon sliced and fried, hard dried biscuits, beans and tinned tomatoes. If these men were going to die here today or maybe tomorrow, they were going to go out with a belly full of food.
Old animosities were set aside. Here and there low conversations took up. The wounded mans injured shoulder was tended to by one of the posse members.
Beside me, Marshal Steve Prescott was talking with Zedadiah and one of the other men of his posse.
“You know this area, bud?” He was asking.
“Some, but not enough to help.”
“What about you, Mister?”
Zedadiah worked his chew in his gob, spat, then looked the man over. “I reckon I do.” He told the lawman. “Been in these parts for the best part of ten years.”
“Ten years!” That was the other fellow. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking no man in his right mind would spend more than a few days out here, let alone the better part of ten years.
“Yes sir’ee, ten years.” Came a cackling reply.
“Prospector?”
“I do what I feel like. Mostly I mind my own business.”
“You could have stayed out of this, but you bought in.”
“Uh huh,” Zed told him. “Had no where to run, and no where to hide that was of much use. Those Apache coming from the west would have nailed our hide to the wall. Then come on down here to join this party.”
Conversation died with the sudden sound of gunfire. One of ours, but it was quickly answered by several Apache rifles.
Ten minutes slid by, twenty. “What do you figure?” Prescott asked turning his eyes to the old man.
“Testing us. Seeing if they can find a weak spot to get at us.” His rifle jumped to his shoulder, a moment it held, then the boom of that old buffalo gun shattered the momentary silence. “That’s one that won’t be bothering us.”
Turning, I rested my back against the rocks. It was hot and getting hotter. Sweat stung my eyes and I blinked to clear them.
It wasn’t the sweat I was trying to clear. It was the vision before me. A dusty brown hand appeared above the huge boulder that walled the hollow where the horses were. An arm, head and chest, a leg. The figure steadied himself, started to lift his rifle…
Instinctively, I jerked up my own rifle. The distance wasn’t more than twenty yard. The rifle jumped in my hands. Smoke clouded my vision for a few seconds and stung my nose.
“Shooting improving, Boy.” Zedadiah said to me. He hadn’t moved, but then he didn’t have too. He had heard the solid thump of the round as it struck the Apache‘s chest, heard the grunt escape dying lips and he had heard the Apache roll off the rocks and into the hollow.
They came then. A sudden rush of feet. Three or four Apache running then dropping to the ground before we could get off more than a couple of shots. Another rush by those who trailed.
“Got one of them last bunch.” I heard Clay Mathews say.
The Apache were closer to us, but it had cost them and it had cost us nothing at all.
Quiet returned once more. I hadn’t moved from where I leaned against the rocks. By my way of figuring, there was enough guns covering the front and somebody needed to watch our backs. I was going to be that someone.
Again, small talk broke out among the men with in the circle of rocks. Still, their eyes remained vigilant for the slight hint of movement. Weariness settled over me. My eyes wanted to close, but I knew I dared not let them.
“Marshal?” Came a call from down the furthest part of the circle. “Something moving out there. it’s a long way off, but it might be Joe and the boys.”
“Might be more Apache too.” Prescott replied. “Just have to wait and see.” To be sure though, he whipped up his rifle and fired as fast as he could at any likely place an Apache might be.
“Damn fool.” Zedadiah commented. It went against his grain to waste bullets. Bullets that might be needed later on.
“Going to check on the horses.” I told the old man. It was wearing on my nerves, the sitting and waiting, always watching.
“All right, but keep your head down.” He needn’t have told me that. I had no intention of making myself a target.
Crawling with my rifle laying across my arms, I made my way down into the hollow until I figured I was low enough to stand up without getting a bullet in the brisket or back.
The horses were milling about. They had no liking for the smell of blood on the dead Apache. I couldn’t blame them, I had no liking for the situation either.
Going among them, I spoke softly to them, soothingly. Then stepping passed them I moved to the dead Apache. Bending over, I lifted the dead weight up to a sitting position, bent my knees then jerked the lifeless body up and over my shoulder.
My legs trembled at the added weight. I knew it was going to be an effort, but it was in my mind to remove the body from the hollow. The last thing we needed was to have the horses shy and bolt on us.
Working my way slowly, I circled wide of the horses. Crowded as it was, it was no easy task, but like I said, the horses didn’t like the smell of blood on the dead Apache.
