

### The Nick Stolter Story

### By

### Lee Anne Wonnacott

### SMASHWORDS EDITION

### * * * * *

### PUBLISHED BY:  
Lee Anne Wonnacott on Smashwords

### Nick Stolter

### Copyright 2015 by Lee Anne Wonnacott

### Discover other books by Lee Anne Wonnacott  
Newton Cutter  
Iron and Rawhide  
Rage at Rancho del Oro

### Thank you for downloading this free eBook. You are welcome to share this with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in this complete original form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews.

### Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

### This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

### Adult Reading Material

### This tale began as a one short story as told to me as a child.  
I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

# Chapter 1

The moon created odd shadows in the divots around the covered yard. The old cottonwood groaned under the weight of the heavy snow. Stolter pointed up at a shooting star streaking through the inky night twinkled with thousands of diamonds.

"I've still got fifty dollars left of my dad's money. I was hoping to use part of that when the girls got married and started their own families." Marianna pulled the heavy blanket around herself as she leaned up against Nick in the darkness.

Stolter gave a quick kiss to her temple. "Marianna, the ride'll only be a week, ten days at the most I'll be gone. I'll bring home five hundred and that will see us through the rest of the year. You save your dad's money," said Nick. His arm pulled his wife closer to him savoring her warmth.

In the distance, wood cracked, and with a whoosh of falling limbs snow disturbed the stillness. The chilled March air lay like a nearly frozen blanket over the land.

He felt Marianna arch her back and twist her body in his arms. "We can hold out til June, Nick. You'll deliver those head to Santa Fe and we'll be back on our feet again." Nick could feel her dark eyes on him. Married seventeen years and she still looked at him as if the answer was written on his face. Stolter turned his eyes towards the barn and saw the faint yellowish glow from the lantern. A couple hundred miles and a few cold nights on the ground was the answer to his worries.

"Ginger has saved my life twice, honey. I owe him to ride with him this time. All I have to do is ride along and make sure nobody runs off with the herd. We've done this sort of work before and we had been good at running horses," Stolter said. "Plus, the work means a good payday for our family."

Nick Stolter and Ginger Whelihan had made the Springfield to Dodge stagecoach run so many times they had become a named fixture on the route. Along the way, were graves of the men who had thought they were quicker, smarter and more cunning than Stolter and Whelihan. Stolter knew that the lean, powerful man sat smoking in the darkness of the barn loft, watching them talk on the house porch.

"Kelly is working well with those two fillies. That young black colt has been very watchful when she works in the corral, so he might be next. Honey, she's good with them. She has the instinct. We have to encourage that." Stolter spoke into Marianna's ear. His oldest daughter had a natural feel for training the feisty young horses.

This man had grown up around high-spirited cutting horses. His family had prized breeding lines, the body type and the temperament. His father had given him five Quarter horse mares, and from those Stolter had bred two national champions.

At the Denver rodeo after winning the cutting horse competition. Stolter met the young Miss Marianna Richardson and her stern father, Glen who had come looking for agile horses. A trickle of nervous sweat slid down his spine as Stolter discussed his vision for the future. He remembered the flashing grin the young beauty had for his discreet wink. Stolter had made a good impression.

She shook her head. "I don't understand how riding a herd of horses is worth five hundred dollars. By the way he talked, there is something else along with the horses here." Stolter heard the doubt in her words.

"Honey, those horses are in a bad place. North of Phoenix up in the mountains in a secluded valley. The fall feed was plentiful, but now they'll be clawing through the snow to find food and there won't be any. I'd be almost sure that wolves have started preying on the older and weaker horses, too. I'm used to the snow and mountains and so is Ginger. We can do this. We have to do this," Stolter said.

For seventeen years, the married couple had been through rough times and good times and had always come out better and stronger than before. Personal tragedies and death, celebrations and the birth of their children and success as a reputable breeder had helped make the couple durable and resilient. But now, several sales had fallen through, and two of the best mares died from unknown causes leaving the family scrambling for cash.

Marianna's breath was visible in the dark, cold air. "Lola wouldn't even shake his hand. I've never seen her back away from someone like that, even if he was a stranger to her. I don't know what makes her do that," she said. Whelihan was a tall, wide shouldered man with an easy way of moving. Somebody she always associated with trouble. He was sure of himself without the bold swagger.

"She'll be alright. That little girl sees and feels things that you and I don't understand, honey. Last week, she helped find a den of foxes up on the ridge below that granite outcropping. I would have ridden right on past the hole but she said they were there." Stolter shook his head with a laugh. The lantern light was gone from the barn window.

"I don't like moving horses in the snow, but if this herd stays where they are at, the horses will die. I love the animals too much to ever let that happen, honey. There's a chance I could bring home new breeding stock, too. And adding to the herd is important. Once we get them into Phoenix we can sort through them and sell off the ones we don't need."

The first half of March had brought mild wind and rain storms. The family had been cooped up inside the house because of the weather and they had been bumping in to each other and had frayed nerves. Now, the night air felt frigid and foreboding.

### ###

Earlier in the day, Ginger Whelihan, had ridden into the yard and asked if Stolter would go out on a one last job to help out an old friend. Whelihan hoped to cash in on an unpaid debt and get out from under another.

Stolter sat down on the sofa with his arm around Marianna and said, "There may be downed trees in the way. We might have to cut them out. The risk is that we'll get all the way up there and the horses will be gone. When Ginger was there the last time, he counted over one hundred horses. I know I can bring home twenty by myself. That's two hundred dollars right there even if we simply sold them as saddle horses."

Colton sat up on the counter and watched his father and Ginger Whelihan talk at the table.

"So my dad used to ride with you, Mr. Whelihan? Did you shoot up outlaws that tried to rob the stagecoaches?"

"Yes, we used to ride security on a stagecoach line from Missouri to Kansas. Twice a month." Whelihan nodded to the boy. Short black-brown hair trimmed close, clean shaven except for a thick mustache and ever watchful green eyes with gold flecks. His smile was quick and easy.

Kelly said, "Would you tell us about one of those times? We'd like to hear about what pa used to do before he met my ma." The girl grinned to Marianna who fidgeted with the corner of her shirt.

Whelihan looked at Stolter who threw his hands up in the air with a grin. The friendship between the men was evident as they exchanged a look. Whelihan shifted in the chair and started the story. "We had a run out of Jefferson City headed for Dodge. The vehicle was a heavy stage with nine passengers and a strong box and valises and bags piled up on top. When we rolled out of town, I saw at the general store two big freight wagons loaded with lumber and boxes. That was pretty common to see goods headed west. One of the clerks was helping to tie down a big canvas sheet over one of the wagons. I remember thinking to myself that I would be smart to get one of those because you can sleep underneath at night and be sheltered from the rain. They come in pretty handy."

Stolter said, "Yeah, there were two big Percherons hitched up to each wagon. I was thinking that if that was a heavy wagon, you'd want to hitch on four draft horses. But maybe they weren't going very far." He shrugged.

"Well, the stage got as far as Bolton's Grove and the back left wheel hit something and broke out most of the spokes and cracked almost in half. Bolton's was another mile farther and I offered one of the older women passengers to ride on back of me and she accepted. Her granddaughter was traveling with her going home from the women's college in Philadelphia. Nick offered to have her ride behind him and at the urging of her grandmother, the girl accepted."

"Bolton's Grove is a wide spot in the road more than anything. It's a ranch that built up a stage stop with a big kitchen with hot food. During the winter months they always have chili or stew and the Missus there is a good cook.

"Big soft biscuits with beef gravy." Stolter laughed as he held up his hands to demonstrate. The children laughed.

"Nick can tell you all about the food every mile from here to Dodge." Whelihan pointed at Stolter.

"Well, they have good food, but nothing to repair a stage coach wheel." Stolter grinned.

Whelihan let his arm rest on the table. "The Overland stage on route from Iowa to St Louis rolled in about three hours after we did. I had a laugh the way some people who travel a lot see other people they've ridden with on a stage."

"Reg Bolton never put in a telegraph. Said he wasn't going to let some little tappity tappity govern his business. He never like being pushed like that," Stolter took his arm from around Marianna and leaned forward tonto his knees. His eyes caught those of the children and he nodded.

"Will Farnum was the driver on the coach and he wrote down what we needed and said he'd send back a rim on the next stage coming through to Bolton's. That was three days out. Several of the men passengers decided to head east instead of west and loaded onto the Overland. They left later that afternoon when that stage rolled out. Some people just can't sit still." Stolter winked at Lola, who loved to travel.

"After dinner, Nick and I bedded down in the grass out alongside the house. I'm sound asleep when I'm jolted awake by stomping hooves and I lay back down thinking that another stage has rolled in. They come in from all directions. But I lay there and think that this is the middle of the night and even though the moon is out you still can't see where you are going." Whelihan rubbed his hands together.

Stolter grinned again. "You know how I am. I'm lying there telling myself that I'm not gonna get up unless someone specifically calls my name. I'm gonna lay right there in my warm blanket and with my toasty toes and I'm not going to move unless there is a loud commotion over my name. And that's when I heard them."

Kelly's eyes were wide when she asked, "What did you hear?"

"Women's voices."

"You heard women's voices? And that is what got you up?" asked Kelly.

"That's how we met Amanda Brady and Georgia Chaney." Stolter nodded and grinned.

"They had been neighbor girls growing up, went to the same church, both went off to separate colleges in Philadelphia and New York. Personally, I think their mothers were trying to marry them off to sons of wealthy easterners." Whelihan winked at Kelly who laughed.

"They each raised up draft horses and knew they would come home to help run father's draft business. They had gotten into the habit of stopping to rest the horses at Bolton's before they started the climb up to Angel's Camp. That trail there is a dirt track more than a road and switchbacks going up nine miles to the camp. It's an old gold mine area and the people who live up there have more money than brains, if you know what I mean." Whelihan raised his eyebrows.

"It was these girls bringing in their freight wagons that got my attention. If a woman needs help, I'm gentleman enough to get up and go help her. I was raised that way. So I pull on my boots and walked out to see if they needed any help and you know, Whelihan was already there chatting with them. He's like that." Stolter kicked the leg of Whelihan's chair and he shrugged.

Whelihan looked at the ceiling with a grin and said, "I'll admit I've hitched a ride on their wagons from time to time when the need has arisen." Marianna chuckled.

Stolter held up his hands. "Well, the wagons are rolled back and chock blocks are put against the wheels. The horses are unhitched and sent out to graze and rest for the night. There's nothing more for me to do so I crawl back into my blankets and I'm out." He put folded hands up alongside his head and closed his eyes in pretend sleep.

"Next morning it feels like I've got ants crawling on my face and I open my eyes to see one hell of a big horse sniffing my head and his whiskers are tickling me. It is a scary sight to have two thousand pounds of horse standing directly over the top of you. It's just after sun up and I sat up to rub my eyes and that damn horse nickered at me like I was late for something." The children burst out laughing. Marianna clapped her hands.

"When I walked into the kitchen for coffee, Amanda and Georgia are chattering away with Mrs. Bolton and Whelihan and everyone is laughing. As usual, I'm the late one to the party."

"Turns out that Amanda and Georgia have a run to make up the hill. They know the folks up there fairly well. Amanda had told 'Henry', that's one of the draft horses, to go wake me up. Well, he did. They all thought that was very funny. They didn't know it almost stopped my heart." Stolter put a hand over his heart for emphasis.

"Amanda thinks one of the folks living up on top of the mountain has a wheel that most likely will fit the stage. Will Farnum decided that he would help the girls get their wagons up the hill and take a look at that wheel. A wheel today is better than a wheel three days from now."

"Now to watch these four big draft horses back themselves two by two up to that wagon was like watching those tall skinny ladies dance up on their toes to that fancy violin music. Amanda called out commands to her team of mares, Gemma and Goldie. Those horses trotted over to the wagons and sidled up to each other and then stepped back into the harness position." Whelihan walked his fingers on the table to show the kids.

Stolter held up a hand. "Did I tell you that the girls have never used use bits and bridles? These horses are trained with halters only. Can you imagine trying to control a big horse like that without a bit and a bridle? Never mind." Stolter waved a hand.

Whelihan said, "Earlier, I had helped lift down the big cross tie brace that the wagons use for a team of four. The girls normally do it all by themselves, but I was here and you know, I wanted to help out. Instead of taking an hour it only took about twenty minutes. These are heavy wagons so it takes all four horses to haul one at a time up the hill."

"Since Amanda is now busy buckling all the straps to her mares, Georgia called out commands to her two geldings. Now, it's plain to me that those mares aren't too happy about having the geldings, Henry and Matthew, in front of them on the brace. There's a lot of nickering and whinnying going on and several times Amanda and Georgia grab those faces and have words." Whelihan laughed.

"It's two miles up the track before the hill climb start and Will, Ginger and myself were walking along behind the first wagon and the girls are driving their teams along. Some of the switchbacks are short and sometimes the team has to be backed up so extras eyes are important."

Stolter looked at Colton as he gestured walking horses with his hands. "Here is the interesting part. When Amanda and Georgia made the first run up the mountain, they discovered that a smaller freight wagon had made the trip with one horse and a light load. It was fairly easy but the wagon had to make multiple trips and it was rough on the horse. Amanda and Georgia wanted to carry more weight with a bigger wagon and with two horses. Road wasn't big enough, wide enough and in places it was too steep."

"Georgia's father worked for the U.S. Army Corp Engineers when he was in uniform and she brought him out to see this hill climb. He fashioned a set of plows that angled the blades to the side to carve the inside edge of the road as the horses pulled it up the hill. For a month and making two trips each day, those girls, horses and plows widened that road so it would accommodate those bigger freight wagons. Also, the people who lived up on top had a much nicer road for their buggies and wagons." Colton's eyes were wide with excitement.

"So did you get the wheel?" Colton asked.

"Oh yes. The wheel was exactly what we needed. Farnum and Reg got it onto the stage once we got back down the hill." Stolter nodded.

Marianna grinned and asked, "So these were the things you did in between rodeos. Did you ever see Amanda and Georgia again?"

Whelihan ran a hand back through his hair and scratched his head. "Oh yeah. We've seen then as far west as Denver and as far south as New Orleans. A lot of pianos come out of New Orleans because they come in on the freight barges from England. When you talk heavy freight those girls are usually the ones to handle it. They are still out there hauling everything you can think of."

An hour later Stolter had carried a quilt and a lantern out to the barn where Whelihan had bedded down for the night.

### ###

Kelly struggled awake and sat up on the side of the bed. There was a faint light at the bottom of the stairs which meant her parents were awake still. There were voices coming from the back porch. She stood in the shadows of the kitchen doorway and listened to her father talk about taking a riding job with the stranger, Ginger Whelihan, out in the barn. Her father had been gone before in the past off on stock buying trips and to deliver horses. But it was her mother's tone that worried Kelly.

Her father was in an old cantankerous mood. She had never seen him like this. Kelly heard her mother stress that she did not want him to leave her and the children. He tried to reassure her that it was only a week, maybe ten days, and that he would bring home horses and cash so they wouldn't have to struggle for the next year.

Kelly shivered in the cold and leaned up against the doorjamb. After a few moments, she tiptoed back up the stairs and climbed back into her warm bed. At fifteen, Kelly understood much about the family business but she had been shielded from the nuts and bolts of the money transactions. She knew they weren't poor but they weren't wealthy either. She closed her eyes.

### ###

The graying light of dawn crept towards them as the two men sat behind the big two story barn around the campfire. Whelihan had put an old tin pot into the fire to heat water for coffee. Stolter watched the flames dance and dart around the wood from gusts of wind. Whelihan now gave the deeper details to Stolter.

"Zippy and I had brought in about forty head from Utah. His cousins had brought in another twenty from the Montana territory. The Mexicans had fallen trees on top of brush as a crude fence up in the trees. They made a barrier that looked like it the brush had grown up that way. To stand there and look at that valley you'd think it had always been there." Whelihan pulled his heavy coat a bit tighter around him and leaned back against the barn and looked at the trees.

"We spent a morning walking around the herd looking for brands and marks, making sure they were healthy and such. There were two that we had to put down because of hoof and leg problems. There was a blind horse that had somehow gotten along with the herd. You know how it goes." Stolter nodded, listening.

"That night, Zippy and the Mexicans took out with their forty head and left me with twenty. They like to run at night and they knew the trail south so off they went. I wasn't leaving until dawn so I bedded down and got some sleep." Whelihan poured two cups of the steaming black liquid.

Whelihan leaned his arms onto his legs and looked at Stolter. Nick had seen the look before when Whelihan had been in a scrape. Stolter took a drink of the coffee and waited.

"Last fall, I had some trouble in west Texas. I simply wasn't as careful like I usually am, I'd been drinking pretty heavily and a local sheriff locked me up." Whelihan chuckled. Stolter could see a fleeting glimpse of shame in the tall man.

"Yeah, I know how you can be." Stolter grinned. Whelihan could turn into a cantankerous daredevil from time to time. There had been more than a few times where Stolter had come to Whelihan's rescue.

"Turns out, one of the Mexicans that saw me get locked up knew me through Zippy. Through the cell window, he said he could get me out but there would be a debt to pay. Well, I wasn't about to sit in a cell so I agreed. Victor Zendejas and his three brothers, along with a couple others, took down the wall of the cell in the middle of the night and I was free. These horses you and I are going after, will pay that debt to Victor in Sinaloa." Whelihan looked at Stolter watching for his reaction.

Stolter frowned with his mouth open. "You're taking those head to Sinaloa?"

"To be honest with you, a little further west out in Baja. That's where Victor lives most of the time. That's where his wife and family live. But yes, I've got to deliver twenty head to Baja to pay my debt. But that's just the end of the ride." Whelihan gestured with his chin to the valley.

"What do you mean?" Stolter began to feel uneasy as he waited for the rest.

"Just north of Bramble Creek, I'd moved the herd up through this wash when I was hit from behind. Bullet grazed my left shoulder but it was enough to knock me down off the horse. I crawled up into a hole between some rocks and pulled dirt and brush over the top of me. Five men came looking for me, walked right over the top of me. I had my gun but being wounded like that, there was no way I could shoot my way out." Whelihan shook his head as the memory washed over him.

"I must have passed out because it was dark and the crickets were singing when I woke up. It was hell to stand up. I found water and cleaned up. Horses were gone and I was on foot. And I had my gun," he whispered.

Stolter poured another cup of the bitter coffee for them. Whelihan rolled a smoke and the gray smoke drifted up into the brightening sky.

"The sky looked just about like this when I got up and started tracking the herd. I figured they took my chestnut with full saddlebags, gear, and food. Six miles south they suddenly turned east and I came up on a ridge overlooking a ranch of sorts. Green grass, trees, creek and a corral attached to a built up lean-to." Whelihan blew smoke up and away.

Stolter asked, "That's where we are going? That little ranch of sorts?" Whelihan nodded.

An iron voice, gritty with determination now came from the gunman. "I didn't recognize any of them. Couldn't pick them out of a crowded room. But they took my horses and I want them back."

Stolter nodded with a sudden awareness of the coming danger. "What if they're gone when we get there? What then?"

"Then we go find them. Me and the Mexicans spent more than a couple of days rounding up loose, unmarked, unbranded horses from the western states and territories. I figure I've got a week's work into those head and I'll be damned if I'll let a sorry bunch of two-bit thieves take them from me." Whelihan emptied out his tin cup.

"I figure they are selling the horses. If that is the case, then there is cash involved. Whatever cash and gold I find, I'll split with you. I sort of got the feeling that this wasn't the first time they had done this shoot and grab before. They're going to keep doing it to folks unless they are stopped. I intend to have you take fifteen head and move west while I make sure they never do this again." Whelihan shook his head.

Stolter looked at his cup for a moment and then looked up at the mention of cash. "So is it just you and me or are there others coming along to help out?"

"No offense, Nick, but most of the men that I went looking for are in jail, headed for parts unknown or dead. I made it as far as Phoenix when I went into Georgio's restaurant, that's Zippy's cousin, and told them what happened. Georgio said there was a family coming up to Phoenix in a few days for a visit. Georgio would send word that I needed help."

"A family? What do you mean, a family?" Stolter stretched out his legs and dug in his boot heels.

"The wives, the kids, the aunts the uncles. To you it probably looks like a travelling circus but really it is an organization supporting the men who go after the horses. I gotta be back in Phoenix on Saturday, and that's four days from now. We're gonna push hard and we have to ride now." The green and gold flecked eyes scanned over Stolter and then the gunman stood up.

Stolter's mind was working. He would have to sell six horses to make two hundred. There is no telling how long that would take. Plus, if he could bring home just five head it would be enough to add to his herd. He and Marianna would put some work into grooming and training and maybe make a couple of dollars more off them. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Deep inside Stolter had felt that he had never provided well enough for his family. After a life of trail riding, using his guns and flitting from job to job, having a home and a family was all he wanted. They were all happy and healthy with slim prospects for the future. But now this life had not turned out like he had once hoped.

Nick Stolter was born and raised on a small ranch just to the north of New Orleans. His family came through the war lessened, wounded and without too much left to live on. When the gold fields of California beckoned, Stolter packed his saddlebags and along with two cousins, headed west.

In doing odd jobs along the route west, Stolter found that he was faster than most with his guns. He did a couple of ride along jobs on stagecoaches, rode on a couple of trail herd jobs up to Abilene and was once deputized to help a small town sheriff bring in a gang of outlaws in the mining fields. The gold that came his way made him comfortable and secure as he had been raised with next to no money.

You can take the boy out of the poverty but you can't take the poverty out of the boy. The years of not having enough food, few clothes and little hope had embedded themselves into the young man. Over the next three years, Stolter amassed five thousand dollars in several banks from St Louis to Phoenix and the personal fear of destitution kept him from spending any of it.

When Stolter and Marianna moved to Yucca Valley, Stolter pulled out all his money except five hundred to buy the Windy Ridge Ranch. Sixty acres of prime valley grazing land with the Smith River flowing through the southwest acres. Ancient oak trees framed in the flowing stream. Another fifty acres of hillside stands of fir, spruce, pine and birch. They had been happy for fifteen years even after they had suffered a personal tragedy of the death of their first son.

The gnawing, aching knowledge that his family was suffering because of his own ability to provide for them was crushing. He would rather die than have any of them know the misery of being penniless. He had a growing feeling of irritation. This job with Whelihan would give him a cushion of money, a reserve and a savings in case people stopped buying horses.

Stolter walked back to the quiet, dark ranch house followed by Whelihan and sat on the back porch tumbling the merits of the trip and then made up his mind. In the first few years of their marriage, he had told her about his poor childhood, but never revealed the full, ugly truth of it. He still felt a shame about it. He had seen other men ridiculed and shunned because of their poor families and he had vowed to keep it to himself.

He knew that Marianna could get along without him for a couple of weeks. He had listened to her reasons and arguments yet he knew that he was going. At thirty five, he was still considered a young man by many and that he had another thirty years or more ahead of him. He was strong and edgy enough to do the work and smart enough to know how to get the job done.

Stolter nodded. "I'll go pack. We'll ride in an hour." He reached for the gunman's hand as he stood up. Whelihan walked back to the barn to pack up. Stolter walked around to the side porch and went into the kitchen.

# Chapter 2

Stolter and Whelihan had just crested the ridge and Stolter stopped to look back at the house. A quarter mile away and he could see Marianna, Kelly, Lola and Colton waving. He lifted a gloved hand, waved and turned to ride out onto the mesa. The sun had inched over the horizon and the far valley to the north was still cocooned in a low fog.

"You'll be back home in just a few days, Nick. It'll do you good to be gone for a while. You'll bring back a couple of head, maybe some cash. Things will be good again." Whelihan had a confident tone.

Stolter's buckskin palomino mare was burdened with two extra saddlebags, an extra coil of rope and shotgun sleeves on both sides of the saddle. Marianna had packed food for three days. It was Lola who had brought out four long white bandages and pushed them into the satchel with his clothes. After hugging her father, she had looked at him for a silent moment and then walked out onto the porch. Stolter frowned but had said nothing.

The night before out in the barn by lantern light, Whelihan and Stolter had cleaned his twin Colt revolvers, two shotguns, sharpened four knives and repaired the strapping on a small holster. Stolter had cleaned his saddle, blanket and bedroll and brushed up three pairs of soft leather gloves. With slight pressure from his fingers he had squeezed fragrant ointment into a small steel cylinder and packed his stitches kit. They were as prepared as possible for the unknown ahead.

The long silences during the ride suited Stolter whose mind was flooded with the images of his family and thoughts of the home behind him. He had done nothing to lessen Marianna's fears about him being shot, injured or worse. Part of him wanted her to see his bravery, his fortitude and determination. He could still feel little Colton's arms around his neck when he hugged him goodbye.

It was going to be warm day. As they rode farther into the desert, the heat began to rise sending shimmering waves out over the hard packed earth distorting what lay ahead.

Whelihan glanced sideways towards Stolter. "Do you remember Ellis Cove? That stage stop about twenty miles north of Hattiesburg?"

"Somewhat. Why?"

"There was another set of riders that would take over the stage at that stop. Milt Anthony and Steven Blaine. Do you remember them?" Stolter thought for a moment and then nodded.

"Milt Anthony had asked me to try to find Steven Blaine when he disappeared. I was sitting playing cards in Hattiesburg when I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Milt Anthony. When I took a break, I went to find Milt and he told me about Stevie disappearing. We got a beer and went over to the chairs near the windows and sat down. Milt and Stevie were much like you and me. They used to ride security on the stages coming north out of Hattiesburg." Whelihan wiped his handkerchief over his forehead.

"Milt said that Stevie had most likely run into trouble somewhere. It had been close to a year. Milt just wanted to help out and know for sure. They'd ridden together for many years and he said that they hadn't had any hard word or arguments. Stevie just rode away one day to visit friends and sort of disappeared." Whelihan shrugged.

Stolter said, "So you decided to go see if you could find Stevie?" Whelihan nodded.

"Milt had written to the Texas Rangers, stopped in at all the Sheriff offices, even checked with all the doctors he could find. The next day after we talked the stage company put him on a run to Dodge and he said he'd be back in a couple of weeks. He asked me to send word if I found Stevie and I said I would."

Whelihan gestured to the road ahead. "Milt was always easy going, willing to buy a beer or plate of food if money was tight. He didn't throw money around, start fights or spend a lot of money on the ladies. He was just a nice guy to talk to every so often."

Stolter nodded. "I know people like that."

"That night I was laying up in the hotel thinking about Stevie's family. I knew he had a younger sister because he introduced me to her once. At least, I'm pretty sure it was his sister." Whelihan grimaced.

"Anyway, I decided that I'd start asking around about Stevie. He had that reddish blonde hair that he wore cut short and freckles like you see on some Irish. He looked like more than a few other people.

"As best that I can recollect, I was making the run to New Orleans with a Wells Fargo stage. When I got down to the stage office the next morning, I found out the other outrider had come down sick so they were hunting for another gun before the stage could leave."

Stolter said, "And I remember Wells Fargo being a bit particular about who rides gun on their stages." Whelihan nodded.

"They still are. Anyway, I told the station master I'd be over at Del Rio's when they got ready to go. So I get over to Del Rio's and I'm standing at the bar drinking a beer. Man down the bar looks and me and looks away. He's familiar but I can't place him. I see him take another look at me and then drink up and walk into the cardroom." Again, Whelihan shrugged.

"Just out of curiosity, I walked into the cardroom the man was gone. Like smoke into the air." Stolter snorted.

Stolter laughed. "Now you know how I felt when you'd do that to me." Whelihan chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, the stage was ready so we all rolled on into New Orleans and I've got a couple of very pretty and accommodating lady friends there so finding Stevie Blaine went right outta my head. Three days later I'm putting on my boots and the little piece of paper with Milt's address on it falls to the floor. So now I'm thinking about Stevie Blaine again. I tell Marie about Milt and Stevie and she said that she would ask around if anyone knows him." Whelihan shook his head.

Stolter asked, "Nobody knew him?" Whelihan shook his head again.

"After three days in that town asking around about him and nobody knowing him, I figured he never made it to New Orleans. So I got to thinking about what is east and west of Ellis Cove. Nothing. Nothing but bare land for twenty five miles in each direction."

Stolter asked, "So did you head back to Ellis Cove?"

"Yeah, I got put on a freight wagon hauling a big load north. Those horses walk, they don't run so it was a slow ride. Two days very slow back to Ellis Cove.

"The next morning I saddled up and trotted east to see what I could see. I'm sure you can understand why I would be attentive to bare patches of ground along the way. And to save all the details, I did find four graves. Two of them had markers so I know those were not Stevie. The one unmarked grave was shallow but had a big pile of rocks over the top."

"Was it him?" Stolter almost brought his horse to a stop.

"No. It was a woman and a child. I suspected that they had gotten sick and died from illness. I piled even more rocks on top of them." Whelihan shook his head.

"Was that him in the last grave?"

"Nope. Dog." Whelihan shook his head. They stopped their horses for a few minutes while a flock of quail scampered across the road.

"I went back to Ellis Cove. Had dinner, played some cards, drank a little and called it a night. The next day, I saddled up again and then went west. I'd been out for about three hours when I stopped next to this creek under a cottonwood. Middle of nowhere. I turned the horse loose to graze and I'm thinking of a nap when I look up and there's this young boy standing there."

Stolter frowned. "What?"

"Liked to made my heart stop, he snuck up on me like that. He don't say nothing so I asked him his name," Whelihan said.

"He said his name was Billy. Then he tells me I'm sitting on Nicky. So I jump up and look at the ground. There ain't nothing there. So I look at the kid. He says no, Nicky is buried there." Stolter burst out laughing.

Whelihan pointed a threatening finger at Stolter which made him laugh all the harder.

"And then the kid starts walking around under this tree pointing out different spots. 'That's Mike, that's Ringo, that's Lullabelle.' I was in an animal graveyard. Smartass little kid."

"What'd you do?" Stolter grinned.

"I asked the kid if he lived near abouts and he point back to the southwest. There was a house on a rise with a woman in long dress standing in the yard. I looked closer and she has a rifle trained on me." Whelihan raised his eyebrows.

"Kid didn't have a gun?" Stolter's mouth hung open.

"No. But he says that his mom is a pretty good shot and that I might want to keep moving on to wherever I was moving to." Whelihan grinned.

"As I'm picking up my things, I asked Billy if he'd ever heard of Stevie Blaine. And the kid looked at me like I had sworn or something. He didn't answer me but started taking steps back away from me. So I tell him that Stevie's friend, Milt, hasn't seen Stevie in a few months and wants to find out that Stevie is okay."

"Damnedest thing. Something is wrong here and then I see the kid turn and take out like a spooked deer. I start to follow him and take three steps and I've got rifle shots slamming into the ground at my feet. So I jump behind the tree for cover." Whelihan held up his hands as if to protect himself.

Stolter has an incredulous look on his face. "What? She started shooting?"

"Yeah. Probably thought I was going after her boy. I'd a done the same thing. But now I am mighty suspicious that they know something about Stevie and I want to find out what it is."