The fire of exertion burned in my legs and lungs as I struggled upward. I slipped once, but using my free hand I managed to steady myself. When half way up, I lay my burden down, then dragged it the rest of the way up.
“What the hell?” I heard. Who it was, I didn’t know. Didn’t give a damn either.
“Spooking the horses.” I told them. “Figured it was move him or have the horses bolt.”
“You figure good, Mister.” Another spoke up. “If them horses got to stampeding back up here, we’d of had a hell of a time. Especially if the Apache chose to attack just at that moment.”
Others nodded agreement with out turning their heads from the business at hand. I didn’t care. I had did what I thought was right and that was it.
Crawling back to the rock near Zedadiah, I took a long drink from my canteen. I was nearly done in.
“Marshal,” I vaguely heard the man speak. “its Joe all right. I’d know that black of his anywhere.”
A murmur went through the posse members, but I wasn’t looking at any of them, I was watching Clay Mathews. It was no good news for him and his partners. He just looked back at me, smiled, turned and went to speak with his partners. Moments later I saw the three of them slink down into the hollow. The injured man holding his arm against his chest.
I had a fair idea what they were going to do, but I didn’t care. It was none of my concern, and I was too tired to worry about it. “Zed,” I said low voiced, “best you get set to move real fast.”
He didn’t say nothing. Didn’t need to. That old man was keen and he didn’t miss much. Right off he saw the absence of the three bank robbers and he figured like me. It wasn’t his fight. Let the law do their own dirty work.
Just then a sporadic volley broke out. The shots weren’t aimed at us, but we did a little firing of our own. The other half of the posse was getting close.
Behind us came the thunder of startled horses hooves. Up from the hollow they emerged then they were gone in a flood of dust. I had caught sight of Clay Mathews hanging off the side of his horse, a bit of the injured man as well as the horses bolted out through the rocks.
“Stop them!”
“There getting away.”
“Damn it to hell!” The Marshal turned angry eyes at me. “I thought you were watching the horses.”
“You thought wrong.” I told him, meeting his glare.
He bristled at that. The anger in him swelling. “Forget it!” Zedadiah’s voice was sharp and commanding. “We still got Apache to fight. Horses can be rounded up. There, see, two of that other bunch are after them now.”
He was right of course. Turning, I took up my rifle and settled down to watch and wait. After a few more moments, Steve Prescott did the same. He didn’t like it none, but he also knew what Zed had said was true.
“Those ‘pache’s won’t stay long.” A man spoke up. He was older than the others, wiser. Looking over at him, I could guess he had known his fair share of hard living. “They won’t like being caught in the middle like a sandwich. They’ll pull out. You mark my words.”
He was right of course, but those Apache hung in there till just shy of nightfall. A shot here and there, otherwise silence, heat and waiting. Always the watching.
“Damn stinking bastards!” Steve Prescott was mad. His anger grew with each passing minute. We had all seen the two men return leading our horses. They were out there, held with the other horses just outside the Apache’s capability with a rifle.
Clay Mathews and his companions had made a fool of him. They had been doing so for the passed three days. He had had them. Had them right here in the rocks with half a dozen men and he let them get away.
“Son of a bitch!”
I wanted to laugh. I don’t know why. There was nothing funny about those Apache out there and Marshal Scott Prescott was a dangerous enough man, but still, I decided, he was a fool.
Clay Mathews and his partners had slipped away right under his nose. I had helped somewhat by minding my own business, but that didn’t matter none to me. Prescott was a fool!
Now, Mathews had three hours under his saddle. If he rode through the night he’d be in Mexico come tomorrow afternoon and Prescott wouldn’t be able to touch him.
“Damn him all to hell. We get them Boys, don‘t you worry none about that.”
The sun slid grudgingly down beyond the western horizon. The heat of the day reluctantly giving way to a cooling breeze. Zedadiah stood up.
“What the hell are you doing?” Prescott demanded.
“There gone.”
“How do you know?”
“I got eyes. If you’d been paying attention you’d have seen the dust.” With that, the old man started away toward where our horses were held.
“I ain’t through with the two of you.” Prescott called after him.
“You’re through.” I told him, getting up and starting after Zedadiah.
The others had gotten up as well, watching and waiting, listening to the brief talk. Slowly, they stepped out behind us. Prescott being the last to leave the rocks. Out on the wasteland, the others came to their feet and one by one started in to meet us.
Minutes later, Zedadiah and I were riding away into the gathering night. “You played hell in letting them get away.” The old man said over his shoulder.
“Prescott’s a fool.” I told him. “Besides, I kind of liked those three jaspers. They had guts.” He chuckled at that.
Back in the lean-to at the Haunted Spring, we made a meal of hotcakes, honey and coffee. It had been a long day and I was sorely looking forward to rolling into that bunk. Tomorrow…
I’d leave that up to that old man, but something told me we would be staying put. Leastways until all those fools cleared out of the area and things settled down again.
Gold!
I had never see it before. Now I held the tiny nugget no bigger than the end of my little finger in the palm of my hand. How, I wondered, could something so small feel so heavy?
We had loafed around the Haunted Spring for a week before setting out on our first gold hunting expedition. Ten days supply of food on the pack mule, riding easy in our saddle, rifles to hand.
Zedadiah knew where we were going. He had been there before. “Its not more than twenty miles.” He told me, yet we travelled closer to thirty five going the way we did. He was no fool, not him. He used every trick he knew to hide or confuse our trail.
Now, here I was, holding that piece of gold, the sun shining off it, its weight heavy in my palm. I can’t say I caught the fever or not, but when he took it and put it in a small sack, I felt a loss.
“There’s more, don’t you worry none about that.” He told me, as if reading my thoughts.
It was hot, God awful hot, but I didn’t feel the heat. Stripping off my shirt I took up the pick axe and swung it down. When I had enough loose, I took up the shovel and filled the fire blackened pan.
By tossing the contents into the air the finer, lighter particles were taken away by the wind. Over and over the was repeated until I was left with only the heaviest of particles.
Gold! Another nugget and some small flakes.
It was hard, back breaking work. That pan when full of diggings must have weighed twenty pounds or more. Still, I managed three pans in that first hour.
Giving way to Zedadiah, I sat back, sweat beading my face and chest. My arms quivered with their exertion, the back ached, but I was feeling good about myself. We had found what we came for.
“Be easier if we had water.” The old man was saying. I heard him, but my mind was on that ranch I would own one day. “And we lose a lot of the smaller gold particles this way.”
At noon we set aside or equipment. Took a chance and built a small fire out of dry, smokeless wood. That’s not to say it didn’t have smoke. It just wasn’t the thicker smoke one gets when burning green wood. You’ll always have a certain amount of smoke with a fire. What you use will determine how much and how fast it dissipates.
Looking at that old man over, over the rim of my coffee cup, I wondered how he could do it. He had done twice the work I had in the same amount of time. Practice I figured. A life time of doing, of learning how to make things easier for himself.
We had planned on staying out a week, but after three days and close to a three thousand dollars worth of nuggets and gold dust to show for our efforts, Zedadiah told me to pack up.
“Why?” I asked him, “We’re doing all right.” I didn’t feel all right. I was tired, sore, and my hands had blisters on them, but I wasn’t complaining. I had the fever burning with-in me and I wanted more.
“Heading for Hopman’s ranch..” He replied. “Things you need to know yet, and I can’t teach you them hear.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see, just get packed up.”
Bob Hopman greeted us as warmly has he had done on our first visit. “Zed, you old dog. Didn’t think I’d see you for quite a spell.” He said jovially, then add more seriously. “Something happen?”
We told him about the posse, Clay Mathews and the fight with the Apache. “Knows him,” He said soberly. “Outlaw all right, but he never killed anyone in one of his hold-ups.
“Those that ride with him know that he won’t stand for no senseless killing and they know what will happen to them if they do get itchy fingers.
“He’s killed men, but all of them in stand up fights. The way they tell it, he could have a dozen notches on his pistol if he was tin horned enough to do such a thing. He ain’t the kind though.
“Been over this way a time or two. Both times he was flat broke and needing a meal. I gave him work and he proved to be a top hand and no shady stuff while he was here.”
“Kid here,” Zedadiah grinned. “He helped them escape. He knew what they were planning and just sat back and watched. Prescott was plumb steamed, but there was nothing he could prove or do, so we lit out right after the fight.”
Hopman chuckled. “Would have liked to have seen Prescott’s face. He thinks he’s some shakes as a lawman, but folks around here don’t think so. Most us of ain’t got the time of day for him.”