Stolter held out both arms. "Don't tell me. You saddled up and rode up there."

"There was no cover. I was out in the open. That rifle could pick me off easy as pie. No matter what angle from any side, I could not sneak up. So I decided that I would mosey on a couple miles, camp out and wait for dark and then go back."

Stolter nodded. "Sounds like I would have done that."

Whelihan nodded. "Except that I went about two miles south along the creek and found a nice spot to relax."

"You catch a nap or what?"

"I wake up. The sky is pitch black, no stars, no moon. Crickets are singing. I mount up and ride as quiet as I can back to that animal graveyard. I can't see anything in the dark. I left the horse and started tippy toeing up to the house. I get all the way up to the rise. There is no house."

"What do you mean, no house?"

"I figure I'm lost or somehow in the dark I'm all turned around so I go back to the horse. He's all jittery and whinnying and won't hold still. So I mount up and then walk the horse towards where I think that house is at. No house."

Stolter frowned. "You sure. No house?"

Whelihan had a whiny, accusatory tone. "Don't you understand the words coming out of my mouth? I said no house."

"So what'd you do?" Stolter waved a hand in frustration.

"I got back to Ellis Cove and there was a telegram from Marie. She'd found a Richard Blaine but not a Stevie Blaine and Richard was not related to Stevie."

Stolter said, "No luck, huh?"

"Now from here, I sorta forgot about Stevie Blaine. I made the run back to Dodge, then all the way back over to Missouri Springs. There was a trip I made over to Eureka Falls in Illinois. The pay was good so I went. I'm all over three states." He swung his hand from side to side.

"We were late coming in Sweetwater one evening when we came up on a broken down wagon partly in the road. We can't get by it. We must be fifteen miles out. So Harry, one of the men passengers, and myself got down to help get the wagon off the road. Took us about an hour to get the wheel fixed."

Stolter nodded. "Everywhere you look. Broken down wagons. I've got a wagon sitting next to my barn that needs a new axle. Haven't done it yet."

Whelihan laughed. "Well, you make sure that wagon stays there alongside your barn and doesn't get in front of me on the road." Stolter chuckled.

"The older man takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off his forehead and gives me a strange look. He asked me if I was that man hunting for Stevie Blaine. I told him not hunting. I was helping Milt Anthony look for his friend, Stevie Blaine."

Stolter interrupted. "Wait a minute. You're out in the middle of nowhere, fixing a wagon of a man you've never seen before and he asks if you're looking for Stevie? How does that happen?"

Whelihan started laughing and slapped his thigh. "Nick, I tell ya. So many strange things went on that I stopped questioning how things happened."

"So I tell the man, yes, I've been looking for Stevie. He tells me Stevie did some plowing for him about a year ago. The man's wife comes over and says yes, that Stevie really enjoyed her rhubarb cobbler. He was a good eater." Whelihan laughed.

Stolter asked, "Wait. Stevie Blaine knew how to plow? I thought he was an outrider."

Whelihan said, "He could have been an opera singer for all I knew. I never paid much attention to him, to be honest. Anyway, they said they hadn't seen him since. After I thought about it for a while trying to figure out dates, he must have left Milt, stopped to plow for a couple of days. Then he headed for that house on the rise with the mysterious woman in the white dress and little Billy."

Stolter asked, "So was that the end? You never did find Stevie Blaine?"

Whelihan waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Milt found him. In San Francisco."

Stolter reined his horse to the side. "What!? How did he get all the way to San Francisco?"

Whelihan chuckled. "The way I understand it. Stevie caught a job riding the Overland from Natchez all the way to Santa Fe. He kept right on going to Tucson to Los Angeles. On the job from Los Angeles to San Francisco, the freight company was owned by a widow woman who took a liking to Stevie and he's been there ever since." Stolter shook his head.

Whelihan laughed. "For all that time I couldn't shake the sense of guilt that I couldn't find him. In the end, Nick, there are things out there I'm not meant to understand so there you are. That's how it took me a year to find Stevie Blaine."

# Chapter 3

After four days of long hours in the saddle, they had made a campfire for the night right after sunset about a half mile off the main trail. Stolter had rubbed down the horses and staked them out with a little grain. Whelihan put together sausage gravy over beans and potatoes. Both men were glad to get their boots off. Phoenix lay twenty two miles to the northeast.

Whelihan told Stolter that he figured when they are about fifteen miles out from the ranch where they are going, they'll stop to take a look. There would be a jagged mesa to the north of the ranch house and barn with large boulders and a stand of fir trees they would use as cover. The gunman shook his head as if to guess about how many men would be there. They would need to make sure all the horses were there.

Stolter asked, "So just how did you come to find this sweet little valley, Ginger?"

Ginger grunted. "Two years ago me and a four man crew rested fifty head right here before moving them out." Whelihan laughed and stirred the fire.

Whelihan said, "Get yourself some shut eye right now. Around midnight I want to walk to the edge of the mesa and see what the layout looks like. Make sure everything is where I remember it." Stolter could see the gunman wanted to get the lay of what they may be coming into. Stolter nodded and took his bedroll over nearer the trees to get some sleep.

The hand shook him just once with no sound and Stolter sat up and rubbed his face. The campfire was smoldering embers. He pulled on his scuffed leather boots and stood up to stretch, feeling his joints and muscles object. They saddled up and walked the horses away from the small camp.

The sky overhead contained a million sparkling diamonds. Stolter had sat on the porch at Windy Ridge with Marianna on nights just like this and watched the shooting stars. He missed her already. The air was not quite chilled but lukewarm with the scent of sage, trees, and animals. In the darkness it was difficult to see anything from one hundred yards away. Two hundred yards away, it looked like a burning lantern sat on a small stool outside the front door of the house that was more of a shack. They left the horses in a grassy area near scrub cedar.

Whelihan crept down the broken trail and Stolter felt along behind him down to the bottom where it became hard packed dirt. Five horses dozed in one corral closest to the house. The other corral was empty with the gate held open by a rope loop over a post. Stolter felt Whelihan nudge him and followed the bent over creeping man. Whelihan suddenly stopped and gestured to the east where two bedrolls were occupied under an old cottonwood about fifty yards away. Stolter nodded his acknowledgement.

Back up on the mesa walking back to their horses, Stolter said, "I'd say that the greater number of horses must be out grazing in a valley nearby. We'll go on over to the other eastern valley and take a look. It'll take about half an hour to get up and over the hill."

They kept the horses to a quiet walk along the trail. They waded across a small running brook and then threaded their way through a stand of straight tall birch. Whelihan and Stolter could see in the distance the shapes of dozens of horses meandering in the knee high valley grazing in the night. They tied their mounts and walked out about fifty yards to the nearest grazing animals and knelt down. Stolter had been counting by twos but lost track after fifty. Whelihan gestured to move to a clump of boulders on the higher ground south side. Just as they rounded the big rocks, they heard the familiar click of a revolver.

A low voice with a heavy Mexican accent told them to hold very still and keep their hands out in the open. Whelihan looked at Stolter and shook his a little.

Whelihan said in a whisper, "I'm here to get my horses back from the men who took them."

Three Mexican men crept out from the rocks and came closer to the two men. One of them appeared to be an old, curly wolf from the high country.

The Mexican with the gun said, "I am also here to get my horses and maybe a couple for good measure."

Whelihan said, "Maybe we could help each other out."

The Mexican mumbled something that Stolter couldn't hear. Whelihan said, "I like to have a spare gun with me on nights like this." The Mexican laughed.

One of the other Mexican men leaned in closer to get a good look at Whelihan. He asked if he knew another Mexican man by a long formal name. Whelihan's shoulders shook as he laughed. "Mi amigo Zippy."

All the Mexicans laughed and guns were put away. Whelihan and Stolter shook off the tension and relaxed with a couple of deep breaths. They followed the other men through the trees to another camp about half mile up the hill. It took a few minutes for everyone to at last understand that all the horses were going to the same place in Sinaloa. Well, all except for the fifteen head going home with Stolter as payment for helping Whelihan. The Mexicans nodded.

"I'm Juan and a couple days ago we watched them all get stinking drunk. They like to drink and fall down drunk most nights. There are no towns around nearby and that someone always brings in a couple bottles of liquor. They said as long as five bottles of liquor were dropped off, it would be easy to move the herd out the east edge, swing them around the running brook and then hit the trail headed south." Two of the other Mexicans nodded.

This Mexican hitch in the plan required some finesse and a longer conversation ensued between the cowboys and Whelihan. The moon was on the rise when Whelihan and Stolter mounted up and began the ride back to meet the rest of the crew.

"So is everything set up right?" Stolter followed Whelihan along the narrow trail. The Mexican outlaws were covered in spines as any porcupine and very shy. Whelihan appeared to have some history or acquaintance with them.

"Yep. They've been sitting here waiting for me for two days. Zippy said they would be here but I thought we'd have to wait on them. Turns out they are on their way home from Canada." Whelihan twisted around in the saddle.

"On the way up, Juan put in four of their big mustangs into the herd. That is the excuse they'll use when they take 'em. American's don't run those big black, white and brown mustangs. The family will take over moving the herd into Mexico. You'll see the day we start to move."

Whelihan's explanation didn't do a lot to reassure Stolter about getting the job done. It didn't help the nervous edge inside him as he rode.

### ###

Four miles to the north, lanterns lit up the windows of a small rough shack. Inside, a shorter, lean man in a black shirt, black denim jeans and rough brown boots with heavy silver spurs sat at a table shoveling potatoes and eggs into his mouth. Ginger Whelihan walked through the doorway, crossed the lean to floor and reached for the heavy ceramic cup for coffee.

Across the table a brown skinned, black haired Mexican leaned with his forearm on the table twirled a fork over the same breakfast into his chewing mouth. The white linen napkin was tucked in under his rough green plaid shirt.

"Take your time eating, Zippy. It'll be another four hours before we have to be anywhere." Dark green eyes flecked with gold looked at dark brown eyes. Almost in unison they both turned to look at the doorway. For being early in the morning and in a small town where neither of them had ever been, they were both a might edgy.

Zippy Montoya Presceniande Romero was known as Zippy to all his friends and relatives. He ate, relishing every bite. He wiped his mouth with the white cloth napkin and nodded.

"Yeah, you're right. Nobody will bother me with Mr. Two Lightning Guns here with me." Zippy laughed and took a bite of bacon. He gestured for them to sit.

The black-haired younger boy with the too-big apron brought around the coffee pot and filled their cups. Whelihan spooned in a heaping teaspoon of sugar and with deliberate slowness stirred the black liquid.

From the corner of his eye, Whelihan could see the cook peering out from behind the half wall to the kitchen. The lean gunman nodded once and the shoulders of both men slumped in relief and they nodded in acknowledgement.

His reputation preceded him almost everywhere. He could still sneak into towns but stopped trying to hide from prying eyes once he was recognized. The boy brought a plate of food and a matching one for Stolter.

"Compliments of the house, Mr. Whelihan." It was a round cheeked fresh young face on the boy with wide open innocent brown eyes. His hair had been combed with pomade.

Whelihan pressed a coin into the boy's hand and the child smiled brilliantly and ran back to the kitchen area. Stolter grinned as he watched the transaction.

"Always tip your waiter, Mr. Stolter." Whelihan winked and Stolter grinned.

Twenty minutes later after they were done eating, Stolter leaned against the railing as Whelihan lit a cigarette on the steps of the shack. Zippy gazed around the yard and then subtly watched Stolter. The Mexican smoothed down his drooping black mustache and then ran his fingers back through the long hair.

Whelihan jerked his head to the left and together they stepped down into the dirt. Twenty yards to the east was another shack with just one window. A man had just finished sweeping off his porch and stood with a broom.

"We saw sixteen head earlier. You sure those others will be where you think they are?" Whelihan's eyes scanned the far horizon moving from left to right in a slow, examining manner.

"Come on in, gentlemen. Everything is ready." Whelihan winked at Zippy who chuckled.

Zippy said, "We came through in January and saw the ranch house had been almost burned down. There was a grave just up the hill on the other side of the river. There was nothing in the barn, like someone had backed in a wagon, loaded up and rolled away." Zippy shook his head and laid his guns up on the plank table to clean them with a rag from his pocket.

"Victor counted over one hundred head in three valleys around the house. We're only taking the yearlings, not the breeding stock. Nobody will even know or see or care. Almost a year now this ranch has been just sitting here in the sun. It's like someone died and everyone up and left."

Stolter turned over a small stone in his hand as he listened. It was a familiar story. Brave souls came west to start fresh, build lives, find a home and raise a family. Most times when the man died, the women packed up the children and moved back east to where her kin were from. The West was a daunting, overwhelming force to be tamed and some backed away from the challenge. Somebody died, the family packed up and walked away from what had been started.

Zippy loaded three bullets into his Colt. "Last time Victor was here, he dropped in three paint mustang mares and three stallions just to see if anyone would take them. I'd like to see if them mares are still grazing here or if someone up and took 'em."

"Like loading the deck? Good idea." Whelihan watched the lazy smoke drift up into the low hanging branches of the old cottonwood.

"Anybody question what we're doing out there, we say we just stopped by to pick up the mustangs. The black, white and red of that coat make them stand out against them solid color horses. They are carrying the Three Z brand so there's no question."

Stolter had seen angry ranchers take the law into their own hands with horse thieves. A few years back, several ranchers had commissioned Whelihan to track down prized breeding stock and return the animals to their owners. The tall gunman had earned more than a few dollars to make sure that the thieves never stole another horse.

Whelihan had hinted to Stolter that he had unfinished business still in the wilds of Colorado. It would be cause to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life if he didn't track down who had shot the man. Whelihan still wanted to know who it was that got off a shot at him in the hidden valleys of the Rockies. The lean man lifted the coffee cup and took a sip listening to the sounds around him. Zippy asked for another coffee fill up. After the man moved away, the dark eyes looked at Whelihan.

"You got bones of the skeletons rolling around in your eyes, Mister. You're thinking about things that nobody can do nothing about. Time is the only weapon sometimes that you got." Zippy wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin again and looked at the green eyes with gold flecks.

"We all have things we'd like to change, Zippy. This has been eating at me for a while. Like a loose end that I can't get smoothed down," Whelihan said as he shook his head.

Stolter looked at the fire crackling in the wood stove. As if in a smoky, vague dream he could remember the shattered short glass as it slammed into the jaw of the man, and had forced him into the wood front bar. The quivering last desperate attempt at self-defense brought out a knife with a vicious swing at Stolter. The tall gunman caught the wrist and with considerable strength brought the arm around so a thin, red streak erupted from the man's neck. The saloon patrons had crept back in to peer at the bloodied heap on the floor. No one had claimed to have known him as he bled out. Stolter tried to shake the memory out of his thoughts.

The scent of sage and animals carried on the breeze. A scruffy dog gnawed on a bone on the porch. The top branches of the cottonwood rustled in the light breeze. The darkness of the early morning hid the tall grass of the valley beyond.

"So how long have you two been riding together?" Zippy asked.

Stolter said, "Couple years back, we got thrown together on a stage run over to Kansas." He gestured to Whelihan with his chin to take over the story.

# Chapter 4

Stolter stretched out one foot. "Out west of Dodge, I'd say about seventy miles there is a wide wooden bridge that crosses the Arkansas River. Another road branches off north and goes up to the fort and there might be one hundred soldiers there. If you ever go by there with any regularity, you'll see them mounted up with a waving flag out front patrolling." Whelihan cleared his throat.

"Right there at that crossroads of sorts is big bar restaurant and hotel establishment called Susanna's Inn. It's a popular stop with good food, place where a man can camp out if needed. There is a back porch that is screened in so folks can sleep in the air rather than inside. After you get across the bridge, maybe fifty yards, there is a road that turns down into a valley and goes south almost all the way to the Mexican border. That's the cutoff road. At a gradual swing west it heads for Santa Fe." Whelihan signaled for another cup of coffee.

Stolter grinned and said, "Most of the stages headed for Santa Fe stayed on the well-traveled road that went by a few forts. It was safer considering the Indians liked to steal the horses and kidnap women travelers. It was and still is a very busy road." Whelihan nodded as he stirred a spoon of sugar into the black liquid.

Stolter rubbed his jaw and grinned. "We were laid over in Susanna's before we made the run back to Franklin and a wire came in that another stage had met up with some trouble on the cutoff. Some local rancher had taken in the passengers and had tried to make them as comfortable as possible. They were waiting on a stage to come pick them up. We weren't due to roll out for another two days. We were going to get drunk and chase around after the pretty ladies." He chuckled and winked.

Whelihan grinned and said, "I was comfortable in the barber chair getting a shave when Carmichael leaned in the door and asked if we wanted to make some cash. Twenty dollars for twenty miles. Overland was paying as it was one of their stages had stopped. I won't turn my nose up at twenty bucks so I said yes." He looked over at Stolter.

Stolter said, "I was getting my hair cut and waiting on my turn for a shave that evening. I remember that. It didn't understand why the twenty dollars because I've been paid five to take a stage out to pick up passengers and bring them back. I'd say that I wasn't exactly suspicious but something about it didn't add up to twenty dollars apiece."

Whelihan rubbed his face and continued. "Overland already had the team hitched. They were just waiting to see if we'd take the job. I don't know if there were other outriders. All I knew was that the driver asked for us." Zippy nodded.

Stolter said, "We saddled up and followed the stage out probably an hour before sunset. Carmichael knew the road like the back of his hand, plus I was familiar with it so there wasn't much concern on that score."

Whelihan took another drink of coffee and grimaced. "About five miles out the stage pulled over to the right for an oncoming freighter. It was Mike Cushing, who held up. Mike told us that down by Red Trail Creek there had been some trouble. He pointed to me and Stolter and told us that we might be using our iron so get ready."

Stolter shook his head. "That's when we found out a stage had been burned down onto the axles. The driver was gone, two of the male passengers had been killed and three little kids had been left screaming and crying alongside the road."

Whelihan voice was low. "It had happened about four hours before Mike got there. Someone had taken the kids to a house nearby to feed them and calm them down. We didn't know if there were outriders or shotgun riders on the stage. Overland was paying us to bring back the bodies and the kids."

Stolter grimaced like he was in pain. "Mike said he was going on to Susanna's and that he'd be there until day after the following, in case his freighter was needed. He was running empty and his horses were tired and he figured not too much else could be done until daylight."

Whelihan leaned his arms on his knees and shook his head. Zippy observed the tall man. "We could smell it in the dark before we got right up on it. You can smell burnt leather and wood. In the dark we couldn't make out too much, but someone had made sure that stage was destroyed. If it was Indians, they would've taken the children or killed them. I can still remember that ugly smell," he said with a shiver.

Whelihan stood up and walked to the window sill and leaned against it. "Half a mile on there was a driveway leading up to ranch house where the kids were. Swanlund or Swanson or something with a swan in it. The missus had cleaned up the kids and fed them some dinner however, according to her, they didn't eat like a normal child would've eaten dinner. You could tell she was nervous about it."

Stolter leaned back and took in a deep breath. "Brothers Davy Maitland, seven years old and Joey Maitland, nine years old were traveling with their father, James Maitland. They had been to Hattiesburg to look at horses. The little girl was seven year old Monica Devries, who was traveling with her father and mother, Frank and Camella Devries. Camella was or is younger sister to James Maitland. So it was a family traveling together."

Zippy sat up straight. "Why does that name sound familiar?" Whelihan held up a hand to stop him.

Whelihan crossed his arms over his chest. "Everything they had owned burned in the stage. Their parents had died in a stagecoach. They had almost lost their lives in a stagecoach. You might be able to imagine how they might not want to get back into a stage."

Stolter said, "Even with the bodies wrapped up in blankets and rope, you could smell that they were burned. Ginger and I loaded them on to the top where the bags usually go and roped them down tight. Those poor folks. We can imagine but we don't know what they suffered through."

Stolter said, "When Carmichael opened the stage door to help the children in, they came to a dead stop on the porch. The little girl, she looked at Whelihan and asked if he was good at using his gun. You could've knocked Ginger off his horse with a feather. Dead serious. Seven years old. She was not having anything to do with getting on that stage."

Whelihan chuckled. "All these years, never had a kid ask me that. She walked down the steps to the porch and right over to me. She held up her right hand and said she would never ride another stage and that she was gonna ride with me." He laughed out loud. Zippy grinned.

"What could I do? I bent down, grabbed her arm and swung her up in front of me. Damnedest thing. She gripped the saddle horn and wouldn't even look at the stage."

Stolter nodded. "The older boy, Joey, looks at his little brother and tells him that he's gonna ride up on top with the driver. The look of surprise on Carmichael's face said it all. The littler boy, Davy, said no and then pointed to me and said he was gonna ride with the other gun."

Zippy asked, "Oh, so you are a gun?"

Stolter grinned. "I turned into one right then." They both laughed.

Whelihan said, "That's when we realized that this wasn't their first stage ride. These were youngsters that traveled and had been around horses and coaches. They knew we were outriders to protect the stage and they must have figured that being close to a gun meant safety."

Stolter shook his head as he said, "After I swung him up behind me, I asked him if he knew where he was going. He said that most likely by now they had family waiting for them in Dodge." Stolter looked dumbfounded.

"We got back into Susanna's to find a troop detail from Fort Laird waiting for us. I come riding in with the little girl on my horse with me and a lieutenant started yelling at me for endangering her safety. I lifted her down and put her on her feet and you could see she was angry." Stolter held up his hands as if he were in trouble.

"Monica got in front of that lieutenant and told him to stand down and back off. Seven years old and she is making an officer back up in his tracks." They all laughed.

Stolter burst out with a laugh. "By this time, Joey is down off the stage, Davy is off my horse and both are running for Monica. I don't know what to think."

"Joey put a hand on Monica's shoulder and stopped her. Then he looked at the lieutenant and a few of the troops. Joey turned around and pointed at Ginger," Stolter said as he started to laugh.

"Lieutenant, five of your best men could try to draw on him and all five would be dead before they could clear leather. That's Ginger Whelihan. She could not have been in safer hands." Stolter raised his eyebrows.

Whelihan started to laugh. "Yeah, that caused a bit of a stir. A known gunfighter going after the grandchildren of Colonel Stanford Devries."

Zippy's mouth dropped open in surprise. "THAT Colonel Devries?" Whelihan nodded. The men laughed. As Stolter chuckled he looked at Whelihan. There were dozens of stories between them, shared experiences, and a commonality that created a trust.

In the darkness an hour later Stolter laid down on the cushioned alder pole bench dotted with black marks from burned out cigarettes. After tugging off the boots, he pulled the rough wool blanket over himself. He was thankful for the meal and the hot coffee. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts turned to those lush green acres, the happy smiling faces of his children, and the pretty brown eyes of this loving wife.

# Chapter 5

In the gray dawn of the next day, Whelihan and Stolter kept well back in the trees and skirted the small ranch on the west side. Sixteen miles to the south was Vista del Mar which boasted fresh spring water that wouldn't kill you, hot food at all three bars and a genuine copper still pumping out drinkable whiskey twice each month.

Not wanting to risk being seen by the locals, Whelihan and Stolter set up afternoon camp out the other side of a broad stream up underneath three old cottonwoods.

"This is one of my preferred places to camp out because the ground seemed to have a low hum down deep somewheres. I've probably stayed right here over a dozen times." Stolter frowned as he built a campfire so the smoke dissipated up through the tree limbs. The horseman attributed Whelihan's peculiar comments to being out in the sun for too long.

The buckskin palomino of Stolter and the strawberry roan of Whelihan grazed while the coffee bubbled. A twig snapped and Stolter paid no attention until a rustling sound made him turn around to look. Two young Mexican girls, one holding a giggling brown baby, stood with an empty pot and big brown eyes looking at Whelihan, who had started to draw his Colt.

Stolter could see they must have been around nine, maybe ten years old. "Are you the man with the fast guns and the green eyes with the chilies?" Whelihan said nothing but had an intense frown on his face. The girls giggled.

"I am Carmen Rodriguez Zendajas and this is my younger sister, Elaina Rodriguez Zendejas and the baby is my cousin and his name is Victor Romero Menera." Three sets of big brown eyes stared at Whelihan and Stolter who were visibly shaken by the sneaky children.

"Would you trade chilies for sugar?" Whelihan was not used to anyone sneaking up on him, let alone a couple of young girls carrying a baby.

"We are getting ready for supper and mama is making chicken enchiladas, rice and beans but someone forgot to bring a couple of chilies for the sauce. Uncle Zippy said you might trade for sugar." Long straight black hair, smooth brown skin, and leather boots.

Whelihan said, "Well, yes, I have a bag of chilies. How did they know he had them?"

The younger girl smiled and laughed as she said, "We smelled them when you men rode by earlier." That made Whelihan turn his head to the side a bit and frown again.

After Whelihan portioned out a couple of the chili pods, the older girl sifted coarse brown sugar into a small leather pouch for Whelihan. Stolter chuckled to himself about a couple of young girls getting the better of a lightning fast gunman who prided himself on being alert. Somehow the two men had ridden right past a family of Mexicans and didn't know it.

Whelihan and Stolter watched the girls with the happy baby make their way back through the trees along the river and disappear around the bend in the river. "Everyone in Zippy's family have a talent of some sort. Some of those skills come in handy and they are useful. Others you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy."

"So the ladies came to also invite us to dinner, is that it? We should go. No telling when we'll get another hot meal." Stolter made a case for going to dinner with the Mexicans.

Whelihan said, "Just so you know, you don't want any of them pretty girls mistaking me for husband material." That made Stolter fall over laughing.

### ###

The next morning nestled alongside the smoldering embers of the fire was a tin pot of succulent cut up potatoes, soft creamy beans, scrambled eggs with creamy cheese and tomatoes, spicy reddish sausage with chunks of black spices and a dozen soft corn tortillas. Whelihan jumped up and paced back and forth

"And you know they probably snuck right in here on those little kid feet and made fun of us while we were sleeping. Just waltzed right in, set up this food while we were sleeping right there." Whelihan pointed to the bedroll.

Stolter shoved a big mouthful of filled tortilla into his face. "Shut up and eat." He swallowed. "It probably was a better breakfast than they could have gotten at one of the saloons and you should sit down and enjoy it before it gets cold."

After Whelihan had taken a mouthful, he stopped for a moment and speculated about how the Mexicans even fit in the saddle eating good food like this. Stolter laughed and said he was going to need a nap after eating so much.

Just before noon, Whelihan and Stolter saddled up, broke camp and rode out to the trail where the Mexicans had told him they would wait. When they came around the curve there was a crowd of people, horses, children and a couple of wagons parked alongside the dusty path. There was nothing discreet and quiet about the chattering, clamoring crescendo of voices. Two of the men held up hands in greeting as Whelihan and Stolter walked in.

"What is this? There's got to be thirty people here." Stolter's mouth fell open. Greetings were exchanged. Introductions made. One of the Mexican women said something in Spanish about the tin pot tied to the pack on Stolter's horse. Stolter thanked the woman and handed the pot to her as she smiled and nodded.

Stolter told Zippy about the early morning breakfast delivery. Zippy sat on his mustang grinning. "The kids are trained to be silent. They have contests to see who can get closest without being heard. You were just a couple of lucky souls giving them the chance to practice." Whelihan winked to Stolter who simply shook his head.

"I don't understand this. Why would someone bring their entire family with them if they're about to run off with horses? Don't you put your family in danger of getting locked up, too?" Stolter had an incredulous look on his face.

Whelihan leaned on his saddle horn. "Americans won't lock up a mother and a grandmother and a bunch of little kids. It would make a man crazy stepping and fetching for women in jail. And those crying babies and little kids? They're always hungry or something. Stop and think about it. Do you really think a man wants to contend with traveling with women and little kids AND steal horses?"

Stolter shook his head. "Okay, I see what you mean. Two years ago Marianna and I took all three kids back to New Orleans on the train to see my brothers and their families. Five days of being cooped up on that moving train with not just my own kids, but about a dozen other kids who were yelling and crying, too. We never had it easy one inch all that way." Stolter rubbed his forehead.

Zippy gestured to the crowd. "Stop and think a minute. Here is a lone, dusty trail out in the middle of nowhere and you have ten men on horseback and twenty five women and children walking along like they are just going to the neighbors. Nobody knows that they've probably walked a couple hundred miles over the last month to get here. They don't look like it. But day after tomorrow, you'll have every man, woman and child on a horse all racing to get back to Mexico. They're Mexicans headed for Mexico. Nobody will even look twice at them. Nobody will even look to see that the horses are unbranded, some not even completely broken or how a little kid come to be riding a big horse." Whelihan laughed as he gestured to the gathered people.

Stolter shook his head again. There was more to the story but with his understanding only a few words of Spanish he was unknowing of the details. The Mexicans and Whelihan talked and gestured for about twenty minutes while Stolter watched the kids play some variation of tag using the wagon as a base. That could be Kelly, Lola and Colton playing in amongst the wagons and horses.

Whelihan got Stolter's attention. "We're gonna ride the route we'll take after we get the horses off the ranch. We're going to a meet up spot where you'll take your horses and head west. I'll ride south with the rest of the herd down into Sinaloa where I need to go." Stolter nodded and trotted after the men.

### ###

Two hours later, Whelihan and Zippy sat on their horses overlooking a lush valley with timber climbing up the hillsides. The grade began to slope lower with outcroppings of dark rock and sandstone topped out with a flat mesa. At the far end sat an old blackened stone farmhouse with empty windows and an overgrown yard. Ravaged by fire, the stone house sat still in the air with no hint of the family who had lived there was long gone.

A tall two story weathered barn with its doors open stood about two hundred yards from the house with a fair sized corral on the north side. Some of the corral posts had fallen over in disuse and part of an old cottonwood had crashed down destroying part of the south fence. To the north of the house was an over grown orchard of apples, pears and plums.

"I've seen old stone houses like this all over the West. Lives lived here in happiness and safety. Families raised." Whelihan gestured to the south.

"Yeah. Marianna's father's house is like this. Big stone house. You've probably seen it up at Flint Hills Ranch?" Stolter looked at Whelihan.

"Yes, I've been there. I did some work for Glenn Richardson in the year before he died. Good man," Whelihan shook his head.

Whelihan got Zippy's attention and gestured towards the valley. "I've often thought about some day when I decide to hang up my guns, I'll find a place just like this and raise horses. I don't want to the get to point where I've been hurt and injured so badly that I can't ride or shoot. I just want to walk away from it all one day and raise and train horses. Maybe those mustangs like you run," Whelihan said.

Zippy nodded and looked at the land he had seen a few times in the past. "Twice before when we had rode in, there were squatters camped out in the barn and once in the house. Most times it was quiet and abandoned like it was now." The Mexican reined over his mustang and trotted along the old path along the rim.

Down through a pass and then out onto another mesa they trotted. When they came down out of the trees before them was a secluded valley surrounded by stands of fir, cottonwoods and birch. A large herd, more than fifty horses grazed in the warm sunlight in knee deep grass.