We fed our faces with thick steaks, fried potatoes, stewed tomatoes, fresh made bread and butter, then sat back and sipped out coffee’s. “So what brings you here, Zed?” Hopman asked at last.
“Figured maybe you could spare some more supplies and then there’s some things the boy needs to learn.”
“Such as?”
“Well, shooting for one.” The old man gave me his eyes before going on. “Kilt him an Apache out there in the rocks, but the distance was close enough to spit on him. Beyond that, the Boy can’t hit the broadside of the mountain.”
My face colored with heat, but I kept my mouth closed. Learning what he told me, you got to learn all you can and keep learning. And I was determined to learn all I could from him and others like Ben Hopman. If in the process I got embarrassed now and then, well, I could live with that.
“I can teach him how to handle a rifle.” The old man went on. “What I need is someone who knows how to handle a pistol. I can hold my own, but I ain’t know shakes with it.”
“Reckon I know the feller for that chore.” Hopman said. “Bud Saville’s a little more than handy with a six shooter. Got into a shooting scrape with two brothers over Taos way.
“They were known as bad men in any kind of fight. Had a twenty killings between them or so I heard. Well, they came up against the wrong man when they braced Bud Saville. He killed them both before either could get off a shot.
“After that he drifted for a time. Found he had the name of a gunfighter. Folks wouldn’t leave him be. The wanna be’s hounding him all the time, the law casting long looks. Well, he drifted down here and I took him on. Ain’t been sorry. Wish I had a dozen of his like. He’s a top hand and a first class man.”
“Good, sounds like the kind of man we need.” Zed told him, adding. “If its all right with you, I’d figured on spending a month here. You can put the Boy to work so’s he can pay for that horse of his or he can give you one of them nuggets he found.”
“You found gold? Where?”
Jedadiah laughed loud and heartily. “You never give up do you?”
“Now don’t get…”
“You should have seen him the first time I came.” The old man started with his cackling good humoured voice. “Bought supplies from him and paid for it with gold dust. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, they did. When I left, he had two of his hands follow me.
“I seen right off. Led them on a Mary go round the circle. Fellers gave up after three days. Didn’t like the heat and cared less for the thirst I was putting on them.
“Second time I paid old Ben here a visit, I was dead flat busted. Spent six weeks out traipsing around and had nothing to show for the work. Should have seen his face when I told him I was broke. It was crestfallen kind of like it is now, me telling this story.
“Oh he fixed me up with what I needed. Told me to pay him when I could. Then he put two different fellers to trailing. It didn’t do him any good. Lost them out there in the desert. Left them high and dry and only what water they had in their canteens to get back with. Reckoned they managed because their still here…”
“Enough already.” Ben Hopman protested, but he had a smile on his face. “Now what about you, young man?” He asked turning to me. “You want a job for a month or do you pay me in gold?”
“Both,” I told him. “Gold for the horse and saddle and work for my keep. If that’s all right with you, that is.”
Ben Hopman slapped the table with one big hand. “I like him, Zed, I really do. He’s honest and ain’t afraid of the work.”
Working changes a man. Gives a purpose to his life. From mornings first light till the sun lay down to rest for its nightly rest, we worked. Riding, roping, repairing the barns roof, checking the fences…
In between Zedadiah worked with me. The first couple of days it was just learning to hold the rifle, learning to breath properly. “Squeeze the trigger gently, don’t jerk it.” He told me.
We burnt gunpowder on the third day. Cans at fifty yards. I hit a few, missed a lot, but I was getting the hang of it. By weeks end I could hit them all and we moved on to a fence pole buried in the ground just for target practice a hundred yards away.
“Easy does it, Boy,” He told me as I took up my place. “Think about your shot, see it, then squeeze the trigger gently.”
The shot racketed down off into the afternoon. A miss, no doubt about it. The second one too. “Windy today,” He told me, taking the rifle in his hands. “got to allow for that wind, make corrections to your aim.” The rifle jumped in his hands. Wood splintered. That old man could shoot.
“You keep practicing.” He told me, handing me back the rifle and walking away. I did. Wasted a lot of good ammo, but I come around to learning how it was done. From a hundred yards, I moved out to two fifty. It proved a challenged, but not as difficult as when I had first start.
“I think you’re getting the hang of it, Clark.” Bob Hopman remarked one afternoon. “Tomorrow, why don’t you start riding with Bud Saville. He can use the help in gathering our young stock and pushing them on down to the south range.
“He’s a good man, Clark. You listen to him and he’ll teach what you need to know about six shooters.”
“All right, Mister Hopman.” I replied. It was fine with me. I liked Bud Saville and I truly loved the work of the ranch. Whatever he could teach me about the six gun would be a bonus.
“Call me Ben.”
Ben Saville and I rode the range with one eye out for stray young stock, the other looking out for the Apache. We weren’t foolish enough to forget about them.
At our noon break or whenever we had a spare moment, he would teach me the things I needed to know about handling six guns. At first it was just practicing get the gun out smoothly.
He had found an old and much worn pistol belt some cow puncher from days gone by had left behind. “Belt and holster is better for you,” He told me, handing me the belt. “Pistol stuck down your waist belt the way you carry it… its too easy for it to get snagged up.”
“Out here, trouble starts, you only get one chance and the slightest mistake can cost you your life. Take that front sight for instance. Ain’t no good in a gunfight. You don’t have time to sit and take aim.” He paused for a moment. Looking at me to make sure I understood what he was talking about.
“You file it off when you get the chance.” He told me.
“Then how do you know what you’re shooting at?” I asked.
“Its simple as pointing your finger. You try it.” He said and as he talked he went through the motion. “Practice it everyday this week, then we’ll try it with the pistol.”
By the end of the week we had pushed out and gathered thirty seven head of beef. All young stock. Those that weren’t branded, we set the hot iron too. Then we started them south taking our time.
I learned my lessons and learned then quick, or so Bud Saville told that old man. We had been preparing to leave, loading up the pack mule and he thought I couldn’t hear.
“Might not have been such a good idea to teach that Boy how to handle that pistol, Zed. He’s fast, faster than anyone I’ve seen around these parts. Got a natural feel for, just needed some confidence and a bit of practice.”
“Boys got a right to protect himself.”
“Yes, but…”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be with me out there.” Zed had replied.
When that pack mule was loaded and I was climbing into the saddle, that old man turned to Ben Hopman. Mischief danced in his eyes and a hint of a smile crossed his lips. “Well, Ben, who you going to send this time?” He asked with a chuckle.
“I got me a new piece of country to show them. Mighty dry though. Better have them bring along a couple of spare canteens.”
Ben Hopman laughed loudly. “Why Zed, even if I was a mind too, and I’m not, I couldn’t get one of these jaspers to follow you no more. You put those boys through hell the times I tried and they ain’t about to forget it.”
Zedadiah smiled broadly. If only they had know. Each time he had been followed, he had taken his pursuers passed his workings. It was a mean country, sun baked and dry. One place looked the same as the next to the unobservant.
It was the places that held the water that made the difference. All the gold in the world meant nothing unless you knew where to find the water to keep you alive and going.
“Where we headed for?” I asked when we had been on the trail an hour. “The Haunted Spring or the diggings?”
“Diggings.” He told me over his shoulder. “You’re going to need money if you’re to have that ranch you’ve been pining over.”
That set me back. Sure, it made me some happy, but it wasn’t like the old man. At the nooning, I took to worrying a might more. I had seen Zedadiah suddenly kind of scrunch up, hands going to his chest, just before we stopped.
Looking at him now, his face sickly pale and him sucking a bit for air, I was scared. “You all right, Zed?”
“Fine, Boy, Breakfast just ain’t sitting well, that’s all.”
I didn’t buy it. I was worried plumb through. I got even more scared when he didn’t move for nigh onto two hours. That wasn’t like him at all.
He had always told me, in desert country there are only so many places to get water, so when you stop, get your water, then move on so others might use the place.
“All right,” His voice cracked when he spoke. “lets get at it.” He stumbled when he got up and I moved toward him, but his raised hand checked my progress. All I could do was stand and watch him struggle to get into the saddle, mount my own horse and follow when he set off.
It was the month of September. A month, I guess, I’ll always remember. When we reached the diggings, I help him out of the saddle, rolled out his bedroll and eased him down onto it.
I had expected and argument and got none. That set me to fretting more than anything. That old man had his pride and he was as stubborn as that pack mule I dragged behind my horse out on the trail.
It was still early. There were at least two hours before sunset. Zedadiah slept though. Slept through the night and into the early morning. He ate no breakfast when he woke up and took only a little water.