Blacks, chestnuts, dun and a couple of palominos lifted their heads pricking their ears to look at the men. Two muscled mustang stallions nickered. After a few moments of swishing their long tails, they lowered back down and went back to grazing.

"I don't see any of your stock wanting to go home, Mr. Zippy. Maybe someone came along and talked them in to staying here," Whelihan said as he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Just hold on now, Mr. Two Guns. Mexican horses tend to relax and enjoy themselves. You watch this," Zippy said with a grin.

Putting his two fingers into his mouth, Zippy stood up in the stirrups and gave out three quick loud whistles. All the horses jerked up and watched with rapt attention. Nothing moved for a few minutes.

Whelihan's horse made a low nicker and stepped sideways. The gunman frowned and patted his neck to comfort the big roan. That was when he began to hear the pounding hooves of running horses. Zippy swung his horse around and pushed out another set of three whistles.

From the opposite mesa on the other side of the valley came a stream of Mexican mustangs racing down the path into the valley. Stolter counted twenty two reddish spotted with black blazes over a white forequarter horses of the traditional mustang paint. Zippy clapped his hands as he stood up grinning with enthusiasm at the racing horses.

"There's my horses!" Zippy grinned. In a swarm, the three men were surrounded by the neighing and nickering herd. Zippy ripped apples in half and hand fed each one noting the markings and health. It was like a litter of big puppies trying to nuzzle against the Mexican and he spent a few minutes patting each one and talking to them, calling them by name.

Stolter had dismounted and taken the saddle off so the roan could graze. Near the sandstone rim he gathered stones and built a fire for coffee. It was a clear blue sky overhead with not a cloud in sight.

"It's like each one knows you, Zippy." He watched the Mexican lift the hooves and check their feet.

"I do know each one. I was there when they were born. I helped train them to ride and wear a saddle. I helped them all learn how to swim in the ocean and how to cross big streams." Zippy slapped the rump of the last mustang sending it out into the valley.

"Three of the mares are pregnant and will foal in about six months. I'll take those south with me when I go. I like for the newborns to spend time around the family for the first year. It makes the training easier and the kids like the small horses." Zippy knelt down and poured himself a tin cup of coffee.

"Your kids train horses?" Stolter was in awe that children worked the horses.

"Sure they do. The best trained horses start out with the kids. They learn what to do and what not to do. The kids teach them the rules and have fun getting to know each foal," Zippy said with a big smile.

Whelihan stood up and stared out at the grazing horses. He commented, "I only see about six yearlings out there. You think there are more?"

"There are two other valleys we have to check. We'll go over to the other mesa and down that side. There should be more in the next valley over." Zippy gestured up to the opposite mesa with a broad swing of his arm.

By sundown the two men had found nineteen yearlings. Underneath a copse of saplings they also found the carcass of a horse that looked like coyotes had been feeding on it.

Whelihan pointed at the carcass. "On the other side near a path was another dead horse that had been dead for over a month. It's right front leg was broken and it seemed it had been shot in the head to put it out of its pain."

He said with a stern tone, "That is evidence that others know of this valley." Stolter watched the men and women of the family walk in amongst the herd, patting, talking and calming the animals. Zippy had said all of them would be riding the horses back to Mexico using their experienced eyes as they were picking out the horses they would ride.

Twice now, Stolter had felt a small nudge against his side. He had turned to find a child laughing as he ran away. Whelihan chuckled, "Nick, you gotta watch that. They're using you as part of their game now." Stolter shook his head and sat down. Several kids who had been creeping up on the horseman stopped and their shoulders slumped. Their game came to an end. Stolter grinned.

### ###

It was in the afternoon a few minutes after two o'clock and five miles to the southwest where Stolter and Whelihan met up with another Mexican. It was a clearing of hard packed dirt, some cacti bordered by a jutting outcrop of black lava rock probably about an acre in size. Whelihan talked with the Mexican man, Arturo, for a few minutes.

With quiet care, the gunman leaned closer to Stolter and said, "In case anything happens to you, where do you want these fifteen head to go to? I don't think the kids will take 'em all the way to Yucca Valley so you know of any place west of here where you want them corralled?"

Stolter frowned. "What do you mean? If something happens to me? Nothing is gonna happen to me!" Stolter felt the first tingling indignation of a fear. Whelihan looked off in the distance and waited.

Stolter let out a deep breath. "Just this side of Tucson is a tiny place called Rio Mesa. There should be a blacksmith and a stables there and a couple of saloons. Put 'em in that corral and I'll pay for their feed and keep when I get there." Whelihan walked his horse over to Arturo and they talked for few more minutes. Stolter became somewhat more uneasy as he watched the Mexicans shared ammunition as they loaded revolvers, pistols, and rifles.

Whelihan gripped the reins. "Okay, here are some ground rules. We're gonna go get those unbranded horses and run them as quietly as possible into that secluded valley where Arturo's family is waiting. Arturo's men dropped in six bottles of whiskey last night but we don't know how liquored up the men in the house will be right now. We're thinking that most of them will be sleeping it off." Stolter nodded and waited for the rest of the story.

That look came over Whelihan's face. The look where he appeared to be a stranger to Stolter. The gunman was all business now. "Don't get off your horse. No matter what. I am usually the last one out of the valley. I'll make sure everyone gets out. You need my help, you better be bleeding and riding. Got it?" Stolter nodded and felt for his Colt in its holster.

Whelihan gestured to the Mexican. "Arturo's kids will throw bridles onto all the horses when the herd runs in here except yours. Make sure none of those horses have brands or markings. You'll need a trail rope to put on them. I'll settle up anything with you when I get back here. After that, it's important that you get out of here with them horses. Nobody will wait around to help you and you'll be on your own after that." Stolter nodded and could feel the excitement course through him.

Whelihan reached over and gripped Stolter's jacket. "There's one more thing. When you go through Red Oaks Pass station, there will be a telegram there for you and some papers. I'll set up a receipt for the horses. You'll need it in case any peace officer decides to check. Tell the bartender who you are and they direct you to the right person. Got it?" Whelihan's eyes were more gray than green.

Stolter said, "Red Oaks Pass station. Got it." Whelihan reached to shake Stolter's hand.

"Thank you, my friend. You'll never know how much this means to me." Whelihan touched the brim of his hat and smiled a grim smile. Stolter felt there was a deeper, more serious tale in the background, but no time to tell it.

As Stolter followed the galloping group he considered the mechanics of this venture. It was apparent that the Mexicans were old hands at this grab and run. Whelihan seemed to be an old hand and had done this before now. It dawned on him that he, Stolter, was the rookie or the unknown link at this. Several times he had caught the Mexicans glancing sideways at him and it dawned on him now why. He was the unknown in this venture.

The narrow trail was just wide enough for two horses side by side. It was a longer stretched out traveling group making its way to the small ranch to the northwest. Fluffy clouds drifted by in no hurry overhead on the faint breeze. Black crows cackled and argued in the grass. The screech of a hunting hawk overhead warned small critters crawling along the dirt. The plodding hooves of the horses puffed up little clouds of dust in the heat.

Stolter wiped the sweat from his forehead with his bandanna. He could feel his sweaty hands inside the light leather gloves. He must have checked his Colt five times. In the small stream they let the horses have water. Nobody said anything, nobody chattered. The easy familiarity had been replaced with cold seriousness.

The shaded parts of the valley still dripped dew from the grass blades. Some of the horses lifted their heads as men on foot moved in around urging them in a certain direction. Five moved, ten moved, and then most of them walked on in the same direction. Stolter and Whelihan sat on their horses up under the trees watching the horses walk to the south end of the valley and disappear in the trees. Whelihan nudged Stolter and gestured to the east side.

Men's voices were getting louder. Two men carrying rifles ran out into the valley after the horses shouting an alarm. Whelihan drew his Colt and spurred his horse into a run out into the grass with Stolter close behind him. Whelihan took a shot at a dead run and hit the rifle barrel tearing it from the man's hands. Stolter saw another man farther back in the trees lift a rifle and Stolter's shot knocked him down.

Whelihan turned his horse left to come back around while the last five loose horses ran out the south end. Bullets flew past the gunman and he fired off three separate shots into the trees. Stolter wheeled around behind him and trotted back up the east side near the trees. There was no movement, no voices and all the horses were gone now. A short whistle from Whelihan meant head for the trail and he reined around and spurred his horse hard.

# Chapter 6

Just as he rounded the slight bend around the Douglas fir he caught a movement and Stolter was knocked from his horse. A man rolled over him dragging him down the clay hillside into the brush. Stolter kicked out and stomped his boots and landed on his feet. In front of him a scruffy bearded man with an ugly slash scar from his eyebrow to his cheek struggled to his feet. Stolter's hand slapped empty leather for the Colt. He swore.

Stolter felt something drip down his chest under his shirt and looked down to find a red stain spreading over the cloth. There was an oozing stab wound on his chest and the strands of shirt were soaked. The other man held in one bloody hand a knife made with a savage curve and the back edge serrated. Stolter looked up just in time to see a slender silver stiletto hiss by his face and he jerked away from the sound.

Stolter picked up a handful of dirt and rocks and threw it hard at the man, blinding him for a few seconds. His gun was still out of reach down the hill with the bloody outlaw between him and it. The man reeked of stale sweat, an unwashed body and bad booze. Chances were this was one of the men who had stolen the horses out from under Whelihan. By the way that his man swung the knife, he had nothing to lose.

The man grunted when he stabbed with a wild swing and Stolter jerked backwards. Stolter kicked a heavy boot out and caught an ankle making the attacking man stumble. Stolter rolled to his left and came up on a knee and the tip of the knife tore his denim jeans slicing into the thigh.

When the man gained his balance and sneered at Stolter, it was a mouth missing many teeth. What was left was broken, blackened and yellowed. A bloody hand wiped his mouth and he lunged at Stolter with his eyes wide. Stolter tried to pivot away but his boot heal caught in the brush and he tumbled ten feet down the hill. The man jumped at him and brought the knife over his head and Stolter saw it coming. The gun was here somewhere but still out of sight. A bright sting of pain laced along Stolter's jaw.

The man turned around and climbed back up the hill, his face distorted with rage. Stolter looked around fast and then threw a broken limb down at the man but he kept coming. Stolter's left leg screamed in pain but it wasn't soaking through his jeans yet. The grunting man jumped and tried to slice at Stolter's belly and caught a boot heel to the thigh. Stolter felt the knife tug at his shirt and a fine line of blood appeared in the tear. Stolter came off his feet in a leap with both heels at the man and caught him full in the chest that sent him tumbling into the brush twenty feet down.

Stolter looked up the hill and saw the Colt handle gleam in the streaming sunshine. He started climbing through the brush with small branches breaking and dry leaves crackling as he scrambled up. When he looked back down the hill, he saw that the scruffy man had gained his footing and was coming back up. Five feet from the Colt he felt the sharp pain and reached down to find a slender stiletto in the back of his right thigh. He grimaced and pulled it out and felt the rush of blood slide down his leg. Stolter took a deep breath and leaped up grabbing the Colt and rolling to his left just as the man grabbed Stolter's boot. Stolter fired the shot.

The man flailed as he shouted something and went face down into the crumbling dirt hillside and slid about three feet down. Stolter laid back in the mud and grimaced as his fingers explored the wound to his belly. The slice on his cheek would leave a scar. The chest wound felt sore and stung a bit as he eased himself down to the man's body and rolled him over to take the knife. In one of the man's pockets was twenty dollars and a scrap of paper with something scrawled. Stolter rubbed his eyes, "Rancho del Oro".

Stolter dragged the body down to the bottom of the hill and covered it in rocks, tree limbs and brush. The fight had been brutal and thorough and he'd feel the effects for days to come. He could feel the trickle of blood down the back of his leg. He whistled for his horse, mounted up and raced down to the trail.

### ###

Nobody was there. No men, no horses, no Whelihan. Stolter rode around the perimeter and saw where dozens of horse tracks had moved out South. The narrow trail to the West had been chewed up by hooves. His horses were headed west. Again, Stolter rode the perimeter to look for any signs, messages, and directions but to no avail. Inside his shirt his hand came away bloody and his jaw stung from the cut. He rode west following his horses.

Ten miles farther all the tracks made a hard veer off into thick brush to the north. After working his way around the tangled thorns, a quarter mile up the old path broaden out to a springs in amongst boulders. The horses had stopped for water. The rocks were scuffed and the tracks ended at the boulders. Stolter studied the rocks and then laughed to himself for thinking that horses could climb the rocks.

Stolter scrambled up to the top boulder and shaded his eyes from the sun. To the untrained eye, it was rough, uneven desert in the wild with clumps of sage, twisted cacti and big rocks thrown in to make the going tough. A single-file snake trail meandered northwest twisting and turning around boulders, down the side of a wash and then straight into an expanse of cacti. Stolter climbed back down and went back to his horse.

He cleaned up the slice in his thigh using his dampened bandana. He cut the tip off of the short, fat cacti and squeezed out the cool, creamy juice into the wound. The clean white cloth bandage that Kelly had packed for him was wrapped around it for protection. His horse had started to graze on the short grass under the scrub pine. When he knelt to drink, he caught a reflection of an ugly, red slash along his cheek. He squirmed a bit as he cleaned it up and slathered more of the slippery cacti onto it.

He had known the dangers when he started out. Every slice and stab wound stung. At the very least he still had everything he had started out with, including his horse and his own life. His hopes were now dashed that there might be some gold in the venture for him and at the very least, some more stock for the ranch. He had his food and water and ammunition still so he wasn't defenseless.

Stolter led his horse around the rocks and down the wash. The ground was chewed up from hooves climbing up the other side. The rocks were marred and scraped where several hooves had scrambled up. As Stolter stood there studying the tracks, his own horse nickered and he turned around to see his horse looking due south. He mounted up and let his horse pick his way through the cacti and rocks to the south and the track came out back on the main trail about a half mile farther west from the waterhole track. Someone was being very sly and cagey, wanting to avoid anyone seeing their horse's tracks.

The sun had started its march to the horizon and the evening. At an easy lope, Stolter had made good time but there was no tell-tale dust of horses anywhere ahead. Stolter went back over his directions to Whelihan that had been passed onto the Mexicans. Rio Mesa. Stolter wasn't even sure that the small town was still there. By the time another five miles had passed, Stolter's muscles ached, the wounds throbbed and his stomach had started to growl. He was used to a hard days' work around the ranch, but not used to be shot at, stabbed, and have someone try to kill him. Stolter began to look for a side trail where he could make camp.

Two hundred yards in a small wash near some scrub mesquite and cacti, he unsaddled. He turned his horse loose to graze and built a campfire. The tops of the hills to the east were on fire with reds, golds, rust and bronze colors. The deep wash of purple crept closer as the sun sank below the horizon. After a sparse supper, Stolter spread out his bedroll and tended to his wounds that had stopped bleeding and were now an angry red.

Would he make it back to his family alive? Would his efforts bring them help or make them worse off? To do nothing would have made him a failure. He had to try. The drive to save them from dirt poor poverty and give them a better life streamed through his veins. The echoes of the voices of his parents drifted to his thoughts as he fell towards sleep. The image of Marianna standing the yard next to him with her long auburn hair flying around in the wind was the last thing he remembered.

# Chapter 7

Stolter started to wake up when he heard the horse nicker. Every muscle screamed in objection to moving. The tightness of his thigh reminded him of his fight and wound from yesterday. When he sat up and rubbed his eyes, he was shocked to find three small Mexican children kneeling down around the fire, chewing on tortillas. Stolter started to grab for his Colt but then stopped to calm down. He rubbed his face with both hands and looked at the children.

"You sleep real good, mister." A short black haired boy about the same age as Colton spoke.

"How long you been here? Why didn't you wake me up?" Stolter felt irritated that a bunch of little kids could sneak up on him like that. He rubbed his eyes again.

The boy shrugged. "We'd get our butts beaten if we were to wake you up. Grownups need to sleep more than kids you know. We get told that all the time." Another boy and a familiar girl giggled behind their hands.

"Chica, let's get breakfast done so we can get out of here, okay?" The older boy looked at the younger girl who stuffed twigs and dry grass in as she built up the fire and shoved a flat pan into the flames.

"What's your names?"

"Victorio Imperisante Romero Estrella. But everyone calls me Rio. There are lots of Victorios in my family and we are all called something different." He grinned and unwrapped a couple tortillas filled with beef and beans and handed them to the girl.

Stolter wiped off his feet and pulled on his two pair of socks and boots while the boys watched him.

"Romero Estrella. That sounds familiar and I don't know many Mexican families. You related to Zippy?" All the kids looked at each other and laughed.

The young girl with the black hair and dark eyes spoke. "Zippy is my uncle. My mother's brother. He is the eldest in his family and my mother is the youngest. I am her youngest."

"How did you find me? I thought you were miles ahead of me by now." Stolter was handed a plate of steaming beef and beans on a tortilla. Every movement felt like another knife blade over his wounds as he sat up to eat.

"Oh, we were up on the next hill waiting for you. But you stopped here for the night and so we had to wait. This morning when we woke up we decided to come have breakfast with you before we go home." The young boy smiled.

Stolter took a bite of tortilla and looked at the children. "You all speak pretty good English."

"Six months every year we have to go up to Phoenix to our other Uncle Victor and go to the American school there. We work in his restaurant nights and weekends to pay for our keep. We have a lot of friends up there and Uncle Victor is a good man." Rio nodded.

The younger boy stood up. "My name is Javier Vicente Ricardo Jonasmilla. Everyone calls me JJ."

"Nice to meet you, JJ." Stolter could see the young boy thinking and choosing his words.

"I know more about the horses than these guys so I was the person who picked out your fifteen horses. Mr. Ginger said that you wanted bigger horses so I took those for you. I hope that is okay with you, mister." Stolter nodded.

Stolter asked, "How old are you, JJ?"

JJ took a step forward. "I'm 8 years. Why do you ask?"

"My boy back home is 10. His name is Colton. He'll be helping me with these horses when I get them home." Stolter smiled and all the kids smiled back.

Rio said, "I turned 10 years old in March. Chita is eight now. We've never seen California. We heard it is very beautiful with green valleys and really tall trees." JJ said something to Chita in Spanish and she started cleaning up the breakfast pan.

JJ stood back up and grinned. "If you will come with me, I'll show you where the horses are at, mister."

Stolter handed his tin plate to Chita and thanked her for breakfast and then followed JJ down through the wash.

Two roans, three buckskins, four black yearlings and a pinto all grazed in the scrubby pasture near Stolter's buckskin. JJ pointed out one of the black mares. "That mare is not broken to riders. We tried and she didn't want us on her. All the other ones will take a rider even though half of them are yearlings. There's two Appie crosses over by those trees. The two chestnuts are drinking at the spring." JJ turned to look at Stolter.

"We can trade you one of our mustangs and take that black south with us if you don't want her. We'll breed her to one of our black stallions and keep her as breeding stock."

Stolter looked at the mare who stared back with defiance in her eyes. "I was just thinking that she would most likely be good breeding stock. One of my neighbors has a black stallion that I could breed her to so that might work."

JJ went on. "We didn't have a lot of time to do much training with these horses. But they are all smart and willing to run so that is good."

Stolter stood looking out at the grazing horses. "So you train horses, JJ?"

"Yes, for racing. Mexican mustangs have a lot of endurance in racing for distance. A lot more than American horses. I have a cousin who trains cutting horses, but only for the cowboys who run the herds. We all like to race." JJ beamed.

Rio said, "Uncle Zippy has told us stories about taking some of our best mustangs up to California and beating all their fast horses. We heard the story about this champion Arabian who was something really special. It was a big, strong racehorse. Uncle Zippy's mustang beat it easy in the first mile, in the second mile it was lagging and after the third mile it was so far behind you couldn't see it. It was owned by a girl, by a friend of Mr. Ginger's and Uncle Zippy almost made her cry."

Chica came up alongside Stolter and smiled at him. JJ shoved his fingers into his mouth and let out three loud fast whistles. Out in the distance came the sound of a couple high whinnies. Stolter took a couple of steps back as three paint rippling muscled Mexican mustang stallions trotted into the clearing. The horses were blotched white with rust red and ebony black spots. Stolter guessed that each one was bigger than nineteen hands high. Each horse got a red apple to eat from Chita's bag.

"When you want to call your horses, whistle three times like I did. They'll come running. But you should have apples or carrots to feed them. They like treats." Rio spread a thick padded blanket with a soft leather strap for stirrups onto the stallions. He lifted Chita up to the darkest male's back. She put her small boots into the stirrups and then tightened the belt to her backpack. She put on small leather gloves and wrapped both her hands into the thick mane. She smiled at Stolter.

Stolter ran his hand down the flank of the stallion. "How do you guide the horse and control him without a bridle?" He looked up at Chita.

The little girl spoke with a clear voice. "Mister, we're going home. The horse knows where to go and we won't stop until we get there. We just hang on and have fun on the ride." Stolter shook his head in wonder and started to laugh.

Stolter lifted JJ up onto the stallion. Rio swung up onto the back of his horse. The man was in awe of these children who commanded and controlled the powerful animals with sheer trust and love.

Rio patted the neck of his stallion and adjusted the cloth pack strap. "Good luck to you, mister. Someday you should bring your fancy cutting horses south to visit us. We'll have a contest to see who is better!" All three animals began walking out of the clearing.

JJ called out, "Mr. Ginger sent you a message, too. It's on the horses." Stolter frowned and then laughed and waved.

After Stolter had saddled up, he spent the next hour getting lead ropes on the horses. The black filly dodged the rope three times until Stolter held out an apple to her. He looped the rope around her while she ate it.

Little leather pouches were tied into a braided section on the hanging side of the mane on each horse. Stolter's fingers detected coins. Whelihan might have come through with gold after all. Rather than spend the time to take out each pouch, Stolter moved the string out on the road in a trot headed west. He'd wait until night camp to get a closer look at the pouches.

Two hours of steady riding passed by without incident. Then he heard the gunfire.

### ###

Stolter picked his way through the rocks and ended up on a narrow path where he broke into a gallop. He ran six miles headed due south until his horse slowed and crept down a trail in the shade. At the bottom up under a rocky overhang near a waterhole, a man laid with bloody wound on his left side.

Nick took the canteen and ran to him and dribbled water into his mouth. His hand was over his side where his shirt was soaked. Stolter ran to his saddlebags and pulled out the bandages. It looked like a gunshot wound. The bullet had to come out but had no idea how to get it out of his body. The wounded man groaned, tried to move, and grimaced.

Stolter whispered, "Hold still, mister. It looks like you've been shot. I don't know what to do but I've got to stop the bleeding or you'll die." The stranger had lost a lot of blood and missed several meals it seemed.

"Knife. Cut." Stolter got the knife out of his saddlebag and brought it over to him. He tore away the bloodied shirt and saw the small hole seeping blood where the bullet went in.

"I'm carryin' scars inside and out. Use your finger, feel for the bullet and then cut it out." His head fell back and he was unconscious.

"No, I can't do this. I could cut the wrong thing and then you'd die and you can't die here." Stolter had always tried to mind his own affairs, but his man was dying. He felt his temples pound and the aching anger behind his eyes started. He looked at the knife and took a deep breath.

His shaking fingers probed into the hole and about two inches in him felt the slug. Using the tip of the knife and a finger he gripped the tiny metal and lost it twice. It seemed like an hour but only moments later he held the slug in his hand. Stolter shoved it down in his pocket and then poured water over the wound to clean it. He tied together the long white bandages and wrapped it around the wound. He drank down a gulp of whiskey to stop the shiver from his strain. Stolter pulled the heavy saddle blanket off the roan and shook it out to cover the man.

The herd grazed in a flat grassy area to the south. Stolter could leave the horses and get the man to a doctor but he didn't know which way to go or how far. The man had been asleep for about two hours. With a groan he came awake and gripped his side. Stolter rushed to him.

"Go get Beulah. She can stitch me up and get me to the doc in Rio Mesa. Tell her Griff said please." In a halting, pained voice the man told him how to find the woman that would help.

### ###

Five or so miles back to the north Stolter paused behind some mesquite before going out onto the main road leading west. With a quick glance he moved on across it and looked for a rutted wagon track road leading towards some low hills. Stolter could feel the feathered edges of panic rising in him and he fought it down. Twice he had to double back to the main road and keep looking for a rutted road.

The well-worn driveway had a ridge of scrubby grass in the center as it led up the hill. It stopped at a wooden gate. It continued on up the hill and around a bend disappearing out of sight. Stolter called out, not wanting to cross onto someone's land uninvited. After a few minutes, Stolter threw caution to the wind and lifted the rope loop up opening the gate. He was careful to loop it closed on the other side.

On the other side of the ridge was a wood framed ranch house with a broad veranda. A woman sat rocking with a shotgun across her lap. Stolter stayed on his horse.

"My name is Nick Stolter. I live over in Yucca Valley in California. I'm looking for Beulah Rose Vallarian."

"I am Beulah Rose Vallarian, Mr. Stolter. You can get down and water your horse over at the trough. Just so you know, I am a pretty good shot with this gun, once I get you close enough. Why are you here?" It was a clear, feminine voice with the inflection of a smile.

"I've come to see if you'll help acquaintance of yours, Griff Southcott. He's been shot." Stolter patted his horse as he led him to the water trough. Nick heard the woman snort and turned back to look up at the veranda.

"He's been shot, but he's not dead yet? And he thought of me?" She had stood up.

"He needs stitches and bandages, Ma'am. I don't want to move him, otherwise I'd put him back on his hammerhead and take him to Rio Mesa. I believe there still might be a doctor there, but I don't think he's gonna last the trip," said Stolter.

"Oh, yes. Dr. David Brownlow is still doing his doctoring there. That would be the best bet to get Griff up and to the doctor." Beulah stood up and leaned the shotgun against the rail. Stolter could see the woman was in her forties, a full bodied woman with an ample bosom. Her blondish hair was up in a bun on the back of her head. She was no great beauty to begin with but she was attractive all the same.

"Around back in the corral by the barn is my horse. If you would kindly, saddle him for me, I'll change into my riding clothes and get my supplies together." A glint on a silver bracelet shined when she waved her hand before she went inside. Stolter looked at his horse and shook his head wondering what kind of situation this was.

After Beulah had tied on the saddlebags she mounted up on her horse. They closed the gate and Stolter took off down the driveway. He had told her about hearing the gunshot, and how he had come to find Southcott. She made a curt nod without saying a word. Stolter had found most women to be inquisitive, curious, even nosy, but Beulah kept her thoughts to herself for the time being.

# Chapter 8

Southcott was unconscious when they arrived. Beulah unpacked her supplies and had Stolter help roll Southcott to the side so he was braced against a limb. The dressing was soaked with blood. About an hour later, Southcott was stitched up and a fresh, clean white bandage was pressed over the wound. Stolter helped get the wrapping around the man.

"Go tend to your horses, Mr. Stolter. I'll sit here with him until he wakes up." She shooed the hovering Stolter away.

Stolter guessed that it was close to midnight when Southcott groaned in pain when he tried to move. Beulah had rolled up a towel for under his head and covered him up with a threadbare quilt. The injured man blinked a couple of times and then rubbed his eyes thoroughly when he saw Beulah.

With a strained voice full of pain, the injured man asked, "What made you decide to get off your porch and come help me?"

Beulah motioned to Stolter. "This kind man asked nicely. He informed me that you said please so here I am. That's all." Stolter shrugged.

"I put ten stitches in your belly, Griff. You should rest for a week to let 'em set in and heal up a bit. Mr. Stolter here could probably rustle up a crude lean-to if you have a hankering to take up residence in this beautiful oasis." Beulah took a drink of the hot coffee and looked out towards the grassy patch.

Stolter piped up. "Getting you up on horseback and jostling you all the way to Rio Mesa might be the best thing to do. At least you'd have a real doctor to look at you."

"Got anything to drink? I'm parched." Southcott was trying to get his tongue to work inside his lips. Beulah dug around in her carpetbag and handed a small bottle of whiskey to Stolter. Southcott chugged down two swallows.

"In the morning, I think I'd like to try for Rio Mesa. Nick, I doubt that you can catch and ride my hammerhead and I can't ride him alone. And you got your horses to think about. I'll have to ride with you double." Southcott gasped as he drew in a sharp breath and his hand held his bandage.

"Ma'am, if I could lock up my horses in your corral while I get Griff into Rio Mesa, I would be indebted to you. I went through hell to get them and they are the means of my wife and children having a good year when I get home." Stolter ran his hand back through his black hair a couple of times and looked at the ground.

Beulah nodded and waved her hand a little as if it made no difference. "You know, that hammerhead always did like me better than he did you. I brushed him and fed him apples. You spurred him. You put too much load on that horse."

"I'm in no condition to argue with you, Beulah. Do as you damn well please. You will anyways. Least I can say thanks for stitchin me up." Southcott said and tried to roll on his left side only to swear because of the pain. Beulah looked him and shook her head.

"Mr. Stolter, at first light bring your horses up to the corral. I'll have some hay and feed for them waiting. They'll be safe up on my place. I have a small buggy in the barn that we can hitch up and if you'll drive, I'll steady Griff until we get him to Rio Mesa. There's no way he could make it all that way on the back of a horse." She stood up and began to gather her supplies into the carpetbag.

"Thank you kindly, Ma'am." Stolter helped Beulah mount up.

"Do you want me to ride along with you back to your gate? I'd hate them robbers to try to attack you in the dark like this." Stolter glanced at Southcott who was watching and then looked back at Beulah.

"I've lived here for over twenty five years, Mr. Stolter. I know this area better than any robbers could possibly. I'd kind of like to see them try. As long as I can move a finger, I'll pull a trigger. Only thing I've shot lately is rattlers and they don't put up much of a fight." Beulah reined her mare around.

"Goodnight, Mr. Stolter. Take care he don't break open them stitches in the night." Both men watched the sassy woman ride out into the darkness.

### ###

It was an old Jameson buggy with loose springs, worn leather seats and a torn canvas canopy that flapped in the wind. After Stolter had secured his small herd into the corral, he unsaddled and hitched up his horse to the buggy.

The ancient springs protested with a screech over each rut and bump. Stolter laughed and said it could never be a vehicle to sneak up on anyone. It was a twenty minute trot from Beulah's ranch back to where Southcott lay.

Earlier, she had walked out to the grassy area and put her fingers in her mouth and whistled two long tones. After a few minutes, the hammerhead trotted up out of the wash and right over to her. She fed him two apples as she talked to the horse petting his forelock and neck. Southcott watched her shaking his head.

"Damn horse."

Stolter chuckled watching the woman and the big horse walk back to the buggy. She unsaddled the horse and stowed the saddle in the back of the buggy. Stolter figured she destroyed a fine, white hanky rubbing down the animal.

Stolter helped lift a weak Southcott into the center of the seat where Beulah wrapped him in a quilt and put her arm around him.

"You need a shave and a bath so don't go getting no ideas about sundering my womanly charms, Griff." One of those hazel eyes winked at Stolter who grinned back.

It was a creaking, groaning, protesting ride. She and Southcott took turns looking through the field glasses in case they might spot his mares. Twice, Stolter turned to find Beulah whispering to a closed eye Southcott nestled against her ample bosom.