“Don’t worry now, Boy, I’ll be up and about in no time.” His voice was hoarse and weak. “Do what you got to do, I’ll be all right.”
I had no liking for it, but I set about doing the camp chores. Finished, I stripped off my shirt and took up the pick and shovel. An hour later, I had done only two pans. I found a bit of gold, but not even that could change the ill feeling I had gnawing in my guts.
At noon, I set aside the pan, took a chance and built a fire. I made coffee, then a pot of stew. Zedadiah ate a little and took the coffee, but the effort left him weak and tired.
“How… we doing?” He asked. “Getting… any color?”
“A little.” I replied, looking him over, hoping that my worry didn’t show too much. “Now you lie back and get some rest.”
It was like that, the rest of the day. I worked a bit, stopped to cast glances Zedadiah’s way. At supper time I fed him a bit more of the stew and a little of water to wash it down. Then he slept through the night. Not me though, I laid awake most of the night, my mind filled with dread and worry.
The next day, I worked steadily, but had nothing to show for my time and sweat. The old man ate a little better at breakfast and at noon time. By supper, he was looking as if he was improving. Yet, it didn’t ease my worry none. I still had that feeling and it left me cold and empty inside.
“See, I told you.” He had sat up with some effort that left him weak and breathless. When he was able, he added. “How’d ye do today, Boy?”
“Wasted my time.” I answered. My head was down and I found I couldn’t bear to look at him. I was scared of what I might see, and that was the face of death.
“Wa’ll, tomorrow we’ll both be at it. We’ll make out then.” He lay back down, and with-in a matter of minutes he was asleep once more.
I was wishing I could sleep too. I had laid awake last night, my mind filled with worry for that old man. We hadn’t known each other very long, but I had come to love him, I guess. If that’s what it was.
I was out of bed early, feeling somewhat better. It didn’t last. Zedadiah was dead. I didn’t need to check, I could see it in his face and in his still chest. He had died during the night. Peaceful, I reckon, and I guess there were worse way to go.
Me, I sat, arms holding my knee’s and the tears streaming down my face. How long I sat there, I couldn’t rightly say, but it must have been hours. It was the rumbling in my belly that got me to moving. I was hungry, but when I started in, all I could manage was to pick at.
Getting up I went over and knelt beside Zedadiah, looking down at that still face brought new tears, but I knew what I had to do. “What’ll it be?” I asked softly. “Here or the Haunted Spring?”
“I reckon it don’t make no matter mind to you, but…” I broke off. An hour I spent in loading up the gear, then I gently lifted and place the old mans body face down over his saddle, tied his hands and feet under the belly of the horse, and headed back to the Haunted Spring leading the horse and pack mule.
It was a sad home coming for that’s how I looked upon this place. The Haunted Spring had been home of a sorts and it had been a good thing sitting around a night and talking with that old man. I knew, I was really going to miss him.
After unloading him, I had just sat back for a long time, feeling the emptiness, the heavy heart beating slowly in my chest. Feeling like I was lost and all alone.
When the sun had almost gone, I finally moved. Taking up the pick and shovel, I went down to a flat place near the seep. It was hard, bitter work, but I didn’t notice. I had a job to do, a last resting place for Zedadiah Juckman to make.
I found it then. I was done maybe three feet when the pick axe broke through. Gold! A pocket of gold and lots of it. I stared blankly at it, my mind mixed with emotions. He had said, I was going to need money if I wanted that ranch…
“Look, Zed,” I said holding up a nugget as big as my thumb. “All those years of searching for your fortune, and you were sitting on it all the time.”
Sacking up a several pouches, I set them aside, then finished the job I had set out to do. I laid him to rest on a bed of gold nuggets. Riches beyond his dreams, but then he had time to dream. It was until eternity, that he would sleep now.
I stood there then, hat in hand, looking down at the freshly filled grave. I felt that I should say something, but no words came to my lips. There was just that lump in my throat and the tears on my cheeks. “Farewell, old timer.” I managed to say just before I turned away. “Farewell.”
The Haunted Spring moaned loudly that night. Like me, I reckon, it was mourning the loss of a dear and trusted friend. Sleep would not come, though I was physically and mentally exhausted. I lay awake, listening to the moaning through the rocks until an hour before dawn.
Getting up then, I shook out my boots, stomped into them, then went outside and saddled the horses and loaded the packs on the pack mule.