### ###

Two miles out the buggy came out a bend between the hills to find four men sitting on horses off the side of the road. Two of them reined their horses nearer while the other two turned their mounts and walked away a short distance.

Just as Stolter started to ask them their business, Beulah called out. "You men know if Doc Brownlow is in Rio Mesa this morning? I got a sick man here." She waved a soiled hanky and then shaded her eyes. The taller man on the appaloosa started to walk on over, but Beulah held up a hand.

"You might want to stay back. I don't know if this is catching. These red pustules keep breaking with green pus and blood. It may be the pox." Stolter jerked around and looked closer at Southcott only to see Beulah stroke his face to shush him.

"Uhh, Ma'am. Yes, Doc's in town. Hung over but he's there somewhere." The man was backing up his horse, leaning trying to get a look at the sick man. Beulah told Stolter to drive on.

"Thank you kindly." Stolter glanced back at the men after they had gone fifty yards and saw them staring back.

"You know them men, Miss?"

"Frank Mooney. I heard he had been shot and died last year, but I can see that was an exaggeration. He had his face turned away. I imagine he recognized me, but maybe not with this bonnet. The other man was Ricky Steiger. He is a snake belly low disappointment to his father. Started drinking when he was twelve and just could not climb out of the bottle. He actually did four years in the Army became a sergeant. I guess that means he can follow orders just fine. His mother had hopes of him going back east to school and getting a fine education. You know, being something and somebody. Never happened." Beulah motioned like she was wiping dirt off her slacks.

"Did you recognize either of the other two men, Griff? Were those the men who took your mares?" Beulah helped him sit up straighter as the buggy bounced and jostled.

Southcott cleared his throat. "I fought Indians in the Dakotas and Wyoming. The most Ricky ever fought was that little paper wrapper on the top of a whiskey bottle." They all laughed.

Southcott said, "Either man sporting a bandage on their arm like they been bit?"

"Nope, don't think either one had a bandage," Stolter commented. Southcott shook his head.

"I'd hazard a guess that we ain't seen the last of them," said Beulah.

### ###

The buggy swayed hard to the left as it slid into a rut and then pulled back out. Around the corner past the brush a building came into view.

"Ah, here we are. The beautiful, thriving metropolis of Rio Mesa." Beulah gestured to the left.

"The general store claims to carry French wine but that bottle was emptied over ten years ago. The town claims an art gallery but the only art are three paintings in the restaurant someone did to pay for dinner. The Mayor, who is long gone, boasted a center for the performing arts would be built for Rosalie Amundson, our fair songbird." Beulah rolled her eyes.

"The last time I heard her sing, Larry Conroy's three blue tick hounds wouldn't stop howling for half an hour." Southcott started to laugh and then caught his hand over his wound as he chuckled.

"Cultural bastion of society, is it?" Stolter looked at Beulah who laughed into her hand.

The bleary eyed doctor complimented Beulah on her small, delicate stitches considering the raw irascible patient. Stolter was amused to see Beulah blush at the kind words and batt her eyelashes at the distinguished white-haired physician.

"You want me to see if I can get a room for you at that hotel or should we just lay you out in the hay loft at the stables?" Beulah fanned herself grinning as she looked at Southcott.

Doc shook his head. "Ain't no hay in the hayloft. We're waiting for Genoli to bring in a wagonload. 'S'posed to have been yesterday, but you know how open bottles tend to get in his way."

"Ah. Well, that idea goes up in flames. The hotel it is then. What do you figure, Doc? Two days flat on his back? Three days?" Beulah looked at the doctor who had been admiring the fit of her slacks.

"Hmm? Oh. Two days to get up and walk around. Three days ought to be alright. Just don't be trying to scale any mountains or square dance in the saloon." Southcott nodded and ran his fingers over the tight white bandage around his belly.

After paying the doctor, Southcott put an arm around Southcott and Beulah and walked twenty five yards to the hotel who had a convenient first floor room available. Beulah and Stolter helped Southcott undress and get into bed.

"Can you rustle up some food? My belly is growling," Southcott said.

Beulah put a hand on her hip and gave Southcott a saucy look. "Beef bourguignon, baby asparagus, pomme fritte and topped off with tiramisu?"

Southcott's mouth fell open. "Beef what?"

"My fine cuisine palette gained in the exquisite dining establishments in Chicago, Philadelphia and New York is just lost out here in the wilderness of Arizona."

Stolter laughed with gusto.

### ###

Frank Mooney and Ricky Steiger looked at each other with a knowing stare. Mooney nodded with a slowness like he was thinking.

"So how do you know that woman in the buggy?" A thin man with pasty white complexion and lank black hair creeping down the back of his neck eased his horse nearer to Mooney. With sunken cheeks and deep set small eyes, the man had a white-skinned pallor about him.

"Beulah Vallarian. She inherited a run-down ranch with little water from her husband died of some disease few years back. She's spunky. The hired hand and his wife live in a cabin on the northwest side of the barn. You don't wanna mess with her, Ray. She's a good shot with a Colt and like anyone else, she'll kill you with that shotgun," Mooney said.

Ray Beadle coughed and spit off to side. His eyes darkened as he watched the jouncing buggy amble up the rutted, dusty road. The narrow back was hunched as he leaned on the saddle horn, biting his lip in thought. He had drove cattle up the trail from Texas four times, ridden freight wagons to Los Angeles twice and now had a blossoming career in highway robbery so he could afford new boots.

"I didn't recognize the man driving the buggy. Maybe he was friends with the sick man in the blanket. Brothers, maybe." Steiger moved his horse around the other side of Mooney, away from Beadle. There was something about the grimacing sour expression that Steiger didn't like so he moved away.

"What do you say, Bob? We can ride out to that ranch, see if there's anything there worth having," Beadle said.

Anyone could see that Bob Moss was a big man, well over six foot tall with a barrel chest and powerful arms. He wore his kinky, curly light brown hair short up around his ears. His dark eyes were hooded with bushy eyebrows. Someone had caught a lucky punch somewhere as the pudgy nose had been broken which would cause him to lose any future beauty contests.

"The west is infested with those dirt-poor farmers all the way to the Pacific Ocean. They have a good year with their stock or crops and come into money. Then they're poor for ten years and barely survive," Moss sneered. Steiger took out his makings and rolled small cigarette.

Moss watched him light the smoke. "Her entire net worth is probably that horse and buggy. Or maybe some silver doo-dad that her husband gave her years ago. No, I'd say that there's probably nothing there for us. Unless one of you boys has been inside the house?"

Mooney and Steiger shook their heads almost like twins. Moss chuckled to himself as the two men seemed to be working on becoming professional criminals.

"Uh, no, I've never been any closer than the barn. I helped deliver a load of boards for the old shack they were building a couple years ago." Mooney sat down to pull off his boots. There were holes in his socks. Moss shook his head and looked at Steiger. Ricky shook his head and put his eyes on the smoldering cigarette in his fingers.

Beadle coughed and spit again. "That was a good lookin' hammerhead tied on to the back of that buggy. I didn't see any brand on him either. Might be able to get a couple of dollars for him at some stables down the road."

"That's the difference between you and me, Ray. You think about getting enough money to get you through the night. I think about getting enough money to get me through the year. You think too damn small," said Moss. The heavy man flexed his shoulders as he looked back up the road.

Beadle wiped his face with a dirty faded green neckerchief. "Is there a stage that stops in Rio Mesa?"

"No. The stage stops over in Red Springs, about eight miles north of there. It used to stop in here twice a week when the town was bigger. Business died out. People moved away. Stage stops up there at Red Springs now." Steiger watched the smoke drift away on the light breeze.

Moss looked at Mooney and Steiger noticing the threadbare clothes, worn down heels on their boots and laughed to himself as he figured neither one had more than five bullets. Moss had run a mighty successful stagecoach robbing venture starting up in Missouri eight months ago. Mooney and Steiger had teamed up with Beadle and Moss on the last job north of Santa Fe. Mile by mile he was moving towards the west coast and the lure of gold. The sooner he lost these two local yokels, the better off he and Beadle would be.

"We're gonna split up here tonight. You boys go find someplace to bed down for the night. Ray and I are gonna ride on into Rio Mesa. See what we can find that's worth finding. We'll catch up with you tomorrow back at that wide bridge over the river." Moss urged his horse into a walk out onto the road headed west.

"We still gonna ride over to California, Bob? I was looking forward to seeing those sandy beaches and getting elbow deep in gold." Mooney had a wide-mouth grin. Beadle waved and trotted after Moss who ignored the question and had focused on the mission ahead.

The two men plodded along the road in silence. Beadle and Moss had ridden together for close to five years now and their relationship over time had become unspoken. Beadle was quicker to anger and violence and Moss was more thoughtful planning to avoid gunplay. There had been several corpses in Abilene and Dodge City. Moss still had a slight limp when he walked from getting a hard kick to his left knee during a fight in Denver.

Beadle gestured to the left ahead. "That looks like that buggy from earlier. Them are the horses there in that corral. Maybe they're still with the doctor." Stolter's black was chewing on hay in the corner of the corral and the hammerhead stood looking at the men riding into town.

"This is a God forsaken run-down town. That saloon has maybe twenty dollars to its name. Looks like it could have had some big crowds at one time, too. It's not even dark yet and the general store is already closed and locked up tight." Moss nodded at the rusty iron gate that was padlocked across the front door of the store.

At the corral they dismounted and let the horse's water. "What are you thinking, Bob?"

"I think we get ourselves a good dinner and some rest. About midnight we'll see who has what in their pockets and trot those two horses right on west with us. We may need some rope to tie someone up if they give us any trouble," Moss said. "How about you?"

"I was thinking it was too bad that lady was caring for that sick fella. She looked like she could have been some fun. I like my women plump and feisty like that." Beadle chuckled. Moss grinned and shook his head. They unsaddled and turned their horses into the corral. The men gave a quick once-over to the other horses in the graying evening light just to make sure of any markings. The hammerhead snorted and kicked the dirt when Beadle tried to run his hand down the flank.

The saloon gave them two plates of chili con carne with thick slabs of yellow cornbread and cold beers. The bartender busied himself with washing glasses and plates in a pan of soapy water behind the bar. The two men ate in silence with occasional glances at the door and the man behind the bar.

### ###

"Well, this has just gone from bad to worse." Stolter had found an old Phoenix Gazette newspaper from last month and had been perusing it. He turned around to see Beulah rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her long auburn hair was disheveled and wild.

Earlier in the afternoon Stolter had crept downstairs and rustled up a pot of coffee from the kitchen cook. In his sleep he had dreamt of running horses, Marianna shouting something, and the approaching edge of the mesa. It had brought him out of a sound sleep. The cook had slipped a couple of sandwiches onto a tray for them along with a handful of cookies. Back in the room, the horseman poured a small cup and set it on the nightstand next to the woman.

"Thank you, kindly. I'm not known for getting up real early." She lifted the cup and sipped the hot liquid. Stolter turned back to the newspaper he had been reading. He could hear clothes rustling behind him and he kept his eyes averted.

"How did you come to be in Rio Mesa, Ma'am?"

"We raised a few head of whiteface cattle. My husband built freight wagons as a business. Those big, long heavy ones that are pulled by draft horses. All of his tools and equipment is still out in the barn. I haven't touched it."

"My husband's lungs got weaker and weaker. He had finished a wagon the day before and decided there was no reason to go out to the workshop. Marcus Gray, that's the man who helped him build the wagons, he stayed on with his wife. He built on the big rooms on the side of the barn."

"Most women around here move away to a more comfortable life in a bigger town or city. I'm the unusual one. I left the city to get out to peace and quiet. This is what I get!"

Stolter looked thoughtful for a moment. "I met my wife at a rodeo in Denver. When we married, I moved in to her family home with her and her mother and father. After five years we decided to buy a place of our own and moved up to Yucca Valley where we found a ranch. We raise and train cutting horses."

"Why Yucca Valley? Why not near to her parents?"

Almost without realizing it, his shoulders slumped and his voice cracked. "We had a tragedy befall our family. Our boy, Charles Rafael, died from sickness and there was nothing we could do. The land, the area reminded Marianna of what had happened so we moved away from where Charley had died. He's buried there, on the ranch, under the big tree he loved to climb."

Southcott nodded and said, "My folks had horses over just south of Tucson. I was 14 when my pa died. His heart gave out. I never knew him to be sick a day in his life. My ma died of pneumonia four years later, the doc said. I think she died of a broken heart, myself. They had known each other since they were young kids. Sort of knew they would get married one day."

"I was at a grange dance with a couple of my buddies. They were eyeing the local girls but I just wasn't interested. Julie Myerson's cousin, Jennifer, was visiting from New Orleans. She took a shine to me and I thought I was the luckiest man alive. We wrote back and forth for almost a year. I went back there and met her folks. I tried to tell her that a ranch life is a hard life. On the train coming out to marry me, she met a rich man that swept her off her feet and she was gone."

Stolter was quiet for a moment. He stood up, stretched and said, "This past year has been pretty bad. Not too many people have bought horses. People buy them from other ranches now, other trainers. We still go up to the big rodeos and compete. People know our horses and we're priced along with others. It's just been real tight. We had hoped to go out to San Francisco with the kids this summer and play tourists. We just haven't sold the number of horses we should have."

Southcott rubbed his forehead. "Nobody wants an old horse rancher. I never married. I look from time to time, but nobody is looking for me. There is always next year. I tell myself that all the time. I think it's mainly to give myself something to look forward to, something to plan for. I just keep going on."

Beulah grinned. "I don't know, Griff. You and I seem to keep from killing each other. You and the doctor are the only men allowed in my house. There's that. I don't have a line of suitors holding bouquets of daisies knocking on my gate either."

Rays of golden sunlight streamed in the window. Southcott closed his eyes and after a few minutes his breathing had become deeper and steady as he eased back to sleep.

Stolter looked at Beulah. "He has some regard for you."

"I do for him, too, but don't tell him that. It'll swell up his head." She laughed. Stolter turned his head as she took off her clothes and wrapped up in a quilt. With care, she laid on the bed next to Southcott and pulled him over next to her. Stolter turned down the lamp and made himself comfortable on the horse hair sofa in the dark room. It might be the last time to enjoy comfort and a sense of ease and well-being.

### ###

The gray darkness had gotten deeper. A slim hint of light trembled at the western horizon. Rustled wings flapped overhead hurrying to safe roosts for rest. The building crescendo of crickets rose from the tall valley grass. Moss breathed in the scent of animals, rich, loamy earth and now that he stood at the edge of the small town, the distinctive scent of man.

Beadle had laid out his bedroll and sat on it rubbing his sore feet. Moss had never known the man to have much or talk about gathering wealth. Yet Moss knew Beadle wrote long letters once a month shoving paper money into the envelopes to someone in St Louis. It had been over a year since leaving Missouri and Beadle had been focused on California, same as Moss. He had kept his horse moving along the dusty trail headed in that direction. Moss pulled the thin, wool blanket and rolled over onto his side for sleep.

In the yellowish night of the moon, Moss jerked awake. He had become aware of a stray dog had walked near sniffing the sleeping men. He rubbed his face and sat up. The pocket watch showed one o'clock. From one hundred yards away came the plinking notes from a piano and the warbling voices of men. He had no sympathy for outlaws yet he fit and filled the lifestyle written about in penny novels. Moss shook Beadle's ankle to wake the man who groaned from sleep.

The side door of the hotel creaked once as they went through into the darkened lobby. The floorboards were lose and every step squeaked out their passage. Black bandannas covered the lower half of their faces.

Room 104 was pitch black with the shades and drapes pulled to block out the light. When the man in the bed called out, Beadle's fist to the jaw quieted him down. The big man pushed the other back over on to the bed and covered him with the blanket to make it look like he was sleeping. Moss flicked a match and held it over the table to see empty bottles, dinner leftovers on a plate and two books.

The leather wallet on the nightstand held fifty dollars in paper money and Moss folded that into his pocket. Beadle walked around the bed and his long duster caught an upholstered chair as he reached for the pocket watch. The chair fell into the table knocked the bottles over and crashed to the floor. Moss waited a few moments to see if anyone would come to the door, but the hotel was quiet. They eased into the dark hallway and eased the door shut behind them.

At the end of the hall, the door to room 110 was unlocked when Moss turned the knob. He could make out two people asleep in the bed and one man slept on the broad sofa near the windows. One of them in the bed was a woman.

Moss motioned Beadle to the bed and he stepped over to the sofa and kicked away the gun belt as the sleeping man woke startled. Moss' Colt pointed straight at the man's chest holding him down on the sofa.

The woman struggled in a muffled scream as Beadle clamped his gloved hand down on her mouth. Moss could hear him grunting with the exertion to wrestle her out of the bed onto the floor. Beadle cried out in pain and then fell to one knee, cursing the woman. Moss wondered if it was the same fiery redhead from the buggy earlier in the day. His attention is jerked back to the sofa when the lone man tried to kick at Moss.

The concussion from the gunfire inside the small room was deafening. A momentary flash of light blinded Moss and wrestled around to look at what happened. The woman fell back onto a moaning man still laying in the bed, the gun dropped from her hands to the floor next to a writhing man.

Moss realized that the element of surprise was gone and had not considered there would be more than one person in the room. His boot hit something and he steadied himself. He made out the saddlebags on the floor near the table in the dark. Just as he bent to lift the leather bags, he went sideways in a heap on the floor as a man jumped on his back. He saw Beadle still on the floor.

Moss can hear the woman calling for help. There is a commotion in the darkness with her struggling with someone on the bed. Moss can feel a hand gripping his coat at the shoulder and he swing three fast lefts. The hand released and Moss scrambled for the door, headed down the hallway to the far door. Just as he reached the doorway to the lobby, he turned back knowing that he missed a chance with whatever important prize could have been in the saddlebags.

Beulah blew the smoke away from the barrel and said, "Only way out of trouble was to fight."

The stinging thud hit his left shoulder and pushed him up against the doorjamb. He groaned in pain and put up a hand to the ache. His eyes looked back down the hall at the bare-legged woman holding the big Colt and she had started walking towards him for another shot.

Moss' eyes went wide and he jolted to his right in a dead run for the front door of the hotel. He took the two steps then leaped into the dark street. Beadle had saddled up the horses earlier and all he had to do was get to the corral. He could feel a wet ooze sliding down the inside of his shirt from the bullet wound.

The horses' heads jerked up as Moss ran stumbling up to them. He grabbed the reins of Beadle's horse and mounted up, headed down through the valley grass. The blood pounded in his ears and the one doctor that could get the bullet out was back in the town. It would be a sore couple of coming days and with nothing much to show for it.

### ###

"Did you get him?" Stolter had lit a lamp and pulled on his boots. He stood bare-chested in the room checking his Colts when Beulah walked back in and put the big gun on the table.

"I hit him, but it didn't seem to slow him down. He must have had on a thick vest or something. Maybe he's just one tough son of a bitch."

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Stolter looked at her bare, curvaceous legs.

Beulah shook her head and then fingers tested the corner of her mouth. "I don't like a man putting his hands on my face like that. I bit him but those disgusting leather gloves saved him from any real damage. He probably didn't think that I'd be in the room. I don't know."

"While I'm out looking for him, check Southcott stitches, would ya? I don't need him bleeding to death on top of everything else."

An older man holding a lantern appeared at the door. "You folks okay in here? What happened?" Nervous gray curls hung down over bleary eyes behind thin spectacles and a thin, shaking hand made the light dance.

"Holdup. Man broke into the room and tried to take the saddlebags. Miss Beulah got a shot into him, though. I'm going out looking for him."

"Any of you hurt? Should I go for the doc?" The lantern trembled like a leaf in a windstorm.

"No. We're okay. A little shook up but we're okay." Stolter reassured the man.

Stolter hustled down the hallway and out onto the front porch. He stopped to listen next to the rail, but the night was silent. He ran up on his toes down the edge of the boardwalk and then darted across the open space to the corral water trough. Stolter's horse and Southcott's hammerhead stood looking back at him in the corral. The man rested against the trough and tested his jaw.

After a moment, Stolter had heard nothing and stood up. Just as he had taken a step back to the hotel, the big hammerhead nickered. Stolter looked at the horse who turned toward the opposite side of the corral and took a few steps, tossing his big head. Stolter felt himself frown as the hammerhead looked back at him. The man walked around to the far side but could not see anything in the darkness. He'd have to wait until daylight.

When Stolter walked back into the hotel room, there were several men standing just inside the door, looking at the body covered with a white sheet. Southcott had sat up on the edge of the bed and was in obvious discomfort from the pain. He was just coherent due to the dose of laudanum. Beulah had pulled on a pair of slacks and her blouse but was barefoot. The elderly man with the lantern sat at the table with a sheet of white paper and a pencil writing something.

"He was with another man along the road today when we brought in Mr. Southcott. I thought perhaps someone would recognize him."

The hotel clerk said, "Later this morning, we'll have the bartenders come take a look at him to see I he was in either of those establishments." The two other men shook their heads. A stretcher came in and they rolled the dead man onto it. A bloody, red blotch was left on the floor after they had gone.

"It looks like they broke in on Sep Bishop in room 104 before they came here. He's got a bad cut over his eye. The doc will have to sew him up for sure." The hotel attendant shook his head.

"You've got a pretty good welt on the side of your face, Nick. You're probably gonna have a black eye in the morning," said Beulah. Stolter could feel the stiffening of muscles in his back from the roust.

"Whoever it was, didn't take our horses out of the corral. Southcott's hammerhead was acting strange, though."

"No, not strange. Hammerheads don't like people. And they remember people they don't like. I'll bet that horse saw who came around the corral and knows the direction he left in." A younger boy with red suspenders holding up his black worn jeans spoke.

"Jeremy, go get the stretcher. Make yourself useful here rather than blathering about. Folks, if you want to move on down to room 108, I'll need to get in here and start cleaning, please." The attendant shooed Jeremy out of the way. Everyone nodded without a word and started gathering up their belongings.

Everyone had cleared out of the corridor but Stolter felt irritated and edgy. He wished he had a drink to settle his frayed nerves.

# Chapter 9

"Did you say your name was Stolter? Nick Stolter?" It was the night clerk holding the hurricane lamp at the doorway.

"Yes. Why do you ask?" He could see the clerk fidgeting.

"Mr. Stolter, I just now realized who you are. I'm afraid I have bad news for you. It came across the wire. If you'll come down with me, I'll give you the paper."

"What are you talking about?" Stolter felt his heart start to beat faster. He followed the clerk down the hall, across the lobby and into a small corner office. The clerk pointed to a chair and from a drawer brought out a three crumpled white sheets. They were telegrams addressed to Nick Stolter, general delivery.

" _Marianna Stolter, sudden illness. Passed away May 5th."_ It was signed by Doctor Collins in Yucca Valley. Stolter sat down hard in the chair.

"This can't be right. She was fine when I left!" Stolter read the sheet again twice. He stood up and shook his head. The clerk pulled out a small bottle and a little glass and poured whiskey into it and set it down in front of Stolter.

"There's a couple more for you to read, Mr. Stolter. Please sit down." The clerk gestured to the whiskey.

Stolter rubbed his face hard with both hands and downed the small glass of whiskey. His wife had died while he was away. His worst fear had happened. After a few moments, he sat down and looked at the next page.

> "My condolences. Please contact attorney Merle Doyle, Bradford. Urgent. Merle Doyle, Atty."

Stolter had a dozen questions running through his mind. Marianna must have had enough time to tell them about Bradford and Flint Hills. Someone must have helped them contact the attorney, Doyle.

> "All are well. Please hurry home. Kelly, Lola and Colton."

He looked without seeing. No words would come. He laid his arm on the desk and put his head down and sobbed.

### ###

When Stolter walked into the small hotel room, he was ashen as he looked at Beulah and handed her the telegrams. He fell into the chair, distraught.

Alarmed, her eyes scanned the paper. "Oh my God, Nick! Marianna died?" Beulah put her hand over her heart and gasped.

"What?" Southcott stood up holding his chest and read the page that Beulah handed to him.

"It's from the doctor that has taken care of all of us for these many years. My wife died nine days ago. I didn't know it. " Stolter shook his head and grimaced.

Southcott read the message and said, "God in heaven, Nick, I am so sorry."

Stolter stood up and leaned against the window sill. "She had been sniffling and sneezing. We all had. It's winter and we all got the same cough and runny nose."

Southcott frowned. "This attorney, Doyle, do you know him?"

"Yes, he was the attorney for Marianna's father, Glen Richardson. In fact, when we bought Windy Ridge, Doyle handled the documents of the sale. Glenn insisted on Doyle filing all the claims and deeds," said Stolter. He rubbed his face with both hands.

"Well," said Southcott as he sat down on the bed. "I know it's not much help, but if a lawyer is involved with your children, I'd say they are right safe. And your ranch, too."

Beulah put her hand on Stolter's shoulder. Her voice trembled as she said, "Did you send word back where you are and how long it will be before you can get home?" Stolter shook his head.

"I can't think straight right now. I don't even know what to say. She died and they buried her. I don't know what is going on at home." Stolter tried to smile but his agony made it impossible.

Beulah went to the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. In the flickering lantern light, she wrote for a minute.

"I wrote out the message for the attorney."

> "Received message. At Rio Mesa. Headed west for home. Nick Stolter."

"From here on, Nick, you are going to be moving too fast for any letters to catch up with you. You'll have to check every western Union office between here and home to see if there is any word for you." Beulah dabbed the hanky at the corners of her eyes.

"You'll need to send word to the children, Nick." Southcott wiped the bandanna over his face.

"I want to tell them to not do anything stupid, but I don't think they would anyway. They are smart, level headed kids."

"Yes, but they are hurting from their mother's death, Nick. Grief does horrible things to adults, and we have no idea how this will hurt them." Beulah looked down at the page.

Southcott said, "We're two days out of my ranch that's northwest of Tucson. From there, if you make about fifteen miles a day, give or take for the roads and the weather. I'd say if you were to take it slow, you're about twenty days from home." Stolter was quiet as the logistics of his ride ahead sank in.

"Beulah, if you'll write this down, I'll try to say it right. Tell them that I'm coming home, bringing 15 head and tell them it will be better when I get home." He watched her write with slow care, then line something out and write again. She handed him the paper and watched his expression.

"Thank you, Beulah. I'll take this down to the clerk and ask him to have it sent out as soon as possible," he said with a rough voice. She squeezed his arm and he walked out of the room.

### ###

At first light, Stolter saddled up his gelding and walked out through the green valley grass at the edge of the corral. Twice the hammerhead nickered after him trying to tell him something but Stolter had the pain of his wife's death on his mind and no patience for a persnickety horse.

The grass was still heavy with due and a light fog hung around under the trees where the sun had not reached. Stolter mounted up and took painstaking care as he followed the broken grass track. At a small creek the tracks disappeared. Stolter looked over the other creek bank but figured the man must have walked up and down the creek to evade anyone following. It worked.

An hour later he tied up at the rail in front of the hotel. There were a couple of men in leather chaps standing on the porch smoking as he walked up the steps. The one man nodded and the other man lowered his face away to light a cigarette. Southcott was sitting at the table in a bit of pain when Stolter came in.

Stolter asked, "You feeling a bit better?"

"A bit. I don't like that feeling of being knocked out and not knowing where I am. I'd rather suffer the pain and know what is happening. I felt pretty helpless lying there last night," said Southcott as he straightened up. Stolter told them what he had and had not found outside.

Beulah sat on the sofa near the window looking out. "Well, Griff, you have a choice here. You can come back to my place and be my houseguest for a few days while you mend. Or you can poke along in the buggy with me getting you back the twenty two miles to Tucson. Mr. Stolter still has his herd to get over to California and we can keep each other company as far as Tucson."

Stolter took in a deep breath and rubbed his face as he remembered the little leather pouches braided into the horse's manes. "I don't want to leave you folks in a bad situation, but I do need to get on the road and head for home. I'm sure they are all just fine, but I need to get home."

Southcott touched his bandage with care. "How about this? Beulah, if you'll allow me to rest tonight back at your place, tomorrow, Nick, I'll be able to ride and I'll help you as far as Tucson." They all nodded.

For Stolter, the trip back along the road was far too slow. The buggy jounced and jostled all the way back to Beulah's ranch. Stolter's horses were grazing in the pasture. The hired hand said nobody had come by and everything was quiet. Southcott and Stolter told him the sorry events of the previous day. Beulah prepared a bedroom for Southcott who groaned a couple of times before fell asleep.

From the front veranda of the ranch house Stolter had a view down the slope, past the road and several hundred yards into the scrub mesquite, cacti and rocks. Beulah set a glass of lemonade down next to him on the rough wood table.

She had lowered her voice. "In the past, I've cooked up a pot of something and taken that and a quilt over to the family that lost a loved one. I'm feeling a bit lost in how to help you."

Stolter looked up at her. "Part of me wants to leave the herd here and ride home as fast as I can. But that would cause even more difficulties. You were right when you said that I'll have to stop and look for telegrams on the way home. I figure by the time we get into Tucson, there should be word waiting for me on how everyone is doing." Beulah sat down in the rocker to the left of Stolter.

"I wanted to thank you, for coming and getting me to tend to Griff. I had been thinking of Griff on and off for a couple of weeks. I hadn't seen him since the winter when he stopped by. I can be somewhat abrasive to folks so I figured I just got on his nerves and he avoided me." She chuckled.

Stolter sipped the tangy drink and nodded. "I think Griff might have been meaning to stop in and say howdy on his way back from Red Springs. I didn't get the impression that he was a gadabout social butterfly with a full dance card, Ma'am." Beulah chuckled.

"I have three very good friends that I write to in Tucson. I'm actually thinking of riding along with you so I can get into town and see them. That's the least I can do without seeming to be pushy. I got plenty of time on my hands and Marcus can handle anything that comes up here at the ranch," Beulah said.

Stolter looked at her. "It might not be an easy ride. We may have to make several stops to let Griff rest. And I got no idea if that man from the hotel who tried to rob us would be following us waiting to try again."

Beulah looked at Stolter. "I've ridden both stage and horseback all the way to Los Angeles, Mr. Stolter. It's always a series of stops, towns, drinking and rowdy folks. This is the West where people make their own way. I may be a bit older than the last trip, but I still know how to do it. Getting myself to Tucson should not be that big of a deal." Stolter nodded and took another sip.

The first part of the month had been warm and comfortable days with nights that needed no blankets. The gentle rolling hills to the south had turned brown in the heat. Some of the desert and valley flowers dotted pink, red, blue and purple in amongst the scrub brush. Soon the red, gold and burnished copper color would be scattered on the hillside in the coming autumn.

Beulah's ranch was fragrant with the scent of honeysuckle, wild rose and jasmine mixed in with wheat grass and lilies in the wind. Hummingbirds flitted in and out of blossoms in the planted flower beds by the porch. Bees hovered over the climbing vines on the trellis at the side of the veranda. Near the barn was an old weeping willow tree that leaned out over little creek that ran down the side of the hill.

Stolter recognized the hard work that had been put into the land, the buildings and the house. It was a family home and it reminded him of his own. Stolter touched the brim of his hat and thanked her for the drink. He stepped down off the veranda headed for the corral.

The next morning in the gray light of dawn, they saddled the roan, the hammerhead and the black mare. Marcus waved goodbye and tied the gate shut after the herd had followed Southcott out onto the road. Stolter was anxious to put miles behind him, but he was also thankful for the generous help of two new and very dear friends.

### ###

Nine miles down the road, just outside of Round Butte, they came up on a wagon with a busted wheel. Stolter saw one of the rear big wheels laying on the ground and an older, white-haired man and a woman were struggling to hoist up the rear of the wagon. The big wheels helped the open buckboard wagon roll with ease over bumps and dips in the road and the wide rim kept the wagon from sinking into soft ground. Stolter had helped his father trade out many wagon wheels, but they were heavy and hard to reattach once they popped off.

The man was struggling to lift the rear up high enough, but the woman just didn't have the strength to push the wheel on. They stopped when they heard the approaching party. Southcott and Beulah stopped off the side of the road under the trees.

"Can I give you folks a hand with that?" Stolter was down off his horse before they could object. The older woman pushed back a strand of graying hair and wiped her hands on her apron and shielded her eyes to see who had stopped.

Stolter picked up a long limb and helped the man brace up the wagon end and then the woman moved to push with wheel onto the hub. The woman pulled the pins out of her apron pocket and with a small hammer drove them into place. The man bent the pins fixing the wheel firming onto the old wagon.

"Richard Dixon, Sir. This is my wife, Amy. Glad you came along, I was not sure how we were gonna handle this." Watery blue eyes smiled as he gripped Stolter's hand. "I thought that wheel would hold until we got up to Beatrice Corners, but I guessed wrong."

Amy smiled and shook Stolter's hand in thanks. "Our youngest daughter married a rancher up at Beatrice Corners and she had a little girl baby last week. We are going to see our four grandchildren and visit for a while."

"Please let me give you something for your help, Sir. How about a piece of apple pie I made last night. I'd like to repay your kindness here. Three people rode right on by us earlier without once asking if we needed help." Amy bustled into the wagon bringing out a piece of pie wrapped up in a blue cloth.

"Nick Stolter, glad I could help out. My pa taught me how to fix those wheels. Said it wasn't right for a man to not know how to fix a wheel." His hands took the pie and used a fresh bandanna to wrap it up. He smiled at the thoughtfulness of this couple.

Beulah called out. "I have a cousin up in Beatrice Corners. Johnny Watson, works in the general store up there. Or at least he did. If you run into him, tell him his cousin, Beulah, said hello. I would like to see him again." Her eyes smiled at the thin older man as his gnarled hands rubbed his forehead. Amy waved at Beulah and smiled.

"I had pounded spikes on the railroad for four years. I had strong hands. One morning I woke up and couldn't get a strong grip anymore. Its hell to get old, son." Dixon wiggled his twisted fingers with a grimace.

Stolter said, "I know what you mean. I held a crosscut saw on a tie camp for several years. Twisted my back pretty bad one day. I had this vision in my mind of being hunched over in pain for the rest of my life. I moved on."

"My brother worked high iron building in New York and Chicago. He'd help put up floor after floor. One year we were back there for Christmas and I found out that he'd left the job he was good at," Dixon said as he rubbed an eye. "He said he didn't want to see another man fall to his death ever again."

Beulah said, "My youngest brother worked in the mountains. He helped sink a shaft high in the Rockies. Said he never wanted to see a man fall to his death again. He told me he felt so helpless. He moved to Louisiana and started building roads. Last I heard he was filling in parts of the swamps and bayou for roads."

After the wagon moved back on the road headed east, Stolter mounted up and waved.

"There are some truly heartless folks in the world nowadays. To think that others would not stop and help a kindly old man and his wife out of a desperate situation." Beulah clucked her tongue.

Southcott nodded to Stolter and said, "Thank you, Nick, for helping those folks. Normally, I would have been right there helping, but until I'm healed up, I'm not much use to folks in need."

"Don't think anything of it now. Many folks have helped out me and my wife when we first got the ranch. It's just part of living out here." Stolter grinned.

The threaded their way up and over slight hills and then out over the hard packed desert. When they headed up a hill with some trees, the hammerhead nickered and tossed his head. Southcott had slowed the big horse down to a walk when from the brush alongside the dusty road stepped a young girl with both hands clenched on an old raggedy doll.

### ###

Beulah reined to a halt ten yards behind Southcott. The girl sported blood on the side of her face and on the front of her shirt.

"My pa is hurt real bad. He needs help. Some men knocked down ma and me earlier. I think he might die." Stolter could see that her hands were white from gripping a bloody rag doll.

"Griff, if you'll stay with the horses, I'll go take a look," Stolter handed the lead ropes to Southcott and then rode closer to the girl.

He got down off his horse and held onto the reins. "My name is Nick, this is Griff and this is Beulah. We had some trouble in Rio Mesa with some men and other people came to help us."

Tears began to slide down her cheeks and she blinked several times. "I'm sorry, Mister. I don't know what to do," she whispered. Stolter frowned and watched Beulah dismount. She untied the carpet bag and handed her reins to Southcott.

"Let me take a look at them, honey. I'll see what I can do for them." She drew back her hair into a bun and fastened it with a couple of pins. The small girl walked about twenty yards off the road down into a narrow path in some trees. There she saw another woman knelt near a man moaning. Beulah knelt down beside the woman and examined her.

"She has a big lump on the side of her head. His right leg is swollen like a broken leg would do. Honey, do you have.." Beulah's voice faded away and she stood up as three men carrying guns and rifles came out of the bushes.

### ###

"Y'all drop your guns now. I don't want to be shootin' anybody." Luke Iverson had small dark eyes and a receding reddish hairline of short thinning hair. The man had a thick belly hanging over his belt and wore a sparse mustache. Dirty, unshaven, clothes were worn and bloody but there was something about his darting eyes that was disturbing. It was an old revolver he waved.

The dark haired man unbuckled his gun belt and it felt into the dirt. Iverson didn't take his eyes off the man. He looked dangerous and ready to make a move.

"Little girl, you go get that gun belt for me and bring it over here." Iverson waved his gun at the girl without taking his eyes off the man.

A stubborn lip stuck out beneath teary eyes. "Don't hurt my ma and pa no more."

Iverson turned and glared at her. "Shut up and go get that gun." He whipped the gun back to see that the dark haired man had taken a step.

Iverson looked at the middle-aged woman who had dropped the carpet bag. "Ma'am, if you're carrying a gun, you'd best drop it now. I'll get mean if I have to take it off you." He leered at the woman dressed like a man in shirt and slacks and boots.

"I'm not carrying a gun." She took in a deep breath and let it out as she squinted her eyes. Iverson saw that she had clenched her fists.

There was a commotion back up the path and they all flinched as they heard a gunshot. Another man with short slick backed hair and wild black and brown bushy beard came limping down the path carrying a revolver and shotgun.

"Them horses scattered. I caught the black and the gray mare, though." Stolter could see the wide jaw was rubbed raw and bloody. He had that leathery skin of a long-time cow puncher that made his living on the range.

The girl picked up the gun belt and took it over to the man with the revolver. He motioned for her to move over with her folks. The tall man knelt down in the clearing and took Stolter's gun out to look at it.

"What were you shooting at, Hafton? I told you do this quiet like and we'll get gone." Iverson badgered Hafton.

"That other man. The old one. He took a shot at me and then took off on the hammerhead," a pouting Hafton said. His voice sounded like he had smoked too many cigarettes and drank too much whiskey.

"Don't worry about it. Glass will get him. He don't let nobody run." The dark haired man gave a worried look to the woman who had begun to look scared.

Iverson said, "Tie 'em up separately. One over by that tree and the woman over near those boulders." Hafton laid his rifle on the rocks and picked up a couple lengths of rope.

Around the other side of the boulders came a stumbling man with his hands tied behind him and Thornton Glass followed him with broad shoulders and a long, thin scar on the left side of his face. Unshaven, down at the heel and everything about him spoke of desperation.

"We got all three." Glass shoved the grimacing man over next to the woman. Neither one wore a wedding ring so perhaps they weren't husband and wife.

"It's gonna be hell to round up those head, though. They scattered pretty good and they're running scared." Glass took a long slow look with penetrating black eyes at the man and the woman. He watched Hafton tie up the man and sit him down next to the tree and run the rope around him and the tree four times.

The woman spoke up. "At least let me look at that man over there before you tie me up. Let me see if there is anything I can do for him. He dies from his wounds, you'll be facing murder charges."

Iverson contorted his face in anger and walked fast over to the woman and drew back the pistol as if to strike her with it. Glass stopped him.

"We don't beat women, you fool. Your temper gets you into more trouble, Luke. One of these days, you're gonna mouth off to the wrong person and they're gonna beat you eight ways from Sunday," Glass sneered at the younger Iverson.

After a few minutes looking over the man, the woman stood up and looked at the young girl. "I need two straight limbs or sticks. Can you go find those for me?" The girl nodded and dashed through the boulders towards the trees.

She looked at Iverson, then at Hafton and then brought her eyes to Glass. "I need a pan of hot water and my knife so I can get that bullet out of his leg. He's twice as old as you are and you felt he was such a big threat that you shot him?" Glass' mouth fell open at this woman berating him.

"Don't be mouthin' off to me, woman," Glass glared at her. Then he pointed at Iverson. "That lame brain shoots first and then thinks about asking questions later." Iverson looked at Glass with exasperation.

Just then the girl came back dragging two limbs over close to the woman. "What's your name, honey?"

"Desiree. Desiree Lambert. Is my pa gonna be okay?" Fresh tears welled up in brown eyes. Beulah laid a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"I need hot water and a fire built. I have to heat up a knife so I can get that bullet out. I need your help." Beulah's voice was soothing.

Desiree's mother spoke for the first time. "There's a pan in the box in the wagon and you can tear up one of those cotton sack towels for the bandages." She held her husband's head in her lap and wet tears streamed down her cheeks.

Beulah looked at Hafton who was fidgeting with his belt. "You there, clear out a spot for a fire. And can one of you full-grown men have the decency to get some water for the pan?"

"Now look here, woman.." Iverson leaned in a threatening way towards Beulah, pointing his finger at her.

"Shut up, Iverson. If you hadn't shot him, we wouldn't be here like this right now." Glass had lost his patience.

"Frisco, get a fire going so she'll shut the hell up." Glass pointed at a patch of bare dirt.

"Iverson, make yourself useful and go see if you can find them horses. And if you shoot someone else, I'll shoot you!" Iverson grunted and walked muttering back up the trail towards the road.

Half an hour later, the bullet was out of Mr. Lambert's leg and Beulah had put in a dozen stitches. A white bandage was wrapped around the leg and two limbs on both sides held the leg still. Beulah had given the man a drink from the bottle of laudanum to help calm him down and then gave three drops to Mrs. Lambert.

Beulah stored her supplies back into the carpet bag and then went over to sit next to the older man. Glass had frowned, rubbed his hands together, kicked the dirt and muttered under his breath. He had grown tired of all of them. He watched them look at each other but not say a word.

# Chapter 10

Glass used the tip of his knife to dig into the wood of the old stump while watched the old man and his wife. It had been over an hour since Iverson walked out of camp to get the horses. Only now did the thought cross his mind that the younger outlaw might just keep right on going and not come back. The older Glass sneered at himself and made another vicious gouge into the wood.

Born in Canada, his mother had died when he was four. His father left to get work and never came back. By age eleven, Glass had herded cattle to the south on trail drives into the US. By the time he was twenty five he had made the ride from Dodge to Houston to New Orleans half a dozen times. His luck did not hold out after he tried to put a brand over a brand on a pretty buckskin mare. He served 3 years in prison for stealing horses. Back in the Dakota Territories, he was joined by his brother Dan and together with Mikie Herndon and JoJo Barrington, he graduated to moving strings of horses all over the west.

"What do ya wanna do, boss?" Hafton brought over a cup of coffee from the steaming kettle in the fire. Glass took the tip cup and thanked him.

"Iverson never came back. He might have kept on going. What do you think, Frisco? We move on without him?"

"Aw, he'll be back, boss. You know he ain't much of a thinker. He loses track of time. Maybe he found something shiny and is stuck looking at it," Hafton said with a chuckle. Glass stifled a near giggle at the thought. He looked at the other man.

"How long we been riding, Frisco?" It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

As a child Francisco Josef Hafton moved with his father from the Bavaria region of Austria to United States at age six to help in his uncle's trading post store in Iowa. The little family escaped oppression and near starvation to find peace and plenty in the new world. With a desire to roam the west, Hafton moved to Montana at eighteen where he met and married Lilianne Jacobson.

Together they opened a miner's camp store and supplied goods to those passing through. A drunken drifter attempted to hold up the store and Lilianne died in the gunfire and Hafton suffered a wound to the shoulder. It was a blind rage that drove him to track one of the outlaws to the Last Chance area where he killed the man who took his beloved wife, recovered $5,000 and fled.

"I'd say coming up on nine years now. I came up on you the spring after I'd lost Lilianne." Hafton stared off into the distance.

Glass took a drink of the strong coffee. There had been nothing in the Lambert wagon. It was a foolish impulse that Iverson had done trying to hold them up. The young girl had been rattled to the bone seeing her own father shot. There was a good chance that wound would go bad and he'd die from the putrid infection. That woman would take the girl and head back to her family in Missouri or some place.

Glass turned his attention over nearer the trees where the black haired man was tied up. He seemed to be sitting still and minding his own business. His face looked like he had felt a couple fists in the last few days. He'd been leading that string of horses so maybe there was money there somewhere. Or he might have spent it all on the horses. Glass decided to see what else was going on here.

"Mister, why don't you tell me where you were headed with that string of horses?" Glass watched him to see the reaction.

"Tucson. Going home." It was a belligerent tone said with a cranky tone.

Glass could see the woman fidgeting and fussing with her carpetbag. From time to time she checked the forehead of the old man.

He barked out an order. "Hafton, go see what all is in those saddlebags on those horses."

"While you're at it, there's a parcel of food on that gray mare. If you would be so kind as to bring it to me, I can start up a stew and feed this poor girl." The heavier woman with the quick needle glared at Glass.

Hafton looked at the woman and then at Glass who shrugged and gestured his chin the direction of the road.

"Thank you, Ma'am. We ain't had nothing to eat since this morning. We was planning on dinner in Rio Mesa and then these outlaws..." The young girl's voice trailed off and her lowered lip quivered in emotion.

After several minutes, Hafton came toting the saddlebags into the clearing and let the black bags drop next to the chatty woman. Glass leaned back against the tree and watched as she began giving quiet instructions to the younger girl who began cutting up a couple of carrots and a potato dumping them into the pan of boiling water.

Hafton said, "No sign of Luke out there. Ain't like him to just take off like that. He didn't say nothing to me."

Glass said with a sigh, "He's got a mind that is easily distracted." He had caught himself starting to gnash his teeth and wring his leather gloves. Glass stood up and cleared his throat.

"Let the women get their dinner going. With that splint on the old man, they ain't going anywhere. You and me are gonna take these men down the road a ways and have us a talk."

The woman cooking dinner looked up in alarm and the young girl put a hand on her arm. They huddled closer together. Glass pulled up the black haired man to his feet and prodded him towards the road. Hafton spent some time untying the older man's feet and then followed after Glass.

The sky looked just past noon. A breeze had come up and rustled through the paper thin leaves of the cottonwoods. After Glass had pulled his revolver out, he walked down the road about fifty yards and then gestured down a narrow footpath. This was a path used by animals. Under the shade of an old oak he stopped, put his revolver in its holster and put on a pair of light leather gloves.

"I'm Nick Stolter and this is Griff Southcott. We don't want no trouble here, mister." Glass pivoted and slammed a right hand into the side of Stolter's head. It jarred him on his feet and he stumbled backwards. Hafton caught him and got him balanced again.

"I don't care who you are. All I care about is if you have any money left over from buying them horses." Glass rubbed his fist with his other hand.

Stolter spit off to the side and shook his head. "I didn't buy 'em. Friend of mine owed me money. Them horses paid off the debt."

Hafton examined Southcott a little closer. "Hey boss. This man is hurt and bleedin'."

Glass took a couple of steps closer to Southcott. "What happened to you, mister?"

Southcott blinked a couple of times and drew in a wheezy breath. "I was on my way to see Beulah and a couple men jumped me on the road. I was taking a couple of mares over to her and they took them. Everyone started shooting and I caught a bullet in my side. Here I am." Hafton pulled back the coat and shirt and they could see a bloody bandage wrapped around his left side. Southcott grimaced in pain.

Glass sneered. "Well, you've had nothing but bad luck all the way around." Hafton started emptying out Southcott's pockets.

"You better get a doctor to look at that, mister. That don't look so good." Hafton let drop a couple of envelopes to the ground, looked at a key and dropped it to the ground, then jingled a couple of coins in his hand.

Glass looked at Hafton. "Four dollars? A man going to see his sweetheart only has four dollars? Oh wait. And a couple of mares." Glass looked away waving his arm with exasperation.

Hafton had a frown on his face looking first at Southcott and then at Stolter. "Wait a minute. If he was going to see his sweetheart, how do you know him? Or do you know her?" Hafton squinted his eyes in a frown as he looked at Stolter.

Glass swatted the arm of Hafton. "This ain't no penny romance story, Frisco. Nobody else has come along this road in over four hours. We're out in the middle nowhere with no money and Luke has run off."

Hafton grunted and turned the pocket watch over and over in his hands. He pressed the knob and the front cover clicked open. The outlaw brought the watch closer to look at the tiny portrait of a dark haired woman opposite the clock face. He looked at Southcott.

"This ain't that lady back over there you were riding with. This ain't your sweetheart at all. Who is this?" Hafton sounded disapproving like he had uncovered an illicit romance and ready to chastise a straying beau.

Southcott looked at the ground and shook his head as he pursed his lips. He brought his eyes up to Hafton. "It was in the watch when I won it in a poker game in Red Springs. I don't know who it is." The outlaw raised his eyebrows, nodding, and stuck out his bottom lip in appraisal.

Glass bustled over to Hafton and grabbed the watch and jammed it down into his pocket. He shoved Hafton away.

"If you'll leave us a horse, I can get the wagon hitched up and get that man to a doctor," said Stolter. Glass's eyes darkened and his brow furrowed as he turned, took two steps and slammed a fist into Stolter's left jaw. The man fell into Southcott who stumbled and fell down.

Glass lost control with a shriek and attacked Stolter with both fists. The nose was bloodied and the side of the mouth cut. Stolter rolled back and forth trying to avoid the fists but grunted with every one that landed.

"Boss! Boss! Get off him!" Hafton pulled a red-faced Glass back off Stolter and pushed him to the side.

"You trying to kill him? You'll be up for murder, Boss!" Hafton rolled Stolter onto his back. His face was cut, bloody and his left eye was beginning to swell up. Stolter coughed and spit out blood.

Glass took off his glove and turned away to hide his shaking hands. The rage roiled through him and he clenched his jaw. He had wanted to head over land, riding through the desert to avoid the main roads inside his coat pocket was verified map to an abandoned gold mine. Now he was stuck in a stupid situation caused by a hot head two bot thief and on top of everything else, now had disappeared. The aggravation overflowed.

"Frank, get the horses saddled. I want to be long gone from here come sundown." Hafton stared at Glass for a moment and then shrugged as he walked towards the road wiping his hands on his jeans. He had his last two dollars in his jeans pocket and he was getting desperate.

Glass rubbed his face with both hands and then combed his fingers through his hair. "You both stay quiet for the next hour after we're gone. That brash woman will come find you, no doubt. She'll tend to you. You got your hands full with her, mister. I think she's a bronc that'll never be broke." As he turned away, he dropped the Southcott's pocket watch onto the old stump and swore under his breath.

### ###

Stolter blinked a couple of times and strained around to look for Southcott. He guessed it had been half an hour since Glass and Hafton rode away.

He croaked with a strained voice, "Griff, you okay?"

A moan answered him. "Dizzy. I'm losing blood and I get dizzy when I try to sit up. Probably tore of couple of Beulah's stitches. As long as I can crawl I'll fight."

A twig snapped behind Stolter and he rolled onto his back as he tried to peer into the brush. The young girl, Desiree, climbed around a bush and then crawled under another. She carried a canteen and a carving knife. She held her fingers to her lips to quiet the men.

After she had cut loose Stolter's hands she gave him the canteen and went to cut the ropes on Southcott.

Desiree's voice whispered close to Southcott's ear, "They rode out. The left the wagon and took the gray horse. Miss Beulah almost got herself shot when they put a rope around the gray. They tried to make her go with them but, well, she had some colorful language that described horrible, gruesome wounds."

Southcott chuckled and then gripped his side. "I think I just fell in love with her all over again." Stolter grinned and handed the canteen to the wounded man.

"She was mighty worried about you men. I'll go get her to come back over here. My ma and pa are resting right now so they'll be okay." Desiree clambered back through the brush and after a moment it was quiet again. Just as things seem to calm down, Desiree came running down the path with a terrified look.

# Chapter 11

"That other man that left to get the horses, the red haired man with the bad cut on his face, he came back. He's pretty mad." Desiree trembled, wringing her hands as she looked back up the path.

"I heard voices when I got close to the camp. I saw him arguing with Miss Beulah. I didn't let him see me. I came back over here with you men." The young girl fought back tears.

"He's alone?" Stolter asked.

"There's nobody else with him." Desiree wrung her hands together much like her mother had done.

They had no weapons, one cooking knife and some tangled rope. Southcott was too weak to help. Stolter's eye was almost swollen shut. Desiree was scared to death and shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.

"Griff, you lay still and rest as best you can. I'm gonna see if I can get close enough to see what's going on with Beulah and that fella, Luke." Stolter took off his coat and laid over the top of Southcott, who gripped his arm.

"Don't you be takin' any chances because of Beulah. She can take care of herself. She has done a good job these many years and my money's on her," the gruff voice said. Stolter tried to smile but the cut on the side of his mouth stung so he gripped the hand in acknowledgment.

Stolter turned back to Desiree and put his hands on her shoulders. "We're going back over there real slow and quiet like. I don't want anyone to see or hear us. We need to listen to what they're talking about. Understand?" The young girl had tears in her eyes.

"Beulah will take care of your ma and pa. Come on now, dry your eyes and let's find out what's going on." She wiped her sleeve across her eyes, nodded and then stepped into the brush with Stolter right behind her.

On the other side of the road in the clearing, the echo of the woman's frustration was clear. Beulah's voice was exasperated and belligerent. "He wasn't exactly forthcoming with his travel plans. We're far enough back in these trees that I couldn't tell if he went east or west."

The angry man said, "That girl should have been back by now."

"She went to relieve herself. Sometimes it takes a little longer. She ain't gonna leave her ma and pa, especially since they're hurt. Glass sent you out to hunt down them horses. Did you find 'em? Did ya bring them back with you?" Beulah put a hand on an ample hip and shifted her weight towards the man.

"It ain't none of your business if I found 'em or not. Truth is, there ain't no sign of 'em. They ran in all different directions." Iverson waved his arm at the trees.

Beulah sneered and then turned to rest her fingertips on the forehead of Mr. Lambert. "He's burning up. He needs a doctor. I need that black gelding hooked up to the wagon so I can get them to Red Springs and the doctor." Beulah stood up.

"You gonna hitch up that horse or do I have to do it?" She threw caution to the wind.

"Woman, you ain't going anywhere. Now sit back down!" Iverson waved the gun. His jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth and his eyes grew narrow.

Beulah lifted her chin in defiance. "You got the guts to shoot old men. You got the guts to shoot women and children, too?"

Stolter and Desiree leaned back from the boulder. "I need you to make your way around the other side of the clearing. You'll need to be on that wagon with Beulah to take care of your ma and pa."

Desiree's voice was a squeak and her eyes filled with tears. "I'm afraid."

"Before the wagon takes out, try to drop a couple of bandages off to one side for Griff." She nodded and then crawled off into the brush. A few minutes later she stepped back into the clearing.

"You're the man who shot my pa!" Desiree accused him. Beulah took her hand and sat her down next to the fire. Desiree's eyes were wet with tears again.

Iverson's lips were held back in a wicked grin. "Shut up, you little brat."

Stolter backtracked down into the wash and washed his face in the creek. His eye was tender and swollen but he could still see. His hand came away tinged with red from the cut on the side of his mouth. He made his way back across the road and down into the gulley where Southcott lay.

"You're right. She's a firebrand." Stolter settled down next to Southcott and told him what he had heard.

Southcott took in a deep breath. "Iverson's gang rode off without him. I'd bet money they headed west, same direction you'll be headed. From here on, you'll be up against running into them again, you know." Stolter nodded and rubbed his jaw.

Southcott said, "It don't make no sense why he'd go east to Red Springs. He should be going west towards California. He goes east, there's something he wants back there. I don't even wanna guess what that would be. Another thing. My hammerhead is out there somewheres. When them horses of yours took off, he did right along with them. But he's not a social type horse. He don't stay with the herd. Now, I'm not counting on it, but I do think he might come looking for me."

Stolter looked skeptical. "You think your horse will try to find you? I thought they took him."

"Remember now, I raised him from a colt and I've been the only one riding him. Well, no. I take that back. He let Beulah ride him once in the corral while I watched. No, Hafton would have mentioned a mean horse, but he didn't."

"You find a way to knock Iverson off his horse, get him tied up, and help them folks get started back to Red Springs. I think that young girl can drive the wagon. If that man is as bad off as you say, he don't stand a chance without a doctor." Southcott coughed and grimaced in pain.

"Get them started towards Red Springs and bring Beulah back here. I'm afraid if I try to ride, I'll bleed to death. And that'll just ruin my week." Stolter nodded and then motioned for Southcott to quiet down.

A couple yards away up on the road the sound of a wagon going west was heard. Indistinguishable voices droned on for a few minutes until the wagon moved on down the road. Stolter sat back down with Southcott and took a drink from the canteen.

About an hour later, Stolter checked the road to see if it was clear and then scrambled over to the clearing where Beulah had worked on the man. It took him a while to find a tied cloth with two bandages, a cut up apple and two pieces of beef jerky. Stolter shoved those in his shirt and reached for the pan still on the fire. That was when he heard the wood crack behind him.

### ###

One of the yearlings and one of the buckskins lifted their heads from grazing as the horseman walked over to scratch them. They were chewing on the grass as if nothing had happened. Stolter walked back up the narrow path and was almost ready to climb up onto the road when he heard the voice.

"Hold it right there, mister." Stolter started to raise up his hands as he shifted his weight and turned towards the voice. Two tall men in dusters and black hats sat on horses with guns drawn on Stolter.

"My day just went from bad to worse." Stolter said as he shook his head and his shoulders drooped.

The first man said, "Who are you and what are you doing out here?"

"My name is Nick Stolter. A friend and I were jumped by three men up on the road. My friend is hurt pretty bad and I've got him laying down the road in the brush. He needs to get over to the doc in Red Springs."

The first man cleared his throat and said, "I'm Henry Elliot of the Texas Rangers. This is Edgar Worthington also from the Texas Rangers. You fit the description of one of the men wanted for murder up in Denver we believe to be in this area." The cold, dark eyes of the second man bore into Stolter.

Stolter shook his head and kept his hands in the air. "You would be looking for men named Glass, Luke Iverson, and Francisco Hafton, right?" Worthington and Elliot looked at each other. Stolter gave them a quick rundown on how he and Griff Southcott came to be here.

"Southcott? Griff Southcott? I know this man. He's here?" The white haired man with the intense black eyes asked as he holstered his gun.

"He's over in the brush on the other side of the road. He's hurt bad and bleeding and needs a doctor. I can show you." Worthington gestured for Stolter to lead the way.

Southcott was unconscious when they got down into the wash. Worthington got out his medical kit and tended to the bleeding wound. Stolter started a small fire and got water boiling.

"He's lost a lot of blood. I stopped it but I'm not sure if he'll pull through. Damn it. I served in the war with this man. He had the rank of a captain and his men loved him." Worthington wiped his hands on a rag from the saddlebags.

Elliot paced around the little clearing tugging at his coat and rubbing his face. Well over six foot tall, thick through the chest with broad shoulders and long legs. In all black under the tan duster, he was an imposing figure.

Worthington asked, "You said the girl came out and stopped you on the road?" Stolter nodded.

"And you claim you don't know and have never seen these men before?" Stolter replied that he did not.

"Her pa was shot in the leg. She said she saw Iverson do it. She was afraid Iverson was going to shoot and kill him or her ma. We figured she was only doing as she was told because they were holding a gun on her family." Stolter explained how Beulah had helped patch up the man and was driving the wagon east back to Red Springs as they spoke.

It was a suspicious Elliot that said, "You look like they beat you pretty good."

"The man Glass had lost his patience waiting on Iverson to come back from looking for my horses. I said the wrong thing and this is what happened." Stolter went on to leave out certain facts and embellish others about how he came to have over a dozen horses going back home to Yucca Valley.

Worthington asked, "This woman, Beulah Vallarian, you say she's a friend of Southcott's?" Stolter told them what Southcott had said about his relationship with Beulah. Worthington shook his head and chuckled. He stood up and walked around to the other side of the fire.

Elliot cleared his throat. "As a Texas Ranger, I'm a suspicious person that investigates what people say and questionable situations, like this one. I think you had something to do with a crime committed here, but I don't know how. In that you are acquainted with a former army officer and a person of good repute in Mr. Southcott, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

Worthington then said, "We need to go after Iverson if he is still following that wagon to Red Springs. I agree, Mr. Stolter, it doesn't make any sense for him to go east when most likely his gang went west. It would be in your best interest to be here with Southcott when we return. If you're gone, I'll take that as an indication of your guilt." Both men mounted up and cast one more disapproving glance at Stolter.

### ###

Two hours later a horse nickered and Stolter peered around the brush. It was Beulah walking into the camp leading the hammerhead. The horseman laughed.

"How'd you find him?"

Beulah laughed with a big grin. "He found me. Or rather he found the wagon and followed us back to Red Springs. Came right up to me." The woman patted the neck of the big hammerhead who chewed on an apple.

Beulah pointed at a hind leg. "He's got a scrape on one of his legs where he tangled with something but aside from that, he seems to be okay."

Southcott clucked his tongue twice and the big horse ambled over to the unsteady man. Stolter watched the big horse rubbing his head against Southcott. "He seems happy to see you." They told Beulah about meeting of the Texas Rangers while she tended to the oozing wound of Southcott.

Southcott rubbed his face. "I was out through the whole thing. I would have liked to seen Worthington, too. I'd wondered on and off over the years about him. Now that I think about it, it was right for him to become a lawman."

Beulah told them how the doctor in Red Springs helped Mr. and Mrs. Lambert and their daughter. Stolter asked about the irritated outlaw.