There were a few things in the lean to, food and such, that I packed up, but the rest, Zedadiah’s clothes and a few odds and ends, they were a part of this place, part of the man who had lived here. I left them.
Going to the grave, I said one last goodbye, then mounted up and leading the horse and pack mule set off toward Ben Hopmans ranch.
As before, I rode ready for trouble. One didn’t forget to do that in Apache land, unless he was looking to die and I wasn‘t looking to die. Zedadiah had given me my start. I would make something of myself, I do it for him, but I would also do it for myself.
They saw me coming when I rode into the ranch yard near supper time. Ben Hopman, standing beside the coral with Bud Saville and Steve Fischer, stepped out to meet me. “Where’s Zed?” He asked, but I think he already knew the answer before I told him.
“Died, three days ago.” I told them.
“How?”
“I don’t know, maybe his heart.” I was feeling that lump in my throat again, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. “He died in his sleep.”
“Better get down and come into the house Clark, you look done in.” I think he knew how I was feeling and he wanted to spare me from having those tears fall around other men.
Inside, I sat at the table where Zedadiah and I had sat before on our other visits. The coffee was there, hot, strong and black, but I hardly touched, picked at the food Ben Hopman set before me.
“Its hard Clark, I know.” He started speaking, filling the void that lay between us. “I’m going to miss him. He was a good man and a good friend.”
“Yes, he was.” I said, looking up at Ben.
“Its hard, I know. I’ve lost some good friends in my day, but the hurting you’re feeling right now… it’ll pass, Clark, its just going to take some time.”
I didn’t say anything to that. He was trying to make me feel somewhat better, but all I felt was lost and alone, sad and empty.
“Give it time, Clark, just give it time.”
Two days, I loafed around, not feeling much like doing anything. They had tried to get me out of the house and off working, but I had put them off.
“What are you going to do now, Clark?” Ben asked at breakfast the third day.
“Figure I’ll find me a piece of land and start that ranch I always wanted.”
“You’ll do well at it. I’ve seen the way you worked around here, and Bud says you’re getting to be a top hand. You got any place in mind?”
“No, I hadn’t given it much thought yet, just know that that’s what I want to do.”
“Well, there’s still some good places around here. The Apache are still a worry, but the army will get them in check one day and then this will be a good place to run cattle. Maybe raise a family too.
“If you like, I’ll get Bud to take you around and show you a few places. He’s always looking for a chance to get away. Good hand, but he’s got itchy feet.”
Well, I didn’t feel like it. Didn’t feel like doing anything, but I knew it was what Zedadiah had wanted for me, so I nodded my agreement. “How soon before you can spare him?” I asked then.
“You can have him right now, if you’re a mind too.” He got up and went to the door and called out. “Bud, saddle your buckskin and that appaloosa Clark rides, pack mule too, then grab your blanket roll and a bait of grub.”
“What’s up, Boss?” I heard Bud Saville call back.
“Clark wants to look at places where he might start a ranch. Figured you’re the man for the job.”
Seventeen thousand, four hundred and forty five dollars!
It was more money than I had ever seen in my life. Bud Saville and I had roamed the country side for two weeks looking for that ranch site. I spotted it on the last day and knew I had found a new home.
It was dry, but it had ample grass for the couple hundred head of cattle I was thinking on starting out with and there were four good spring holes nearby and a little seep down in a hollow. And then there were places a man could make a dam or two and more importantly, there was room to grow.
“This’ll do fine.” I told him, and started away.
“Where you going?” He asked.
“Ralston.” I replied. “Got some gold I need to sell, supplies to be ordered, and arranged to be sent out here.”
Ralston was known more as a silver town, for there had been silver found and mined there. It was a rough town, with rougher justice. The rule of the day was “Kill a man, you bury him.“ If there was questions later about the killing you might lose your own life to a hangman’s rope. It was later renamed Shakespeare.
I figured on asking Ben Hopman to sell me some of his young stock. It would save him the bother of rounding them up next year and having to drive them in to sell. Horses I would pick up wherever I found the best looking ones. Ben had some good ones, but being a rancher himself, he needed them.
When we stepped out into that bright sunlit street, it was into a pack of trouble. “Seen you boys ride in toting along a pack mule. Figured you boys found yourself some silver, or is it gold. I remember you from out at those rocks.” It was Clay Mathews speaking and he had a hard dangerous look in his eyes.