"I had Desiree sitting on the bench with me driving. I had decided to ignore the lout and he was obnoxious as all get out. Every so often, the girl would sneak a look to see if he was still behind the wagon. About five miles out, she nudged me and said he was gone. I looked around and he was gone alright." Beulah shrugged and waved a dismissive hand.

Stolter patted the hammerhead that paid no attention. "So the Rangers never caught up to you? They were serious about riding out to get Iverson."

"Maybe that's why he ran off. He heard a couple of horses coming up on us fast and he must have hightailed it off into the brush. I'll tell you, though, that man is gonna lose his temper with the wrong person one day and someone is going to leave him out in the middle of nowhere with a sliver of life left in him."

Southcott was quiet while Beulah wrapped the fresh bandage around his middle.

"I'm sorry about your horses, Nick. I know you went through some hardship to get 'em and now they are probably running on the wind somewheres." The older man shook his head and kicked at the dirt.

Stolter wiped off his jeans and rubbed his sore wrists. "Well, the man who helped me round 'em up showed me a whistle trick to call 'em. But I don't set much store in it. The horses'll run up to you and they expect you to feed them a treat, like oats or an apple. I saw him do it, but I never tried it."

Beulah looked incredulous. "A whistle? To call horses?" She started to laugh. Stolter frowned feeling the embarrassment of her eyes and then shrugged.

"Griff, do you remember Dexter Hawkins from Three Corners? Do you remember that sound he'd make to call his draft horses?" Beulah burst out with a laugh and dragged a hand across her forehead leaving a gritty smudge.

Southcott chuckled and looked over at Stolter. "You know that high-pitched squealing sound people make to call their hogs? It sounds like someone in really bad pain. Well, Dexter used to hold his arms out to the sides and get a couple of deep breaths before he let out this squeal. To look at him you'd think he was having a pain attack of some sort." Griff began to laugh and hold his side.

"You're gonna hurt yourself, Griff. You settle down and rest a bit." Stolter tried to calm the laughing Southcott.

"Down that wash on the other side is an old apple tree. Looks like it was hit by lightning couple years back. Desiree found it when she was crawling around in the brush. Bring one of them sacks and we'll see if we can find a couple of apples. We'll try it." Beulah winked at Stolter to try to cheer him up. The horseman's face was grim set.

The afternoon sun had started to move towards the horizon. A flock of noisy crows argued in one of the old trees in the wash. They found six apples that weren't picked clean from the birds and bugs.

Back at the clearing, Stolter climbed up on a boulder and had a look around. Beulah sat down on a log and watched him push out three short whistles. He walked out to the edge of the gully and examined the ground for tracks but it was too chewed up to see any marks left by horseshoes.

"Horses can actually hear pretty good. They sometimes have to figure out where a sound is coming from. My gray mare used to stand in the doorway of the barn and listen to Marcus working with a piece of iron in the forge. He used to laugh at her looking at him." Beulah looked out at the wash while Stolter made another set of whistles.

It was maybe twenty minutes later as Stolter had been telling Beulah about his daughter, Kelly, learning a young colt how to cut, when they heard dried brush snapping and breaking in the wash. A chestnut yearling nickered as it nosed in with a tattered and frayed rope end dangling from around its neck. Stolter held out the apple and the young horse went right to it munching on it while Stolter eased the old rope off.

"Where's all your friends at, fella? I'd like to find all the rest of you horses." His hand patted the neck and withers of the colt. While Beulah tended to a loose strand of hair, he felt the underneath mane and was astonished to find the small leather pouch still attached.

Stolter looked at Beulah with a big grin. "Doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him."

"Let me try that whistle. I got a loud one so we'll see if it matters if it's a man or woman who does it." She put two fingers in her mouth and took a deep breath. The colt nickered and tossed his head. He danced sideways trying to rear and then bolted down into the wash in a run. Stolter's hopes fell to his feet.

Beulah saw the look of dejection on Stolter's face. "Now, now. Maybe he's running off to get his friends. He knows where you are at now so maybe he'll come back."

Half an hour went by and Beulah had tried a dozen more whistles without any luck. "We probably need to get back over to Griff and see if he's okay. He might be sleeping from that bit of laudanum I gave him."

Stolter stretched and cracked the knuckles on his left hand. "Now that Griff has his hammerhead back, and if I know him, he is aching to get in that saddle. I know I'd just want to get as far away from this place as I could."

"Well, that was the exact reason why I unsaddled the hammerhead. I don't want him trying to climb up into that saddle," Beulah said. "Maybe tomorrow he can ride, but not today."

Stolter helped Beulah up the steep wash path and when they got up to the rim, the chestnut yearling stood there along with a buckskin filly and a paint colt. All three horses nickered at the same time and Beulah started laughing as she dug out more apples. When Stolter and Beulah started walking back up the road to the camp, the horses followed right along with them.

"Thank God, you two came back. These horses are worse than little kids begging for candy!" Stolter and Beulah laughed as they watched another chestnut colt and a gray mare with white stockings nudging Southcott for apples. Beulah clucked her tongue twice and the horses walked over to get a sweet piece of apple.

Stolter checked them over and aside from a couple of raw rope burns they appeared healthy. All but the white stockings still carried the small pouches. Stolter ran his hands down over the gray again.

"I don't think this gray was part of my original ten. Beulah, do you recognize her? There isn't a brand on her."

"No, I don't think I know her. She's tame and broke, though. You can see the callous on her forehead from a halter." The horses started to meander out to the grass area on the far side of the wash.

Stolter rubbed his face again and pushed his hat back. "With the gray mare that makes five out of my ten. I sure hope I find the others before we head on to Tucson."

Beulah watched Southcott ease himself back onto the blanket, grimacing in discomfort. She stepped over to the side and gathered up some twigs and broke brush into a pile.

"Nick, see if you can drag out a couple of big rocks. I need something to hold up this little pan of stew I brought back. It's not much, but it's all I could get from the restaurant on short notice. Janie wrapped up a couple of her pastries for us for dessert."

The fire crackled, the shadows danced along the crumbling sandstone and clay wash and the three people ate in silence. The tops of the trees on the far hills were bathed in a reddish gold as the last rays of the sun faded. The breeze carried sage, a tangy sweetness and the smell of warmed earth headed into the night.

### ###

Beulah had made coffee and sat down. "Griff told me that you used to be an outrider for a stage line up in Missouri."

Stolter nodded and said, "Yes, in fact, the man that helped me get these horses used to be my riding partner on the stage line. You might have heard his name around. Ginger Whelihan."

Southcott chuckled. "Yes. We've heard the name. I didn't know he rode security, though. I always thought that he was, well, in another line of work."

Stolter nodded with a chuckle. "I'm sure he has branched out into other business since then."

Beulah said, "So do you have any exciting stories about your time riding gun for the stage line? I'd like to hear about one of your adventures."

Southcott dropped the stub of his cigarette to the dirt at his feet and crushed it, grinding it into the soil. His eyes had grown dark and had that thousand yard stare into the distance. He had the look of pain on his face as he accepted a cup of the coffee and sat down next to Beulah.

Stolter sat down on the old stump. "We'd been riding together for probably close to five years. We'd been all over the mid-west and seen all kinds of things happen on the stage route. There was a time at Beatrice Springs that I've never been able to figure out. I know it scared the daylights out of Ginger, too."

Beulah wrapped the frayed blanket around her shoulders. "There's been a few times where it was frightening on the stage for me."

Stolter nodded. "At first, when we drove up on them, we thought maybe one of them was sick. Ron Bright, the shotgun rider, was laying off to the side, rolling around holding his head. Johnny, the other driver, looked stunned and bewildered."

Southcott raised his eyebrows. "You don't see that every day."

Stolter shook his head and said, "At first I didn't see them when we rode past but Ginger turned to look back at something and shouted for the stage to stop. I didn't see anything until we both headed back."

"Ginger yelled to see if they needed help and Johnny waved us in. It was still that dim darkness, you know. That hour before sun up is that gray light and hard to see. We got down off our horses and by that time a couple of the men from the stage had walked back to us.

"We sat Bright up and his eyes were shifting left and right and he shaking something awful. I took my flask out and gave him a sip of whiskey and that seemed to settle him down," Stolter said as he shook his head and rubbed his hands together. "They had been riding east headed for a big cattle ranch in northern Kansas. They'd finished a drive to Dodge, heard about the work and decided to go on to the ranch and get a roof over their heads and feet under a table for the winter."

Southcott's look to Beulah carried an unspoken message. Stolter nodded and cleared his throat.

"Bright and Stefano had been riding together for many years. When Bright's wife died, he sold his house and, having no children, he took off on the trail. He hitched up with a cattle drive outfit in Red River, Texas, and that's where he met Johnny Stefano. You know how you hear about men shooting the breeze with big talk about all the things they'd done? Well, Bright and Stefano had actually ridden over a dozen cattle drives." Stolter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a sip of the coffee. Beulah stretched out her legs and leaned back against the tree.

"After they had gotten to talking, Ginger found out that he'd been on two of those drives with both of them. He had always ridden security at the back helping keep strays up with the herd and watching for rustlers. Stefano and Bright rode up near the front helping to guide the herd and stop stampedes."

Stolter put his cup down. "One of the women passengers from the stage had some tonic she'd bought and said it might help him. After a couple of sips, Bright stood up and thanked everybody for taking care of him and apologized for being such a bother."

Beulah asked, "So had he been shot or something? What was wrong with him?"

Stolter raised his eyebrows and nodded. "He said that in the blurry gray darkness, it looked like his wife had appeared in front of him, running at him with her arms waving over her head like to ward him off. It scared him something horrible, and then he thought because he had seen it that he was losing his grip. Said that she had on her favorite blue long sleeved blouse and blue and white plaid skirt that she wore to church on Sundays."

Southcott shook his head. "That would scare me something fierce, too."

"We made sure he was calmed down, got everyone back on the stage, and Carmichael, the driver, asked me to ride up on top with him until the next water hole. It was another six miles so I tied my horse on and climbed up. We started rolling." Stolter rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath.

"After a few minutes of getting the horses up to a run, Carmichael glanced at me and started talking. Turns out, on more than one run, the horses pulling the stages have acted up at that very spot on the road. After the third time it happened, Carmichael came back alone during the daytime to have a look around and the horse he was on shied away too."

Stolter gestured to the general area with a wave of his arm. "Carmichael didn't find anything. No graves or old camps or Indian totem things. There's no dried up creek or springs or water anywhere around it. There's no animal nests or dug out holes or caves like a burrowing critter would make."

Southcott said, "Well, there had to be something there."

"Here's the odd part. You can't see it at night or in the dusk you don't realize it. The road coming east slowly comes down off a rise and from a gentle left hand curve then straightens out for about fifty yards. That fifty yards is wider than the rest of the road coming up to it and on the other side of it. It's wider by about ten yards on both sides.

"It looks like something big, long and wide had been there and then just picked straight up. Or it looks like that part of the road was prepared and meant for something big, long and wide. And I've told Ginger that it's cooler right there than the rest of the road. And there's no shade trees growing up over the road." Stolter shook his head again. Southcott drank down the last of the coffee and set the cup on the ground.

"When Carmichael first told me that, I thought he was still a bit loopy from the drinking of the night before. The next time we rolled through there, I mentioned to Ginger that we had ridden through a cooler place in the road. Then he told me that was what he had been trying to tell me." Stolter tapped his fingers once to his forehead.

"Carmichael purposefully tied a big piece of red fabric onto a tree with a heavy rope at the west end of that wide place. You can't miss it in the daylight. When he gets to that point, he whips the stage horses up to a fast run to get past. If he doesn't, the horses try to rear and turn back. Damnedest thing. They get spooked there." Beulah shook her head.

"Now if you think that is a tad bit unusual, listen to this. Bright's wife that was running to him waving her arms? That was right near where Carmichael had tied on that red cloth to the tree." Stolter nodded.

Southcott asked, "What does that mean?"

"I don't know. I don't understand it." Stolter shrugged.

Beulah leaned her elbows onto her knees and put her chin on her hands. "So what happened to Johnny Stefano and Richard Bright?"

"Ginger and I were sitting in Beatrice Springs having a beer, just relaxing, when Stefano walked in and ordered a beer at the bar. I didn't even recognize him. He had worn his long straight black hair swept back off his forehead. Liked to wear a pomade, slick look. That last day I saw him, his hair was completely white and his brown eyes were gray and watery. I saw he had a shake to his hand when he lifted the beer."

Stolter said, "We asked him to come sit with us and catch up on things. The first snow of the season had hit the day before, but Stefano was dripping sweat and took off his duster when he sat down. We'd been shooting the breeze for about half an hour when Stefano blurted out that Bright lost his mind."

"I asked him what he meant. I asked him if Bright was still living."

"Stefano said that Bright had taken the train to Chicago to see some special doctor. Bright had started seeing the image of his late wife more and more often. Sometimes when he'd walk in the door of a hotel and see her. He would see her out riding the road and once on a ferry in Mississippi. Then he started hearing voices in his head when there was no people around. Sometimes old people get that way, but Bright was only forty years old. He never saw or heard from Bright again." Stolter shrugged lifting up his hands.

"So whatever happened to Johnny Stefano?" Beulah asked.

"He told us that day we saw him in Beatrice Springs, that he was headed for Tucson. Life on the road wasn't the same without Bright. Plus, there was something about him taking over a family ranch out there."

Southcott sat up, startled. "There is supposed to be a big ranch out south of Tucson, right where the desert starts to climb up the Shaking Dark Mountains. That's about a hundred miles out south. It was told to me that ranch was deserted, haunted. I didn't pay much mind to it."

"Here's the sad part. Stefano was in the First National Bank in Tucson signing the deed and papers and a couple of outlaws came in to rob it. The newspapers said it was a ricochet bullet that struck him in the head and killed him. There was a big write up in the papers on it. Some other people got shot and died during the robbery. Stefano was about to settle down and live on a ranch happily ever after, so to speak."

Southcott squeezed Beulah's hand. "I remember reading about that shoot up in the First National. Some Pinkerton man was in the bank that day and was wounded. There was a man and his wife killed in that robbery, too. They left three young girls, I remember."

Stolter stood up and brushed off his jeans. He tossed the last drops of coffee off into the brush. "Stefano was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Beulah and Southcott both shook their heads at the same time. "Every time we went through that spot, both of us remembered what had happened. But five miles past, we would forget about it. I can remember it clearly now, though."

"I'm going to walk over and check on the horses. I'll be back in a few minutes." Beulah waved him off.

In the night, Stolter had tried to listen to the crickets chirping, but the sadness in his mind and the wounds on his body refused to let him rest. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked to find Beulah offering drops of laudanum. With a quivering tongue, he tasted the bitter liquid and forced himself to keep his eyes closed. After a few minutes he loosened his clenched fists and fell into sleep.

# Chapter 12

Stolter woke with a start, disoriented as to where he was at and then relaxed as he remembered. He sat up and rubbed his eyes in the graying light. He saw Beulah was still asleep wrapped up in the blanket in between two rocks on the far side of the fire. Southcott stood gingerly leaning against a tree stump, smoking. He motioned for Stolter to be quiet. Stolter nodded in acknowledgment.

Stolter laid back with his hands behind his head and looked up at the gray sky shot with streaks of pink. Perhaps another nineteen miles to Tucson. He would stay overnight at Southcott's ranch with him and Beulah. He'd have to untie one of the mane pouches to see if it was gold and then buy another saddle horse and supplies enough to get himself and his horses back to Yucca Valley. That was if he didn't run into more trouble.

"You must be feeling better if you can stand up to smoke, Griff." Beulah had sat up and was busy twisting her into a bun at the back of her head.

"Yes, sleep does a body good. I woke twice in the night hearing animals out in the brush. My bandage is dry so I figure the bleeding has stopped. I just got to take it easy." Southcott gestured with his cigarette towards the wash.

"Horses been nickering out there for about an hour now. They're chatting about something," he said.

With a glance at Stolter he said, "You might want to mosey on out there and see what the commotion is all about. I'm afraid it's too far a walk for me."

Stolter wiped off his feet and pulled on his socks and then his boots. He ran his fingers back through his hair and put on his hat. He missed his gun belt. He'd have to buy another weapon in Tucson before he would feel safer.

"Let me go take a look. I'll be back in a while." He nodded to the older man.

Stolter hurried up to the road and trotted south about fifty yards and then on the opposite side ducked down into the trees and threaded his way out to the grassy area. He could see the big hammerhead, the gray and the paint grazing on the north side. Stolter clucked his tongue twice and the roan's head came up and the gelding nickered.

Two other buckskins head came up, too. Stolter frowned as there had been three buckskins in the original ten. He was still missing the four blacks. Stolter walked out into the grass about twenty yards and listened. To the south was a high-pitched whinny and crashing, breaking wood. Stolter broke into a run through the grass and then up a small hill into some trees.

The lead rope on one of the black yearlings was tangled up tight in brush under a tree. The horse's eyes showed white in panic as he thrashed and reared to get free. The two chestnut colts stood looking at the tangled black. Stolter held out his hands to try to calm the young horse. He took out his knife and eased the blade under the bloodied rope on the neck. His other hand searched under the mane for the tiny pouch. When Stolter tugged on the pouch, it fell off into his hand and he stowed it into his pants pocket. It took a few more minutes to calm the horse so he could cut it free. The skittish black yearling reared back and ran a short distance away and tossed his head and nickered.

It was the same lead rope that Stolter had put on the horse back at the clearing, if a little more shredded. It didn't look like anyone else had tried to rope him. Stolter clucked his tongue twice and headed for the grassy area. When Stolter came into view the big hammerhead whinnied and trotted over to touch noses to the young black.

The black yearling added up to eight of his ten that included the unknown white stockings gray mare. He was still missing his own horse and Beulah had lost her gray mare in the robbery. And to say nothing of the two mares taken from Southcott when he was first robbed. He grimaced as he felt the shame of the loss. If he would have stayed at the ranch, none of this would have happened. If he'd done as Marianna had said and used her father's money, he wouldn't be here right now. Stolter knelt down onto one knee and picked up a handful of dirt as he watched the horses grazing.

He'd have to accept the loss and move on. There was nothing more he could do. After one more glance at the grazing horses, Stolter walked back up the path and onto the road to find both Texas Rangers waiting for him.

### ###

"We need a word, Mr. Stolter." Inside Stolter a groan was building. The morning was too young for such a serious countenance.

"Did you bring coffee? And a pot for coffee?" Stolter fought down the irritation as he walked past the horses. They followed him up the hard packed dirt road then stepped off onto the rocky trail. "We've got very little with which to entertain the Texas Rangers on this beautiful morning."

After they had dismounted and handed coffee over to Beulah, Elliot explained what they had found. Worthington went to talk to Southcott over to one side of the clearing.

"It's good to know that Mr. and Mrs. Lambert and their daughter will all be just fine. Mrs. Vallarian, you most likely saved that man's life with your stitching and care. They send their thanks," Elliot said as he nodded once in acknowledgement.

Beulah nodded as she looked up from boiling water in the pan. "Thank you for letting me know, sir."

The Ranger cleared his throat as he looked with narrowed eyes at Stolter. "Mr. Stolter, I believe you described your horse as a buckskin palomino gelding with one hind leg white sock and the single letter "R" on an inverted half-moon. You called it a rocking R, is that correct?" Stolter frowned and nodded.

"About five miles to the northeast from here is an abandoned ranch and corral. We found what we think is your horse there in the corral. He's not injured that we could find and it looks like whoever was riding him tossed the saddle onto the ground. He's got water, but no food. There's been nobody around that house for many months now so I'd say that someone left your horse there and took off." Elliot pulled off a glove and accepted a tin cup of coffee from Beulah. She gave another to Stolter who thanked her.

Stolter's eyes brightened and tried not to glare at the Ranger. "Can I go get him or do you want him left there?"

"We'll accompany you back to get your horse. You still don't have a and if anyone means you harm, well, you have no way of fighting them off," Worthington said as he walked to the fire with Southcott.

Southcott said, "It's a long shot but my roan might let you up on his back. It might be a better thing to catch that stockings gray mare out there and throw the saddle on her to go get your horse."

Stolter nodded. "Call your hammerhead, Griff. I'll try it with him. He helped me get one of my blacks untangled from the brush on the other side of that gully. He acted friendly enough to me so I'll take a chance."

Southcott turned towards the road and gave out a loud two-tone whistle twice. "Gentlemen, you might want to step over to the side as he's gonna come running."

Both Rangers moved over nearer to Beulah and after a few minutes they heard the heavy hooves of several running horses.

Beulah burst out laughing as the roan, the gray mare, both of the chestnuts and the black yearling tried to squeeze into the little camp. She reached down into the sack and brought out several apples. With a few cuts of the knife, she severed the fruit for the horses.

The Rangers gave the horseman a suspicious glare. "These your horses, Mr. Stolter?"

The horseman shifted his weight to one foot and gave them a matter-of-fact look. "My bill of sale is in the saddlebags that were on my horse. I don't suppose you saw those saddle bags anywhere, did you?"

"Not that I recall. We can look a little closer when we get back out there, though." Worthington nodded to Elliot.

Stolter repeated Whelihan's explanation and story without mentioning the gunman. It was apparent that both Rangers doubted this explanation.

Worthington said, "There's more going on here than I care to know right now. Let's get Mr. Stolter's horse recovered and then I need to file a report on this whole matter." He turned around and looked at Southcott.

"Griff, would you happen to know where abouts is the nearest telegraph?" Southcott looked to the side, opened his mouth and frowned. He started to shake his head.

Beulah stood up and wiped her hands on a cloth. "That ranch where Nick's horse is at, that's the Goldeneye Ranch. Or rather, what's left of it. Charlie died the year before my husband died. Kathleen walked away from the ranch, packed up everything that wasn't nailed down and moved back to South Carolina where her kin are from."

Worthington and Elliot stared at the woman. She continued. "In the ranch house, just inside the front door on the left side, you'll find a loose floorboard. You'll have to lift it out like a little heavy door on a leather hinge. Down in the space is a telegraph machine."

Elliot started to say something and Beulah hushed him. "Take that machine with you when you walk out to the corner of the barn. Now walk due north up and over the hill. You'll come to a small shack sheltered by a big weeping willow tree next to a spring. Inside the shack are the wires that attach to the telegraph machine." Beulah smiled and took a sip of the coffee.

"How do you know this?"

"Who built that shack?"

"What is that telegraph doing under the floor?"

"When did Mrs. Goldeneye move away?" Both Rangers started firing questions one after the other.

Beulah tossed her hand as if to swat a fly away. She raised her eyebrows once or twice as the questions poured out of the Rangers about the telegraph.

"All I will say is that Charlie Goldeneye conducted certain business where he needed a telegraph for his communications. My husband helped Charlie build that small cabin. I and my husband, to my knowledge, was never part nor party to any of those communications."

Worthington narrowed his dark eyes. "That's the way a lawyer would speak, Ma'am."

"Yes, well, I still have those words memorized from an attorney who made me learn them just that way." Beulah smirked. The Rangers once again poured out question after question. Beulah stopped them.

"Gentlemen, you are keeping a perfectly good horse waiting. And I will thank you to return that telegraph to the place where you found it." Southcott and Stolter chuckled watching Beulah dodge and parry with the Rangers.

Southcott held the roan steady while Stolter saddled him. It took an apple from Beulah before the roan allowed the cowboy to mount up. The Rangers led the way out to the road and then they moved into a gallop east.

### ###

Two of the boards and one rotten fence post was laying cockeyed on the ground when the three men arrived at the Goldeneye Ranch. The buckskin was fifty yards away grazing in a patch of green grass and lifted his head chewing a mouthful when they approached. The hammerhead nickered and the buckskin replied.

Situated on a gentle rise to the north, the long low ranch house had seen better days. The veranda roof had fallen to the porch in several places. All the windows were broken. The front door leaned against the doorjamb. It was four bedrooms with a big kitchen, a floor to ceiling stone fireplace on the east wall and a full width back porch. Stolter clenched his jaw thinking about how this house had been a home and remembered his own back in that green valley.

The saddle, bridle and blanket had been dropped into the dirt next to the corral. Stolter looked around to see if the saddlebags were left but they were gone. A quick tour through the ranch house found where someone had slept overnight a while back, but not in the last few days. Parts of the wood floor in the barn were scuffed up and scraped as if someone had worked on something there.

The telegraph device was under the flooring where Beulah had said it rested. Worthington made a couple of indistinguishable comments to Elliot while Stolter wiped down the buckskin and saddled him.

Stolter pulled the saddle cinch tight. "If you'd send word to my family in Yucca Valley, let them know I'm alive and coming home, I'd appreciate it. They don't need to know about any of this trouble, just that I'm working my way back home."

Elliot shaded his eyes from the sun, squinting. "I can do that for you, Mr. Stolter. Thank you for your cooperation and patience in this matter."

Stolter looked at Worthington. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to get back to camp." Worthington waved a hand to dismiss him.

"Safe travels, Mr. Stolter." The horseman climbed up on his buckskin and clucked his tongue at the hammerhead. Both horses moved into a trot down the long driveway.

# Chapter 13

Once he had gotten on the road, he urged the horse into a trot and was surprised to find the hammerhead trotting alongside. Stolter had ridden about a mile when the hammerhead whinnied and veered off down a side trail to the south. It was a steeper trail and the man let his buckskin pick the path down through a tangle of brush. After about thirty feet the trail broadened out to a clearing next to a creek. Stolter dismounted while both horses drank.

The hard packed dirt around the creek had been chewed up by horse hooves. A lot of hooves had pounded through there in the last few days. Stolter made his way west along the creek looking for a place to cross. There was none. He had been looking at the rushing water when he heard the hammerhead nicker and saw both horses had stopped drinking and were looking north.

Stolter walked back to the buckskin and patted his neck while he listened. He could hear the sounds of splintering and cracking wood, but no voices. The narrow footpath curved around a fallen oak tree, past a couple of old agave cacti and then went down through a wash where the creek became broad and shallow. The breaking wood sounds had stopped and Stolter stood trying to listen above the water. Whoever had been there had gone quiet and with Stolter not having a weapon, he started back towards the horses.

Just before he started the climb back up the path, Stolter stopped and looked back at the trees and brush on the other side of the creek. He took in a deep breath and pushed out three loud short whistles and waited. After a minute, the breaking, crashing, splintering wood started up again and this time he heard the nickers.

Stolter waded into the creek and started pulling the brush away dotted with tiny orange flowers. Using just his knife, he started hacking away at the head-high tangled mass. He could hear horses stomping and snorting on the other side. After pulling a dead cactus back out of the way, Stolter stepped through into a makeshift corral.

Two of his missing black yearlings still had short leads ropes around their necks. There were three tall paint stallions and a chestnut mare that milled around looking at him. Temporary fence posts and some crude boards built right up to the brush had kept the horses penned in. Stolter crept around to the edge and tried to see if there was a guard or anyone lounging nearby. He tugged the rope loop holding the gate shut and lifted the gate so it rested back against the fence giving the horses room to escape.

After the horses began walking out of the corral, Stolter ducked and wiggled his way back through the brush, waded across the creek and ran back up the embankment to the buckskin and hammerhead. Another set of three whistles and he heard a whinny. He urged the buckskin up the path to the road and the hammerhead followed. He trotted west about one hundred yards and whistled again. Another fifty yards ahead of him the three blacks bounded up on to the road and whinnied. The hammerhead whinnied back and trotted ahead to them. With slow hands, he lifted the frayed short lead ropes off them and checked for the braided pouches. He smiled a grin as he found all three were still there.

It was an old animal path that someone had dragged brush over to hide it. Stolter leaned on his saddle horn trying to see down it when the paint horses came into view followed by the chestnut. Stolter jumped down and hacked away at the brush again and dragged away a couple of limbs so the horses could come through.

As the animals walked past him, he frowned watching the red, white and black blotched hides climb with ease up to the road. The horses looked very similar to the ones ridden by the Mexican children. Back at his buckskin, Stolter cut up the last four apples and fed each horse a half, admiring the strength and gentleness of the animals. He climbed up onto the buckskin, gave out three more whistles and turned west in a trot. The hammerhead snorted a couple of times and pawed the ground when the paints walked near, but then quieted down. Stolter grinned as he saw the paints ease into a trot behind him followed by the yearlings and the chestnut.

The buckskin broke into a loping gallop and two of the big paints moved up along him. Stolter could imagine small black haired children gripping their manes as they urged their horses on faster and he grinned. What would Colton be doing right now? Had Kelly gotten that filly to calm down and not be so skittish? He longed for his family. It would be a long time before he would ever venture far from home again.

He came into sight of the dusty rut that led to the camp clearing and slowed down the horses. The hammerhead darted down the track and then Stolter led in the rest of the horses. Southcott stood up in surprise when the hammerhead trotted in and Beulah wiped off her hands exclaiming in surprise.

"I see you got your pony back, Nick. And it looks like you found a couple of your yearlings, too!" Stolter dismounted and told them about leaving the Rangers at the Goldeneye Ranch.

"It was your hammerhead that found these others, Griff." Stolter told them about the corral and the hidden path to the holding pen.

"The thing is, these paints. I believe they belong to the Mexicans. Something must have happened to whoever was riding because they wouldn't just leave their horses loose and unattended. I didn't want to wait around to see if anyone showed up."

Southcott soothed the big, panting horses and patted their necks. "None of them are branded or marked."

Beulah looked at the chestnut mare. "She's an older horse. Maybe 10 or 12 years old. She obviously belongs to someone but how she came to be in that corral is a mystery."

Stolter said, "I'll take them over across the road so they can all graze together."

Beulah and Stolter unsaddled the hammerhead and the buckskin. Southcott was chuckling as he went back to the bedroll to lay down with a stern warning from the woman. After a few minutes, Stolter walked back into camp. Beulah had washed out and hung up four of the long bandages from Southcott onto low hanging tree limbs.

Stolter sat down on the stump on the other side of the clearing nearer to Beulah. He kept his voice low to allow Southcott to rest.

"Whelihan told me a story about how the Mexicans drop two or three of their horses in hidden valleys to roam free between Mexico and Canada. On the rides bringing horses down from Canada, they stop to see if the paints are still there and see if there are any other unbranded horses around." Beulah nodded as she watched Southcott sleep.

"So maybe these three are ones that were left here on purpose? I'd think the Mexicans would come looking for them at some point. Did you say that the kids, little children ride those paints? That's an awfully big horse for a little kid." Beulah had a skeptical look on her face.

Stolter nodded. "Yeah, I thought so too, until I saw them ride. No saddles, no bridles. Just a little leather pad to sit on with short leather straps for stirrups. From the time those colts are born, they are around the kids all the time. They play with them, race them, train them so when the horse grow up, their like big dogs. Loyal, obedient and loving."

Beulah murmured an acknowledgement. "Griff's ranch is about two hundred acres. If we take them to Tucson, they'll be turned loose to graze and someday the Mexican's might come in to pick them up. I wouldn't want having that horse on the property to cause anyone trouble, but like you said, someone locked them in that corral."