“Ain’t neighbourly to strike it rich and then not stop off into the saloon and buy drinks. Where‘s that old man?” That was the fellow with the busted shoulder from out at the rocks. The other one, he was keeping quiet and hanging back a bit while he studied the situation.
I stood there, feeling the sun on me, feeling the sweat starting on my forehead. My lips felt dry as dust, but I resisted the urge to lick them. Somehow, I wasn’t afraid.
“I gave you the chance to slip away from Prescott out there at the rocks,” I said carefully. “Don’t push your luck a second time with me.”
He laughed, laughed loud and hard, and I drove my fist into that open mouth feeling teeth give way. He staggered backward two steps then sat down in the dusty street. In next instant, I had my pistol in my hand covering the other two.
“Don’t push, Mathews.” I told him, my eyes cold and ready for whatever came my way.
“I’ll kill you for that, Boy.”
“Leave it lay, Clay.” The other man said. He was looking at me with steady measuring eyes. I had put on some beef, added some color to my face, and I had gained my self confidence. He didn’t like it, didn’t like it one bit. And then there was that quiet man standing beside me. He was trouble and he damn well knew it.
“What?” Broken shoulder said, unbelieving what he heard. “There’s three of us and they got money and a lot of it, the way I figure.”
“The way you figure,” Bud Saville spoke for the first time. “you’ll be dead before the sun reaches high noon.” It was almost that time now.
“Lay off,” Clay Mathews had climbed back to his feet, a hand wiped the blood from his lips and he took a moment to stare at it. “this is between me and him.”
It was there then, a personal challenge and I didn’t have any choice but to meet head on. Else-wise, I would have to back water, turn my tail and run. I’d be branded a coward and I wouldn’t dare show my face in these parts again. I wasn’t about to do that. I holstered my pistol and waited.
Letting my eyes sweep the street, I knew people were watching, waiting for what was going to happen. It was a rough land of rougher men.
They took no sides in such disputes, felt no sympathy for either one of us. Men settled their difference with a gun and that was how it should be, at least, that’s how they felt.
Settling my eyes back on Mathews, I waited again. Inside, I could feel the tension building. “Ready to die?” He asked me, cold brown eyes staring.
“Call it.” I said, and my hand dropped to the pistol at my side the same instant his hand moved. It was a smooth, steady draw, just like Bud Saville had shown me. It was fast too.
Clay Mathews took the forty five slug in his chest, his own gun coming up, but not quite ready. A second shot slammed his backward a step, then he was down, face lying in the hard packed dusty street.
The other two had stood motionless, shocked by the sudden death of their leader. Turning my cold eyes on them, my pistol still smoking in my hand, I said to them, “Bury him, you were ready enough to lend him a hand in robbing me, now you can bury him.”
They didn’t like it, but they wanted no part of that six gun I held in my hand. They had seen my draw. Mathews was supposed to have been fast, and he never even got a shot off.
“Come on, Bud, we‘ve work to do.” I said, holstering my gun and turning, I walked away from them.
“Those other two,” Bud started when we were in the general store, “they won’t let things be. They’ll be out to kill you for sure.”
“Maybe,” I commented. “the one with the broken shoulder might, but the other one…”
I left off, I was feeling a bit sick at that moment. All the pent up energy had faded and now I was thinking about what I had done. I was seeing the shocked look on Mathews face and the blood spilling from the two wounds in his chest. It wasn’t a sight I was soon going to forget.
“You could be right about that. Charlie Evans has been around a long time. He seen you draw and he’ll know he isn’t in your league.”
“You know him?” I had never given it much thought. Now I was looking at Bud Saville.
“Rode with him a time or two. Never did nothing illegal with him, but then he wasn’t so bad back in those days. Wasn’t until he met up with Mathews that he took to the outlaw trail.
“Other ones called Ketch, don’t reckon its his proper handle, but no one out here cares much. He’s a bad one. Back shooter if given half a chance, so you watch yourself when you’re around him.”
“Won’t be here that long.” I told him, and I meant it. I’d come for supplies and when I had what I needed, I’d be riding out.
Looking through a pile of pants, I found a couple of pair that looked like they’d fit me. I bought a couple of shirts, new hat, and a dozen sacks of tobacco and papers, though I hadn’t taken up the habit. It was just that I wanted to be prepared.
Rope, a pair of shovels, axe, pi |