Stolter was lost in thought for a few moments. "I can probably saddle that white stockings gray mare or that chestnut mare to give you a horse to ride, Beulah. I can ride the buckskin bareback with a rope halter, as I have done that before. The three of us should be able to get those horses all the way to Tucson now, God willing."

"I figure if we saddle up an hour before sunset and ride through the night, we should roll in his front gate right close to midnight," she said.

"To be honest, I'm not sure he'll make it that far. Just so you know, Nick, you may have to ride double with him to hold him on the horse until we get there. He's stubborn and won't want to stop. But I don't need him falling to the ground from the back of a horse, either." Beulah busied herself combing her fingers through her long blondish hair. With expert moves, she twisted it around into a tidy bun on top of her head.

"About a mile out from the ranch we'll come to a cross roads where a big track comes in from the south. It's popular with the big freight wagons. There's a couple of saloons and some shacks that call themselves restaurants because they let you sit on a wood stool under the overhanging roof. When I was there last year there was a place with pretty good Mexican beans, tortillas and beef. We should be able to get food there."

"The only thing I've had to eat today was part of an apple. I felt guilty keeping that back from the horses, too. I was desperate so I ate that last scrap of beef jerky that I got from Desiree. By the time we get into Tucson, I'll be ready to eat one of those horse, let alone ride one." Stolter grinned.

Stolter spread out a saddle blanket on top of the grass at the edge of the clearing and laid down. He'd need some rest before riding an unknown road in the dark, with a wounded man, headstrong woman and fifteen straggling horses.

# Chapter 14

The inky black sky was lit up with a thousand glittery stars. The air had cooled down and crickets chirped in the grass. From time to time an owl called out. The landscape became indistinguishable with darkened rocks and trees along the road. Stolter, Southcott and Beulah had been walking their horses for over an hour.

It had taken all three of them sounding off whistles to urge the herd of horses out of their comfortable grazing and back up onto the road. The big paints were the first to fall in behind Stolter and Southcott. The yearlings kept straggling behind and from time to time simply stopped in the road staring in a defiant manner until Stolter whistled for them.

There was nobody traveling at that time of night. Twice they smelled campfire smoke but couldn't see any firelight. At the crest of a steep hill, Southcott stopped them and point out onto the mesa below them. About five miles out there were dotted lights spread out in the darkness.

"That's South Pass over there where you see them lights. That's where we're headed. They know me there so we'll stop the herd out a couple hundred yards to the north, at the Armstead Ranch waterhole. There's trees and cover for us." Southcott looked at Beulah.

"Nick, if you stay with the herd, Beulah and I'll go get food and come back so we can eat and get back on the road. I don't want to draw the attention we'd get if we were to stop them horse's right in town. The fewer eyes on us, the better, I'd say," said Southcott.

Stolter asked, "How much farther after this to your place, Griff?" His eyes were on the glimmering dim light in the distance.

Southcott motioned with his hand. "We'll swing northwest up into the hills for about a mile, then go south, southwest another three miles. We should be on the ranch by then." He stopped and turned in the saddle to focus on Stolter.

"This is gonna be a full out run to the ranch. You make sure to keep them horses with us. I don't want to have to backtrack to find a pony who decided to graze along the way. Home is close and I'm anxious to get there." There was a gritty edge to the man's voice.

"I understand. You lead the way and I'll bring the horses along in behind you." Stolter nodded and reset himself into the saddle.

About two hundred yards out into the desert, Stolter was taken aback by the sound of horses hooves walking across a wide, wooden bridge. Southcott paused as the entire herd stepped onto the wooden structure.

"The United States Calvary came to this pitiful little creek one year during a flash flood. They couldn't get across and had to wait a full day for the water to drain and lower. Six months later the Army Corp of Engineers came out and built this bridge big enough to let an army cross over during a flood." Southcott chuckled.

"If you pick your way down the embankment, there is a big grassy area underneath for picnics and fishing. It's also big enough to hide a herd of horses if the need should ever arise." Southcott winked in the dark and Stolter grinned. It was not a quiet crossing and Stolter wondered how far the sound carried in the night air.

After they had reached the Armstead Ranch waterhole, Southcott and Beulah trotted on into South Pass. Half an hour later they returned and the three sat down to eat in the darkness. Chili and biscuits, shredded spicy beef, ears of corn and three pieces of apple pie. Beulah poured beer into the tin cups from a half gallon jar. After having nothing, it was a feast.

Stolter wiped off his mouth with his handkerchief and stood up. He walked out among the grazing horses and patted each one. It would be a long two hundred mile walk to the California border and then another one hundred twenty miles to get to Yucca Valley.

Southcott had walked out to the clearing. "There's water hole in about five miles up. They'll be fine until we get there."

There was concern in Stolter's voice as he asked, "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. I'll be damned if I'll let anything stop me now," said Southcott with a low laugh.

"Gentlemen, let's get this show on the road. I'm tired and I want to sleep in a comfortable bed tonight." Beulah gestured with her head towards the west.

"Well, let's not keep the lady waiting!" Southcott led the way west and Beulah and Stolter pushed the herd after him. True to his word, the older man loped into an easy gallop and they began a climb up a low hill. After about ten minutes, he slowed and turned in between two big boulders and skidded down a rocky path to a water hole. The three dismounted and stood to one side while all the horses drank.

"In the daylight, this is pretty little area up in here. Lots of wild flowers and cacti. Seen deer and antelope up in here sometimes." Southcott gestured in the darkness.

Stolter rubbed his face and flexed his tired shoulders. "I might not pass this way ever again. If I do, at least I know where water is at now."

The hammerhead turned and started to walk back away from the water hole. Then he lifted his head, pricking his ears back to the east. They all went quiet and listened.

"It would be a good idea to move these horses on down the road. The night darkness covers up a multitude of saints and sinners. I don't wanna hang around and see which one that is," said Southcott with gravel in his voice.

Stolter rubbed his eyes and squinted into the dim light. It was a moving mass of horseflesh and he swung up into the saddle. He watched the buckskins and the black yearlings trot after the hammerhead. Five gone, ten to go. The Appaloosas were next to trot out followed by the chestnut colts and the filly. Five more gone.

Beulah trotted past him on the white stockings mare followed by two white and rust pintos. When Stolter twisted around in the saddle he saw the big Mexican stallion had moved up right behind him. The horseman grinned and reached into the saddlebag to pull out an apple. Using both hands, he tore it in half and fed the big animal the pieces. The white blazed head tossed and the horse trotted out onto the road. That was all of them.

Once Stolter got onto the road he looked back to the east as he gathered his reins. If anyone had been watching they would have counted and then seen the three people riding herd. Perhaps it was a good idea that they decided to leave right then. Like Southcott, he was in no welcoming mood for the unknown and his heels urged his horse into a gallop.

# Chapter 15

His pocket watch read 9:30. They had stopped for water twice more. It was more a mist than rain is just starting to come down when Southcott led the way up a narrow trail at Elk Creek. Four walls, a roof and three pole benches outside.

Stolter heard the thunder rumble but there was no lightning yet. While the woman built up a fire in the rusted wood stove and the kindling caught, Stolter unsaddled the gray mare and turned her loose to graze. The hammerhead tossed his head with a whinny after his saddle came off and he trotted away into the darkness.

Two lanterns lit up a rustic thirty foot deep room. More of a cabin with a wood stove, two old buckets and four cots up against the walls. A fine shower of dust fell with each gust against the building. Beulah gestured with a blackened kettle and disappeared out into the darkness. As the fire crackled, Southcott sat down on one of the cots and pulled off his boots.

"Sep Kingman was a good man. He came out of the war with all his fingers and toes. He was a lucky one. Wore his sergeant stripes until they tattered away. Everyone liked him. He'd wandered over the gold fields and made some money," Southcott explained with a gruff voice.

The gust of wind blew even more dirt and dust around when the woman walked in with a dripping kettle. She smiled and set it on the stove. "I didn't know you knew Sep Kingman!" Southcott snorted with a wry grin and handed the saddlebags to the woman.

"I was coming back from up in the Utah territory. I was camped out in the desert above the canyon and listening to the coyotes howl. I heard someone call out the name and I'd heard of him more like a legend. He came in with three mules and settled down with me. We must have talked for a couple of hours. I needed sleep so crawled into my blanket and he was gone the next morning." Southcott looked at the floor as he shook his head.

"It must have been about a year later that I came through here headed home. I heard an accordion playing and someone singing so I pulled in up the path and there he was sitting on the porch. He'd felled a dozen trees and had built this cabin. I stayed here with him for a couple of days singing and drinking." Southcott gestured to the cabin.

"Over twenty years ago, now." Southcott rubbed his tired eyes.

Beulah poured two cups of coffee and handed them to the men. "My husband had done some business with Sep many years ago when we were first married. Always called him a strange and lonesome man. He rode those mules alone wherever he went. Never in a hurry." Beulah blew across the steaming cup.

Stolter bent down and picked up a couple of sheets of paper with scribbling on them. He moved over closer to the lantern on the table. After a few minutes he smiled and set them down with an old iron ring on top to hold them.

"Poetry. Good love gone bad. Drowning at the bottom of a bottle. Dog ran away." Stolter grinned and shook his head. "Everything but the wagon breaking down." Beulah and Southcott chuckled.

She ladled out plates of the chili and the cold cornbread. They ate in silence listening to the wind whip around the cabin. The creaks and groans of the wooden building blocked out anything else besides the wind.

Later, after the lantern was blown out, Stolter laid in the dark musing about the man's written words. Kingman had shied away from folks because he feared they would not understand him. He had known what he wanted and went out and worked for it. And along the way, as humans can do, he made mistakes and had misunderstandings.

After a while, Southcott's rattling snore began and Stolter rolled over to watch the rain slide down the window. He had grown up cautious of others luring him into traps. He had grown into a man secure in himself because of hard work and a basic fear of where he had come from. But now, it would be a life raising his children as Marianna would have wanted them raised. It was the unknown ahead of him that made him think twice.

The morning was clear and cold. The surrounding landscape was scattered buck horn cholla cacti in yellow petals with purple tips. Everything was laden with heavy drops. It was a lean breakfast of beans, coffee, and small squares of cornbread.

After drying off the horses, they saddled up and made one last check on the lean-to. As Southcott led them on the road, Stolter made sure all the horses followed. They had rested well in the night and now had miles to go before the next rest.

# Chapter 16

"You sure it was him? There's a dozen men east of Dodge that look like him." Texas Ranger Henry Elliot stared at the bartender. Both Texas Rangers paced across the rough plank wood floor peering behind tables.

"People have accused me of being him and I outweigh him by fifty pounds!" Elliot tossed back the drink and sat the glass down on the bar.

The bartender with wide eyes poured another shot of whiskey for the lawman. The black shirt, black slacks and black boots under the sand colored duster was the uniform of those who rode for the oldest law enforcement organization in the country.

"Terry's boy messed up and called him by name when he brought out the breakfast plate. Whelihan even gave a dollar for the sister who made the doughnut. It was him!" Geno Loughton look incredulous.

Elliot turned to stare out the grimy windows and mused about how he could have been so close to Ginger Whelihan. For five years now, Henry Elliot had ran across stories of the gunman associated with shootings, robberies and holdups. Witness accounts had varied from testimonials to tall tales and no one could ever pick him out. The man was slipperier than a greased sidewinder.

"Two days ago?" The bartender nodded. Elliot had never been in the same town on the same day as the elusive Whelihan. Folks had sworn that he could take two steps and be gone.

Two days of hard riding out of Colorado would put a man into Kansas, Oklahoma, Arizona and maybe even Texas if he pushed enough. Three stage drivers out of St Louis swear it was Ginger Whelihan who held them up. Elliot had telegrams on the same day that it was Whelihan running out of First National Bank in Phoenix with a payroll and twin Colts. The previous week had a positive sighting of Ginger Whelihan lifting gold bullion off a Butterfield stage north of San Francisco.

"Anybody recognize the Mexican that was with him?" Heads shook no and murmurs went along the bar.

A man down at the end of the bar laughed. "They all look the same, you know."

"Yeah, but this one spoke good English. Terry heard him talking plain as you and me."

Elliot pointed at the man nearest him. "So you say that Whelihan sat over in the restaurant eating breakfast, then got up and walked out, disappearing into thin air?"

"Yes, Sir." The stranger put down the glass and started to lift both hands palms up.

"Nobody saw which way he went?" Again, their heads shook. Elliot wanted to tear his hair in exasperation.

"Did anyone see which direction he came in from? North? West? East?" Everyone was silent.

Six foot two carrying two hundred pounds with a barrel chest and a broad chin, Henry Elliot was an authoritative, impressive figure of a lawman. He had black piercing eyes fringed with thick black lashes and heavy eyebrows. He wore his curled black hair a bit longer down to his ears. There was a thin, white line of a scar in front of his right ear where it was rumored that a knife took a piece of him.

"If anyone remembers anything, I'll be over at the hotel tonight," Elliot said with a sneer.

"Maybe I'll trip over him in the dining room."

### ###

An older man in patched denim jeans and an old red plaid shirt walked out from under the Sellwood Bridge and raised a hand in greeting.

"Howdy, friends. Come on in. I've got coffee on if you'd like to sit while your horses water."

Beulah called out, "Thank you kindly, mister. I would like a cup of hot coffee." She introduced them.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Leland Grant. Everyone calls me Landy. Please make yourself comfortable for a while," he said with a smile.

"You got a fair herd of young horses there, mister." A craggy, weathered face with watery blue eyes and tobacco pouch tag hanging out of the front picket of the shirt. A damp towel around the handle of the coffee pot keep Beulah's hand from burning.

Stolter held the tin cup steady while Beulah poured. He nodded. "Yes, I'm taking them home. I raise and train cutting horses. I'm hoping a couple of these turn out to be good ones." Grant nodded with a smile.

Southcott asked, "How long you been here? Seems like a handy place for shelter."

"Couple hours now. Just can't seem to get the energy to get back in the saddle," the old man replied in a low voice.

"I know the feeling. We want to get up to Black Rocks before it gets too dark. Did you come from up in there?" Southcott blew across the surface of the hot coffee.

The older man shook his head. "I'd heard over a month ago of some trouble up at Black Rocks. I came through there right before noon today. Not a soul around. I'm the sort to help folks out of a bad spot if there's trouble. Plenty of folks have helped me over the years. But there wasn't anyone around earlier today."

Stolter asked, "What sort of trouble did you hear about?"

"Grant said, "Maybe it was idle gossip, but the people who told it were straight forward about it. The story was that a hand off a ranch to the north ran off with the daughter of a man who disapproved. The father tracked them to Black Rocks. In a rage, he shot them both. Sheriff put the man in jail." Beulah raised her eyebrows.

"He must have been out of his mind. I don't see how I could ever shoot one of my kids," Stolter said with a shiver.

Grant gestured to the fire. "You can see the bullet holes in both the shack and the lean-to out by the corral. People have been shooting up that place for years."

Beulah asked, "So where are you headed, Mr. Grant?"

"Santa Fe. I have an old buddy over there with a big house and no family left. He's been feeling poorly and I thought I'd drop in and see if I could lend a hand. He's helped me out of a couple of scrapes so it's my turn to help him." Grant cleared his throat and took out him cigarette makings.

"Griff, I don't mean to be nosy but you're moving like you've got a hitch in your giddyup. What happened to you, if I may be so nosy?" Grant lit his cigarette and offered the makings to Southcott.

"We had some trouble in Rio Mesa. In the middle of the night a couple fellas, robbers really, broke into the hotel room and tried to rob us. They had beat up an old man down the hall and took some of his things. I guess they didn't figure on anyone fighting back." Southcott shook his head and started to roll a smoke.

Stolter said, "Beulah got a shot into one and killed him. Bloody mess on the floor of the hotel room. She wounded another who ran and got away."

Grant looked wide-eyed at Beulah who shrugged her shoulders. "He made me mad. I shot him." She narrowed her eyes. "Woke me up out of a sound sleep." She waved a dismissive hand.

Stolter asked, "So how much farther we got to go? We should get moving otherwise it will be midnight before we get some rest."

They thanked Grant and went to collect their horses. As they were leaving, Stolter watched the Mexican paint walk within ten feet of the older man. There was some sort of familiarity between the horse and the man as the animal stopped and stared at him. Grant offered the big horse something in the outstretched hand. The paint sniffed and then took whatever it was and then tossed his head several times. The horse walked up out of the camp behind Stolter.

The horseman urged his roan into a trot and followed the mustang on up the slight hill through by saguaro cacti colorful white broad petals with pale yellow center, buzzing with bees and scrub mesquite. The last glance back showed Grant waving a hand. Stolter frowned and shook his head about how an unknown, random traveler could know a wild, Mexican mustang.

### ###

Southcott pointed towards the north where some rocky ledges jutted out from the sandstone. "That area up there, it is known as Black Rocks. Many years ago there was a massacre of settlers that had come through in wagons looking for new homes. Apache had come up across the border on a raid. The story was that they'd been kicked off the tribal lands down south and were looking to take out their anger on something, anything."

Beulah gestured and said, "You see those bits of black stuck in that hillside? That's old lava rock. Somewhere around there was an old volcanic hole that oozed up lava and it hardened. Over time, floods and storms pushed the sandstone over it and if you didn't know where to look, you'd never see it."

Southcott frowned. "Now woman, don't go ruining my story for Nick. Let me get on with it." Beulah laughed and looked away in exasperation.

Southcott cleared his throat. "If you talk with any of them calm, relaxed Apaches, they'll tell you a tale. They say that the blood of them settlers that was killed, well, those settlers were so evil that their blood turned black when it hit the dirt."

Stolter turned in the saddle. "What?" Beulah shook her head and waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

"That's the story I heard. The Apache went in and slaughtered those folks and their evil, wicked white man blood turned into those black rocks." Southcott nodded his head as if to confirm his own beliefs.

Beulah said, "And if you talk to Navajo, they'll say those black rocks are from the feathers shed by the big thunderbirds that fly over this valley." She looked up at the sky and laughed.

"What thunderbirds?" Stolter asked. Again, he twisted around and looked up at the sky. He heard Beulah laugh.

"You know, usually I get to enjoy a snack when someone tells me a yarn, partner." Stolter winked and clucked his tongue. All across the west, Stolter had heard the believable and the unbelievable and taken all of it with a grain of salt. He would have to remember this one to tell to the kids when he got home.

Two miles later they moved over to the side of the road while a big freight wagon lumbered by. The unknown driver waved and yelled out a greeting but didn't halt the four Percherons.

"Pat Helwick, at your service. If you need a pot for coffee I have one for a dime."

Beulah called out, "No thank you, Mr. Helwick. Would you have any lily of the valley ointment? I've got a terrible rash." She waved a white hankie with a big smile.

The red faced, rotund Helwick scratched his head as the big wagon trundled past them. "I don't think so, ma'am. I've never heard of it. I'll ask in Phoenix when I roll in there." His smile was yellowed teeth with a few missing.

Stolter whistled the horses back onto the road. "What is lily of the valley ointment?"

Beulah chuckled. "There is no such thing. I made it up. I learned years ago that if you ask a freighter for something they could not have, it will make them crazy looking for it." She laughed into her hankie in delight. Stolter laughed out loud.

Southcott shook his head and pointed at Beulah. "You see how she is? This is exactly why I have limited the enjoyment of her company to what, three maybe four times a year." Stolter laughed harder as they walked on.

"I'll have to remember that lily of the valley ointment thing. Next time I come across the man who has everything, I'll ask him if he has that." All three started to laugh again.

### ###

"Up ahead is Rancho del Mar. Looks like there might be someone stopped there." Stolter could see someone had built a fire in the rocks off to the east side. Two men stood up from the log they had been sitting on smoking. One of the men took off the hat and waved them in.

Southcott lowered his voice. "We can move on down river from them. There is a sandy bank about a quarter mile farther on." Stolter nodded.

"Griff, go ahead and lead them on in. I'll come in behind them." Southcott nodded and urged his horse into the clearing.

"Evening, folks. We'll take the horses on down the river for water. We don't want to disturb your camp."

"Good evening, mister. I'm Syd Kneale. This is Hal Stewardson. We don't have much, but you folks are welcome to coffee."

Southcott touched the brim of his hat and walked his hammerhead on down the path towards the water. Kneale was a tall and lanky young man with a thin face that held a kind smile.

"I'm Griff Southcott and this is Beulah Vallarian. Let us get these horses to water and we'll come back and take you up on that coffee." Beulah held up a gloved hand in greeting.

The coffee was hot with a light taste of chicory. Stewardson was a young man but had a grim countenance and though he nodded his head in greeting, he seemed a very serious man.

"We've been up in San Francisco bay area seeing family. We go once a year when the weather warms up a bit." They nodded their heads as if they were resigned to their lot in life.

"I know a few people in San Francisco. Where about do your folks live, if I may be so nosy, Mr. Kneale?" Beulah asked.

"My grandfather bought 100 acres out of the old Perella Rancho estate. That was my mother's father. After he died, my folks moved into the house and have been there ever since."

Beulah nodded. "That's on the far east side of the bay. Beautiful out there, if I remember correctly. You didn't want to run cattle or ranch out there?"

Kneale dug his boot heel into the dirt for a few seconds. "No, I'm afraid I am a grave disappointment to my family, ma'am. My ma, she had these high hopes for me to go back east, to a big fancy school and learn everything. You know, be somebody. Be something so she would be proud."

Stewardson spoke up for the first time. "I led him astray. The fault is mine." Long lack straight hair fell down to his shoulders. Dark eyes gleamed and the young man rubbed his big hands together.

Stolter asked, "How's that?"

Kneale said, "I didn't have the mind for books. I barely got to the sixth grade. I couldn't sit in the classroom. All I wanted to do was ride and work cattle." He shrugged.

Stewardson shifted his position on the log. "I had a falling out with my pa. He kept telling me I wouldn't amount to anything and that I'd end up dead out behind a saloon somewhere. I didn't want him to say it one more time. "I threw everything I owned on the back of my horse and rode over Sy's place."

Beulah leaned forward and asked, "You young men don't look a day over twenty. So what did you do?"

Kneale stood up and put a couple more pieces of wood on the fire. "It took me about a minute to listen to Hal's idea and I packed up. My folks threatened to disown me. But the thing was, I felt like they already had. I wanted a simple life, doing simple work and that's what I've got now."

Stewardson poured another cup of coffee for himself. Beulah declined a refill. Stolter held his cup for the hot black liquid. Southcott put his hand over his cup and shook his head.

"I'd saved up twenty two dollars doing little jobs on the ranches around our place. I didn't have a sweetheart to spend my money on so I just kept putting it into this little round candy tin in my room." Stewardson grinned.

Kneale had a bittersweet smile. "I had thirty dollars in my pocket. That night, Hal and I left for Texas. We wanted to go somewhere nobody knew us. Go see some place we hadn't seen before. We hired on with a team riding herd to Abilene and been doing it ever since."

Southcott put down his cup and took out his cigarette makings. "Sounds like you boys have been out on one long adventure."

"Yes, sir. We most likely have." Kneale stretched out his legs. Southcott nodded.

"This place here where we're setting. It's got a history of adventure in the ground here. Rancho del Mar spanned both sides of the border, before there was a border. The story I was told was that the owner was paid for his land on the US side and kept his land on the Mexico side. It had been in his family for generation. He had ancestors buried deep in the ground." Stolter sneaked a slide glance at Beulah who was listening to the boys with interest.

Southcott paused to light his smoke. "Spanish friars came in to build a mission back up to those hills on the north side. They thought it was an excellent location. Good water. Good trail going east and west. They started digging in the ground to put up the mission and found skeletons. They had no idea they had disturbed an unmarked graveyard."

Stewardson muttered, "You won't get into heaven digging up graveyards." Kneale nodded.

Southcott nodded and smiled in agreement. "In the daylight, if you walk up through the grass and trees over to the hills, you can tap a stick and find those big, adobe blocks that were made for the foundation of the mission. The big hall was laid out but never built. It's like they simply walked away one day and abandoned it."

Kneale took a sip of the coffee. "So it will always be Rancho del Mar regardless of any imaginary line running through it." Kneale and Stewardson looked at each other.

Beulah frowned. "What's the matter?"

Stewardson shook his head. "When we first got here, we put our horses up there on that flat grassy area to graze. They wouldn't stay up there. They walked back down here and around the bend where your horses are at. Maybe that's why they didn't want to graze up there."

Southcott stood up and tossed the last drops of coffee to the side. He gestured with his chin towards the horses.

"Thank you, gentlemen for sharing your coffee. I hope you get to where you are going safely." He tugged on the brim of his hat. Both Kneale and Stewardson stood up and Stolter shook their hands as he walked by.

"And to you, mister and to you, ma'am."

Southcott led the first six horses out, then Beulah followed with the next six. When Stolter came around the bend pushing the chestnuts, he waved a casual goodbye. They waved back with the gesture of someone who has nothing to do, nowhere to be and plenty of time to get there.

# Chapter 17

Three hours later, they had stopped next to a creek for water. There was a path around to the right with an old blackened ring of rocks where someone had made a fire. Stolter found the chestnut mare had a rock stuck in its hoof and pried it out. He was careful to cut off the little pouches from the manes of his horses. In the shade of a weeping willow tree he sliced open the folded leather and laid out the coins. One pouch had a folded piece of paper but the ink had run and faded into blurred smears and it was unreadable. He'd never know what it was.

Stolter sat back against the tree and looked at the coins. Two hundred dollars in gold and silver. Whelihan had come through with the cash. It had been a long shot but he'd found the money to help out Stolter. The stress of her death, the worry over the horses, the agony of his children being alone brought the horseman to near collapse. The man said a silent thanks to his friend still riding the range somewhere.

Calloused fingers picked up a stack of the coins and let it fall to his other hand. He started adding up the supplies in his head. He'd get two months ahead on the land payments. He could get the lumber for the new corrals now. He just had to get all the way home in one piece with all the horses. He shoved fifty dollars down into his left boot and fifty down into his right boot. Stolter took off the leather belt and bent back the flaps revealing the hidden space. Using his fingers, he lined up the coins and pressed twenty dollars into the void space.

His heart ached. She would have been smiling with her pretty white teeth and sparkling eyes. He had brought home the money that they had needed, but it was a bittersweet victory. His favorite memory was watching her sitting on the riverbank watching her long hair blow around in the wind. He wanted to run his craggy, rough hands over the soft skin and hold her so tight she couldn't breathe. He'd never have that again.

It was a clear blue sky overhead. Not a cloud anywhere from horizon to horizon. The smell of grass and horses was everywhere. Around him in the landscape are barrel cactus with spiky orange petals with yellow centers alive with buzzing bees.

The ground was still damp from the morning dew and the first bees hummed amongst the grass. A gentle gust of wind lifted the low hanging branches to dip and dance across the dirt.

### ###

"This is Buckhorn. Another old time west town that started up with a boom along a road and then died out when folks went other places." Southcott gestured to three empty buildings in the distance built up on a rise on the other side of the road.

At the lean-to, Beulah heated up beef, corn and biscuits. Southcott made coffee. As they ate, they watched the horses graze near the creek.

"It must be ten years ago now. There was still one man in a little store up there. The stage sometimes stopped if they were on time. Most times they went right on by. One of the freighters stopped in at my place and said that the man was gone. I can't remember his name now, for some reason." Southcott's voice had a catch in it. He cleared his throat.

The gray and purple wash crept up the hill. Birds roosted in the old trees, rustling the leaves as they got comfortable for the night.

His watch showed 7:30. Stolter heard the horses whinnying in a panic and he ran into the tall grass to see what was happening. He was in time to see them all run west out past the end of the valley and disappear into the trees. Southcott pulled on his boots and walked out into the grass with Stolter. The only horse left if the big Mexican mustang.

"You hear anything?" Behind them the simmering fire crackled and popped.

Stolter shook his head. "No. Nothing."

"I don't smell anything unusual. They can smell big cats, you know." Southcott peered out into the darkness.

Stolter asked, "Why didn't that mustang run if it was a big cat?"

With a gruff laugh, Southcott said, "Because he is a mustang. They don't run if they think they can win the fight. And my money would be on that horse."

Stolter took a step towards the mustang who still stared at the men. "I must be losing my mind. I want to ask that horse what he saw." Beulah started to laugh.

Southcott called out, "He ain't hurt, is he?"

"No. I don't think so." Southcott turned and walked back to the fire. He piled on three more chunks of wood.

After Stolter had laid back down in his blanket, he put his hands behind his head and stared up at the night sky. He had run cattle horses and stages all through Texas, Arizona, Nebraska and Wyoming. He'd been from the Gulf to the Pacific Ocean. He could remember the times when everything he owned was tied on his saddle. He never would go back to that solitary, bitter life. He would go home, raise the kids, and send them to school like those little Mexican kids had done. He would breed more stock and just continue on.

Once when he woke up, he saw the fire had burned down to embers and Southcott was gone from his blankets. The next time Stolter woke it sounded like thousands of crickets had decided to sing. Twice more, the old lean-to creaked and groaned in the breeze bringing Stolter up out of a sound sleep.

### ###

They had covered almost twelve miles the following day. It had taken almost an hour to find all the horses and get them on the road, but they had got them moving. Southcott gestured to the wide turnoff in between a couple of old cottonwoods. "That's Winston Butte."

About twenty yards into the narrow trail, the hammerhead balked with a snort, rearing and swung around whinnying. Southcott hung on and shouted to calm his horse but to no use.

Stolter was shocked to feel his roan dance sideways fighting the bit. He looked up to see the big hammerhead bolt back to the road. There was a panic in the eyes of the herd as they whirled and headed back out.

Southcott shouted, "They won't let us camp there." He pointed to the west. "We'll go on down about another quarter mile on the left. There's water there and should be grass."

The elder man reined the hammerhead over hard and kicked him into a run into the fading light. Stolter watched the horses shake and then one by one trot after the hammerhead.

"Come on, Nick. Griff's got a good story to tell you about this place," Beulah said with a waving hand.

After another couple hundred yards west, Southcott pulled them into a grassy area bordering a small creek. On the west side there was a dirt clearing with an old, wide alder pole bench. Stolter unsaddled his horse and started to rub him down with the old shirt but the roan backed away and headed out to the water. The horseman frowned with consternation on his face.

Stolter took in a deep breath. "I smell saltwater. How can that be? We aren't anywhere near the ocean."

Beulah gestured to the south. "At the end of the pasture, there is a big salt marsh. In the fall it's thick with ducks going south. These hills get snow in the winters. The run off from the melting snow feed the rivers and lakes around here. You'll see in the morning before we leave. It's a beautiful place. Purple, red and orange wildflowers were just starting to pop up through the grass. The edge of the marsh is thick with cattails."

Stolter asked, "What is this place?"

"Winston Butte." Southcott walked by with a chunk of wood for the fire.

"Why did your hammerhead act up back there?" Stolter followed him.

"I don't know for sure. On old time stage driver told me that they had to put down two horses in that clearing. They'd been hurt somehow. They ended up shooting them. That was two years ago. That's pretty much all I know about it," Southcott held his belly rubbing against the bandage.

Stolter sat down and pulled off his boots. His own wounds had been a dull ache for miles. Southcott studied his pocket watch. "We're thirty miles out of my place. I wanna make ten more miles today by dark. That'll give us a twenty mile run tomorrow with two stops." Stolter nodded.

"Here's the thing. I want to make that run to my ranch in the dark. I don't need the local Nosy-Nancie's ogling your herd." Southcott picked up a long twig and drew a circle in the dirt. He dragged the line west about a foot and made an 'X' south of it.

"This is Benton House right here. Well, across the road and up that slope it is. Just before we get to the south bend of the river, we'll stop and let the animals get to water. This time of year there should be enough foliage on the trees to screen us from the house. We'll take 'em on down the river about two miles and then cut back up onto the road."

He dragged another line about a foot farther west. "This spot right here." Southcott drew a square. "It's called Gold Forks. There is an old camp in there and if the water isn't too high, they can get over to the other side where there is grass."

Just then three horses whinnied. All three of them went silent and stood up to look at the animals. Stolter whispered to Beulah, "Do you see the mustang?" The woman went up on her toes and craned her neck to look. She shook her head.

Southcott tucked his shirt in and checked his revolver. "They're looking at something in the trees. I bet that mustang is challenging whatever is there. We best go take a look."

Beulah ran for her rifle, Stolter drew the Colt and walked over alongside Southcott. Together and with care, they moved into the grass and headed for the mustang who was tossing his head. Stolter watched where the mustang looked and peered into the trees. Leaves rustled in the wind. Limbs raised and lowered in the light breeze.

It was a flicker of gray against green. Southcott pulled his revolver and held it at his side. Beulah had gasped and went down on one knee aiming the rifle. The mustang pawed the ground and snorted.

Two wolves, with fangs bared and white foaming mouths charged down off the hillside and into the grass. Shaggy coated gray and brown leaping with each stride. The mustang reared and whinnied.

Beulah shot and the brown wolf fell. Southcott fired once. The gray wolf came on in a charge without fear. Stolter brought up his Colt and fired. The gray wolf fell twenty feet from them. Southcott watched the trees. He took several steps to the left and stopped to watch. Beulah shook her head and stood up. With her boot, she pushed the muzzle of the gray to the side.

"Rabid. They were sick, out of their minds. Folks say that a rabid dog will attack anything. Buffalo. People." Southcott nodded.

"We'll have to burn them so no other animals get the sickness. Nick, help me drag them over to that rocky ground. Beulah, start gathering up wood and we'll get them burned." Southcott's face held a disgusted look.

"Winston Butte? Remind me to never stop here again." Stolter put on his gloves and gripped the hind leg and dragged the dead gray over to rocks.

"Well, I've lost my appetite. I'll eat next time we stop." Beulah dropped a couple of dry branches on the pile.

Stolter agreed. "I'd just as soon move a couple miles on before camping for the night. Griff, anywhere else close by we can settle in for the night?" Southcott nodded.

"Three, maybe five miles more there is an old quarry. Slate quarry. It is used a lot by the Mexicans that come through. It's quiet and sheltered so we should be alright there."

They took the next hour and moved the herd on west to the deserted overgrown quarry. The chiseled cuts could be seen going up fifty feet against the cliffs. Sounds bounced off the hard face. Four small waterfalls trickled in a shower down the cold rock. Beulah took the opportunity to wash up before supper.

Stolter piled leaves and small twigs into a pile and laid out his bedroll. He couldn't get warm and tossed and turned to find comfort. After an hour, he got up and fetched the heavy saddle blanket. There was a comforting smell of horse as he crawled underneath it and the rough, green wool. His fingers massages over the sore wounds in the darkness. As he closed his eyes, it was the deep ache in his heart that could not be soothed.

### ###

A hand shook his shoulder in the dim light. Stolter groaned with his muscles protesting the movement. When he sat up, he saw Beulah had put the tin pot onto the small fire for coffee. He rubbed his eyes and grimaced as he flexed his shoulders. Half an hour later they broke camp and saddled their horses.

South gathered his reins. "Come on, let's make a run for home. It's nine miles and we ain't stoppin' so hang on and ride." His voice was low and quiet. Stolter watched as Beulah climbed up on her mount.

Stolter leaned closer to Southcott. "When you hit the road, pause a minute and whistle three times so the horses can find you up there. At fifty yards down the road, whistle again so they can get their bearings. I'll keep pushing them once I get to the top. They'll follow you so head for home," Southcott nodded.

The big hammerhead scrambled up the loose incline struggling to get a foothold up the path. All three paints followed him, slipping and sliding to get up the hill. The yearlings shied from trying to get up the hill and had to get a running start to get out. The heavier gray mare flung dirt and gravel as she struggled up the hill but made it out. Stolter was the last to urge his roan to go up the narrow path. By the time he got to the top, he had to squint to make out the gray mare running away in the dark.

Down a hard packed road that curved in and around trees they rode. In the faint moonlight, Stolter could see Beulah hunched over the neck of her horse riding fast. She followed a galloping single file line of moving animals. They came out on a broad mesa and the road went straight for over a mile. At the fork in the road, the horses veered left and galloped down into a grassy valley where Stolter could make out the outlines of a fence and a tall barn in the dark distance.

"Nick, ride back to the fence and drag the gate across and loop the ropes over both ends. I don't want these horses wandering off in the night," Southcott called out. Nick waved and trotted about two hundred yards back to where the four rail fence came up to the road. There was a lodge pole gate leaning up against the fence and some grass had started to grow up around it. Stolter kicked back the grass and dragged the gate across the road. Two braided rope loops hung of the ends and he secured the gate to the fence.

When Stolter got back to the barn, there were two lanterns lit and Beulah had unsaddled the white stockings mare. The hammerhead and buckskin were unsaddled and all three horses had the lather rubbed off them and turned out onto pasture. They closed up the barn and walked over to the ranch house where another lantern had been lit.

Southcott showed Stolter into a bedroom on the north side of the house. An exhausted man shed his clothes and fell onto the mattress to sleep.

### ###

The next morning outside the gray sky threatened rain. Southcott sat back in the old leather chair with a steaming cup of coffee and grimaced.

"I haven't always been so easy going and amiable." He winked a flirty eye at Beulah who smirked back to him.

"Many years back I had a partner in my business. Loren MacDonald. We called him Mac, for short. Together we supplied teams of horses for the stagecoaches at several stops between Phoenix, Tucson and Los Angeles." He took a sip. Beulah sat down on the cloth sofa near him and tucked her feet up underneath herself.

"Now Mac liked drinking whiskey, playing cards and entertaining the ladies. Pretty much like any other man does. He used to come back from one of his trips with stories enough for a week. Some of them were pretty outlandish and I sort of doubted that he'd done some of those things." Stolter laughed and sipped from his mug of coffee.

"On the last trip he made, Mac came home pretty busted up. Bandages around his ribs, arm in a sling. He'd been beaten badly. I never did find out who he got mixed up with but I guess they tried to kill him."

Stolter set his cup down on the small wood table and leaned his forearms onto his legs. "Musta have been a deal gone bad." Southcott stretched out both legs and nodded with a slow understanding.

"Mac told me he needed to get out of town for a while. His father had built small cabin up at Alton Camp and he was headed up there until he healed up. We've all been in jams before and friends have helped me out so it was a friend helping a friend." Southcott examined his fingers for a moment.

"I bundled up a week of food, some whiskey and his clothes onto a packhorse. He rode out of here in the middle of the night headed for Alton Camp," said Southcott as he shrugged.

"It was time for him to drop out of anyone's sight for a while. I've known folks who decided to disappear." Stolter gestured to the ceiling.

Southcott clucked his tongue and looked at the floor. "I went into Tucson and looked up Steve Rossiter. He was pretty reliable for working hard, getting paid and then drinking every dime. I had him help me run teams west and bring back other horses that needed rest. Nine days later, I paid him wages and he headed back to Tucson."

Beulah got up and brought the coffee to fill the cups. She slid a small plate of berry cobbler onto the table for each of them.

Southcott continued. "I figured that nine days would have been plenty. Nobody came around looking for him. Nothing unusual happened. He still wasn't back yet. So I saddled up and walked my horse up to Alton Camp. It's southwest of here about nine miles up in the hills. It's an old gold miner camp."

Outside a flash of lightning lit up the porch and seconds later came the rumble of thunder. Beulah stepped to the window and looked out into the darkening sky. "Looks like a storm rolling in. We best get things put away and buttoned down." She ran up the stairs.

Stolter and Southcott headed out to the corral to stow the riding gear into the barn. They carried in the barrels, chairs, and the workbench and then swung the heavy wood doors closed and put in the cross brace. The first drops splattered on the ground as they trotted up onto the broad, deep veranda.

Southcott stepped to the wash basin on the corner near the kitchen and began to wash up. "I got up to the camp and I smelled burning wood. I thought maybe he'd been cooking outside, but it wasn't a food cooking smell. When I got in sight, the cabin was burned out."

Stolter stood with his mouth open. "He get drunk and it burned down around him while he was passed out?"

Southcott shook his head as he rinsed off his soapy hands. As he dried them on a small, white towel he stepped back from the basin and gestured for Stolter to go ahead.

"It took me a couple of hours to sift through the burned timbers and destroyed things. His body wasn't there. The saddle to his horse was still up on the stand under the lean-to at the corral. Both his horse and the pack horse were out grazing, most likely." Stolter took the towel and dried his hands. They walked back into the house and closed the door buffeted by a gust of wind.

"That was when I got to thinking about where he could be. It's a rocky, hilly ground and not a lot of flat around there. The grass starts up on the slope of the hill and runs down over a pasture area and then it sort of falls off a ridge into a ravine. I knelt down on the edge and looked over into the rocks below. I didn't see any body down there."

"You were thinking that he stumbled over the edge?" Southcott nodded.

"It was about a mile down a path only a spry goat could walk so I was avoiding it. I walked out to the other end of the pasture and found both horses grazing in a patch of clover. I was about to turn around and head back to the burned cabin when I noticed a mound of dirt." South glanced to Stolter and nodded.

"It was a grave. No marker or anything. Fresh, maybe a couple of days. I figured it was him so I piled a good layer of rocks on top of the dirt and used a leather strap to fashion a cross for him." Southcott took a bite of the cobbler and wiped his face on the bandanna.

"He had always liked staying up at that cabin. So him being buried up there where he was happy, that was alright with me. Damn waste of a man." Stolter chewed on the cobbler.

"I'm feeling kinda put out because he was my partner and all, and I really did expect him to come back to work and us continue on. He always did. I brought both his horses back with me. On the walk coming back to the ranch I realized that I'd have to hire on a hand to help me run horses up to Phoenix and Santa Fe. Now, I tend to ride my hands pretty hard. Keep them working. I don't have time for slackers." Southcott looked at Stolter.

Beulah chuckled. "Griff would never make one of those lovely welcoming ladies at the church social. He'd be after you to get off the grass and don't be making any work for him." Stolter grinned. Another sharp crack of lightning made Stolter jump and Southcott chuckled.

"About a month later, I'm in Red Springs delivering horses and there's a message at the hotel for me. It's from Mac," said Southcott with a grin. "He said to leave twenty dollars in the envelope behind the hotel counter for him and he'd pick it up."

Stolter sat up straight and exclaimed, "Mac was alive? Who was in that grave?" Southcott held up his hand to calm down Stolter.

"I asked the clerk at the hotel to describe the man who left the message. He described Mac right down to the ugly belt buckle he used to wear. Said the man left it over two weeks ago. Now I'm not someone to just toss out twenty dollars here and there. But it's Mac." Southcott swallowed the last mouthful and drank some coffee.

"So I went over to the First National Bank and got out twenty dollars in paper money and had them fold it up like it was a letter. I left it for him and came back to the ranch." Beulah picked up the plates and took them to the kitchen.

"Week, maybe ten days later, he rides up to the corral and gets off. Skinny as a rail. He's got a tremble in his hands. Turns out the person in the grave up at the cabin was one of the men who tried to kill him. There were two. He ran out of money tracking the other man down." Southcott raised his eyebrows.

"Something had happened to Mac in all this. He'd changed. Asked me to buy out his part of the business. Said he wanted to move to Los Angeles to be closer to his daughter and grandkids. I never figured him to be someone to sit in a rocking chair on the front porch." Southcott grimaced as if in pain.

"I asked him about Alton Camp and he said he wouldn't live next to the grave of someone who tried to kill him. I guess I could understand about that," said Southcott. "Never heard from him again."

The rain was coming down heavy on the roof. There was the sound of water puddling in the front of the house. There were still frequent blinding flashes of stabbing lightning that lit up the house followed by thunder that rattled the windows.

Stolter shed his clothes in the bedroom and laid on top of the quilt. He watched the lightning strikes and listened to the thunder until his eyes grew heavy. It felt like he still had the entire length of the world in front of him before he would step onto the threshold. He remembered then how he used to hold Marianna in his arms during storms and that put a smile on his face as he drifted to sleep.

# Chapter 18

At noon the next day, they saddled up and trotted the six miles to Tucson. From the stables, Stolter bought a pack saddle, another set of saddle bags and four lengths of rope. From the general store he bought another pair of jeans, socks and boots as well as a red plaid cotton shirt and a couple of handkerchiefs. Southcott loaded up a box with coffee, beans and beef jerky as staples. Beulah made sure to buy twenty pounds of apples in a burlap sack for the trip.

At the Wells Fargo office there was a telegram waiting for him which puzzled him to no end.

> 'Moving stock to new home at Flint Hills Ranch. Bring herd there. Kelly, Lola, Colton.'

How would they have moved thirty head of cutting horse stock to the ranch at Flint Hills? Unless they had help. Maybe the attorney hired people to help. But why would the attorney have allowed them to move in the first place? Things were happening with the children that he did not understand.

Stolter sent a telegram to the kids.

> 'Arrived Tucson, heading for Flint Hills. Nick'.

Southcott introduced Stolter to the owner of the store with steel bars across the windows. "Nick, this is Gary Reynolds. Gary, this is Nick Stolter." The two men shook hands.

"I'm riding to Southern California soon and I'm needing a few things," Stolter said. Reynolds nodded and welcomed the three inside.

Reynolds had run a gunsmith shop for over twenty years. Stolter bought a Colt. 45, gun belt and a Winchester rifle and ammunition for weapons. Southcott made him buy two sharp knives and a small machete.

"So you taking the northwest route or are you going straight west then turning north?" Reynolds folded his arms across his broad chest and his blue eyes looked amused.

"I don't know," said Stolter. He turned to Southcott. "Which route am I taking?"

"The northwest route. Too many Mexican banditos on the straight west route. You'll be safer going northwest," said Southcott nodding.

Reynolds leaned both arms on the counter and looked at Southcott. "Did you tell him about the Blue Springs waterhole? Might save him some time."

Southcott looked pained. "No, I forgot about that one. I'll put it on the map for you, Nick."

Reynolds winked at Beulah. "Did you tell him about the shack at Willow Creek? It ain't much for half a mile off the road but if he needs to stop for the night and rest, it might be handy." Beulah laughed at the sparring travel experts.

"No, that one escaped me, too. Why don't you get a piece of paper and a pencil out, Gary, and start writing down all these places he is supposed to stop? It'll take this young man a month to get to California."

The gunsmith laughed as he drew out a sheet of brown paper and used a small knife to sharpen a pencil. Beulah poured a hot cup of coffee and sat down on the stool at the end of the counter. For another ten minutes and another few sheets of paper the men bandied about the pros and cons of a variety of stopping places all the way to the border.

Stolter shook Reynold's hand after he folded up the sheets. "According to your map, it looks like I'll actually be able to ride for at least a mile without stopping in some places." They all laughed.

Gary chuckled. "In my younger days, I drove a freight wagon on a route from Denver all the way to San Francisco. I had my favorite spots to camp out, to spend a couple of days and good friends along the way. When I get the itch, I'll take a ride and think about the old times. As I get older, I like staying close to home."

The three walked out of the store and mounted up. They waved to the genial gunsmith and walked their horses out the north of town. Beulah and Southcott trotted side by side with Stolter hanging about thirty feet back. He thought about getting home and trying to find some semblance of a life without Marianna. His couple of days gone had turned into a month.

### ###

For dinner that night Beulah warmed up the thick slabs of honeyed ham she had purchased in Tucson. Sweet potatoes and small ears of corn along with buttermilk biscuits and butter rounded out the meal. Nobody could fit in the tempting strawberry rhubarb cobbler and it was covered over on the counter.

Stolter spread out the brown paper map on the big living room round table alongside the written information from Reynolds. Southcott brought over the big hurricane lamp that threw out a yellowish light. There were two wider rivers to watch out for in case of a heavy rain and a flash flood. Several of the stops piggybacked on top of an old stagecoach run so the road would be plenty wide.

"If'n I was a younger man and in better shape, I'd most likely ride along with you on the drive, Nick." Southcott's voice was low and sincere. Stolter gave him a warm smile and gripped his arm.

"I'll be alright. But if you wake up one morning and find me sleeping out on the veranda, you'll know I ran from trouble." Both men chuckled.

Beulah wiped off her hands and stood next to the table looking at the map. "It's been interesting knowing you these last few days, Nick. If you are ever back over in this area, stop in so we can hear how everything is going."

Stolter rubbed his tired eyes and folded the map. "Thank you kindly, Ma'am. Knowing you two nice people is about the only good thing I'll remember from being here."

Stolter stepped outside to walk to the corral. As he leaned against the rail he watched to two buckskin fillies grazing. Home was so much nearer now, but the danger was increased. He had heard a multitude of stories about the Tucson to Los Angeles stage runs where crews, passengers and complete stages had disappeared. He tried to shake the thoughts from his mind.

There was no one else to come to his aid. He had to do this himself. It was time for him to take charge and get it done. He'd lick his wounds behind the safety of his own gate later. That night he had twisted and turned in front of the mirror to look at the angry red scars of his wounds. They were still tender and sore. One showed a moist, bright read as if it didn't want to heal. Using his fingers, he spread the cool salve over it. And then put a clean bandage over the top.

From the safety and comfort of the warm bed, his eyes looked out the large window to the night sky. There were too many things to think over and try to resolve. He had no answers as he closed his eyes.

### ###

Stolter sat up on the edge of the bed and tried to remember where he was. Brilliant streams of sunshine shone into the room and a flurry of dust mites floated in the warm air. He rubbed his face and combed his fingers back through his hair.

From the pitcher of water on the small table, he poured water into the white basin and washed himself. He'd have to find a place to wash out his dirty shirt. Barefoot, he walked out to the main room. The smell of cooking foot and hot coffee enveloped him. Beulah smiled at him and gestured to a chair at the table. Southcott who was bare chested and sporting a fresh white bandages sat drinking hot coffee.

The elder man lifted the coffee mug in salutation. "It's good to be home."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to being home myself." Beulah set down a plate of browned potatoes, three eggs, soft fragrant beans and four thick slices of bacon. Stolter's eyes go big.

He gave her a big grin. "I didn't know you could cook like this, Miss Beulah!"

Beulah winked and waved the spatula. "Well, I don't do it often so enjoy it."

Stolter picked up a fork and began to eat. "How'd you come to have this place, Griff?"

Southcott took another sip of the coffee. "This used to be the Grayson Ranch. My pa's place is the ranch to the west of here. When Johnny Grayson died, his widow, Molly rode over to our place one day and asked my pa if he wanted to buy it. She decided to take the four kids and move back to St Louis, where she's from."

"Turns out that Johnny told her he knew he was gonna die. He had came down with that pneumonia that everyone got that year. Johnny told Molly that if she decided to leave, to come over to pa so the land would stay with people he knew rather than go to city slicker strangers." Southcott laughed as he took another bite.

"My brother, Randall and his wife Cherie and their kids live over at my pa's place and I moved in here to run this place. Been here ever since." Southcott wiggled his eyebrows and smiled. "To me, it'll always be the Grayson Ranch even though my name is on the deed as owner."

Beulah sat down and they all ate in silence for more than a few minutes. Stolter pushed back from the table and taking his coffee cup, went out onto the veranda. Southcott sat down on the wide bench near the horseman and rolled a cigarette.

Stolter gestured out towards the two story barn in the distance. "My pa came over from Germany. The only one in his family that would take a risk, or so he said. At eighteen he'd been here for two year when he met my ma. She and her sister walked into the general store there in north New Orleans and he said after that he never looked at another woman." Stolter laughed and took a drink of his coffee.

"The first couple years were rough for them. They moved around some. My older brother was born over in Natchez, Louisiana and they had started up a little trading post. Thing started to get better for them. Two years later, they had gone back to New Orleans for a visit when my mother had me unexpectedly, a month early. Ma always said I came kicking and screaming into the world and haven't shut up since." Stolter laughed.

"I've never known life without being hungry or feeling pain of some sort. I got the pox when I was three, almost died. The neighbor's dog bit me something fierce and I almost bled to death before they could get me to a doctor. I've been run over by steers in a stampede, bucked off far too many horses and I tend to black out when I've drank too much. I'm sure there are things I've done when I've been drinking that I don't know I've done." Stolter sat up on the top rail and looked at Southcott.

"I was nine when the pain in my left ear started up. I thought I had something in it, but ma looked, aunt looked and nothing. Went to the doctor and he said it was all swelled up and red down inside. The doc told ma to get some medicine over at the general store for my ear. But we went home without it. My folks didn't have the money for it. The pain just about drove me crazy. I tried everything you could think of, water, oil, juice from a lemon, and it got worse."

Beulah settled on the bench alongside Southcott. "What did you do?"

"I stopped going to school because I couldn't concentrate on the studies. I picked fights just to take my mind off it. Little by little I noticed that I couldn't hear out of that ear any more. I begged my folks to help me, tried to tell them how much it hurt but they did nothing. They had other kids to worry about. Told me to ignore it and it would go away. My ma prayed to God to heal me. I felt like they had abandoned me, like I was still that kicking and screaming baby ma talked about."

Southcott said, "You seem okay now. How did you heal up?"

"One of the boys I went to school with, Lucien Bell, lived down in the bayou. I used to beat up the punks and bullies that made him miserable. He always told me to come visit him so I headed to his place. After an hour of being there, his ma asked me why I kept rubbing my ear. I had nothing to lose so I told her. She was French creole and black and had family medicines that she used. She mixed up some God awful smelling yellowish goo and shoved it in my ear and made me lay down for an hour."

Beulah asked, "What was in it?"

"I don't know. But it did the trick. I started hearing again that day. By the next morning my ear was still tender but I could hear faintly out of it. I didn't know that Mrs. Bell had sent word to my folks that I was staying with them while I healed up. Lucien and I bummed around for almost a week and one day Mrs. Bell announced it was time for me to go home. They took me as far as center of New Orleans and gave me two dollars to get back home." Stolter paused and looked at his coffee cup for a silent moment.

"Except it wasn't home for me anymore. I'd seen how other families lived. I knew how to work hard and put money in my pocket and food in my belly. It felt like a death sentence walking back into the small house. My pa tried to strike me for running off like that and I caught his fist before he could hit me. My ma just sat next to the fire crying. I packed everything I wanted, threw the saddle on my horse and walked off the property. I was eleven years old."

Southcott looked off into the distance and said, "Every family is different. Most parents love their children and are willing to do just about anything for their health and happiness."

Stolter cleared his throat and set the coffee cup onto the rough wooden table. "I'd like to get a good look at them horses before I get on the road with them." Southcott nodded.

"I need to get supplies along the way, too. I'm thinking that I'll make ten stops on the way home, try to make fifteen miles each day. Griff, you know that road a lot better than me. I've got Gary's map of where I can stop the horses. I was hoping you could mark down where I should avoid, places where you know I shouldn't be. Maybe you could work on that while I check over the horses?"

Southcott stood up. "Sure, Nick. I can do that. Beulah, would you help me find my paper and ink. I think it's in the cabinet in the main room." They walked through the front door and Stolter stepped down into the yard.

### ###

Straight up twelve noon, Stolter rode out of Southcott Ranch. Beulah and Southcott had stood on the porch and waved as the horses fell into line by Stolter's whistle. They were waiting to see if the big Mexican mustang stayed with Southcott on the ranch or continued on with Stolter. The horse tossed his head as he trotted by the house and was the last onto the road.

Four miles went by fast as his thoughts drifted. At different times, the feisty black yearlings loped alongside him and then dropped back. When Stolter twisted around in the saddle, he saw the big horse twenty yards back running along. It must not have been the right place for the mustang to stay. The Mexicans would know the reason why the animal was on the run west.

The small creek gurgled right across the road and he stopped the herd to drink. He got them back up to a gallop and five miles went by. He went through a small community with a church and saw an afternoon picnic where folks waved at him as he galloped by. As good as he was feeling, he was bound and determined to get farther along the road.

It was another hour gone by when Stolter reined his horse in up on a slight rise above the road, taking in the building below. It was an old stagecoach structure surrounded on the east side with hedgehog cacti with brilliant pink flowers. The station was nestled like a sleeping behemoth its back up against wide jagged rust colored canyon walls. One old cottonwood tree leaned against the southwest corner with heavy branches splayed out dropping leaves and twigs onto the roof.

Red Oaks Pass Station had a heavy river rock façade, a jumbled mass of stones pushed in with mortar like an impenetrable quilt from foundation to roofline. Almost as if two separate buildings had been meshed together, part was a long and low old structure on one end with a single pitched sloped roof, sections of shingles missing and in disrepair. The other half a two story broad barn type of lodge.

Stolter saw that the station sat in general dilapidation with more than a few windows patched over like eyes behind a patch to the world. Fresh, new planks are here and there but the decades had not been good to this wooded shelter. The broad stone porch with five wide-plank steps lead up from the flagstone walk. It reminded him of one of those Rocky mountain hunting lodges with whole, log walls and a twenty foot deep veranda.

Red Oaks Pass station had three stagecoaches parked on the sides of the clearing, two dozen riderless horses in the corral and a dozen occupied rocking chairs keeping the porch a busy place. People enjoyed drinks and dinner on the porch. Stolter could see white puffy smoke puffed from the tall chimney at the rear of the building.

Southcott had been very detailed and descriptive about the business done at the station. He had said it was an important hub of activity for the locals and wanderers that moved along the road. Aside from its use as a stagecoach stop, the locals used it as a social gathering place.

Stolter paid for hay in an empty corral for the herd. The mustang had balked at moving in through the gate, but coaxing with a handful of grain convinced him to join the rest of the horses.

Stolter took off his hat as he walked through the main double doors. Inside it was two stories with a broad staircase with a placard offering private rooms for guests. A river rock seven foot high fireplace towered at the end of the room. A saloon piano pounded out a raucous melody and the doorway to a cardroom showed men gathered around tables.

"Johnny Dardaine, bartender." A congenial smile with slicked back black hair above a smooth, youthful face and brow. The wise cold eyes and the deft, active hands were just a type of man who controlled saloons and bars across much of the west.

"Nick Stolter, cutting horse trainer." The horseman jumped when the bartender slammed both hands on the shiny wood bar. Stolter frowned. The bartender frowned back at him and gestured to the supplies at the bar.

"Beer." The man nodded and brought up a pitcher from an ice bucket. He set the mug in front of Stolter.

"You're gonna want to go see Mr. Metzger in the second room on the right down the hallway. He's in charge of our wire here." Dardaine gestured to the hallway near the stairs.

Stolter shook his head. "I don't need no more bad news."

Dardaine held out both hands in alarm with eyes wide. "No, sir. It's not like that. Just go on back and talk to Metzger. I'm sure he will help you." Stolter leaned both hands on the bar and looked at the floor. As a boy, his folks only got wires when bad news came calling. He'd never known anything good to come from a wire arriving. But now the wire would be coming from his children or the lawyer.

Stolter fished a coin out of his pocket, laid it on the bar, and picked up the cold mug. The bartender gestured towards the hallway.

Mr. Metzger was a shorter, slight man with a long sleeved white shirt, sleeve garters and small round spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

Without looking up from the stack of papers, he said, "Just leave it there on the table by the door. Thank you."

Stolter cleared his throat. "Mr. Metzger, Johnny said that I should come see you. Something about a wire. Name's Stolter. Nick Stolter." The clerk jumped up shaking the table so that some of the papers in the stack fluttered to the floor.

"Stolter. Nick Stolter." The clerk gasped for air and put a hand on his chest. Stolter took a drink of the beer and looked around the high ceilinged office. Tall six-pane windows grimy with fine silt. Dust mites danced in the sunbeams.

Metzger gathered his wits and pushed an old wooden chair next to the desk. He looked like he had lived a serious life without much imagination or initiative. He gestured as he lifted a leather portfolio off a small table.

"Mr. Stolter, I'm not just the Western Union officer here at Red Oaks. I'm also an attorney. I don't advertise the fact, but I have found it necessary to be discreet from time to time." He took off the glasses and cleaned them with a soft, white cloth.

Stolter shook his head. "I don't understand what this is about. Am I in some sort of trouble?"

Metzger shook his head and pursed his lips. "No, no. Quite the opposite," said Metzger. "On the contrary. I would seem that you have friends in low and in high places, Mr. Stolter." From the portfolio, he brought out several sheets of white paper with small black printing. He laid the first one in front of Stolter on the desk.

"This is your receipt for the purchase of fifteen head of horses from a Mr. Cody Parmentier of Santa Fe." Metzger held his eyes on Stolter. The horseman grunted.

Stolter brought up his hand and rubbed the outside corner of his right eye as he tried to think. Then he blinked three times and smiled with a grimace. It was his not so subtle poker face that he used to stall while thinking.

"That is a copy, Mr. Stolter. I have the original in my safe. Just for security, in case it's needed." Stolter nodded.

"I've lost my receipt for the horses. I've had some difficulties getting this far." He picked up the paper and folded it.

Metzger cleared his throat. "That was arranged via courier a few days ago. A friend of yours wanted to make sure you were traveling with the right documents." He paused and looked down at the papers.

"I've been acquainted with an attorney named Merle Doyle in Bradford, for many years. We've been on opposite sides of a courtroom and a few times on the same side. I want you to understand that he is acting in your interests and the interests of your children right now."

Stolter sat up straight. "What happened?"

Metzger held his hands to calm Stolter. "I certainly don't know all the details. What I do know is that your late wife's father, Glen Richardson, had a stipulation in his will that any lands owned by his daughter would be paid off at the time of her death. It gives the children a place to live without encumbrance."

"What?" Stolter's mouth hung open.

"It means that Doyle has filed the petition in Los Angeles court to have Mr. Richardson's estate pay in full for your ranch you purchased with your wife. Windy Ridge Ranch should be free and clear within the month, courtesy of your late wife's father."

"I'm not sure why he would do that. Glenn, I mean." Metzger slid another sheet in front of Stolter. This one looked like a legal document with a raised seal in the corner. Stolter frowned looking at the document. He rubbed his eyes and gulped down a good portion of the beer.

"This give you options, Mr. Stolter. You can choose to move back to Windy Ridge and lease out Flint Hills. Or you can remain at Flint Hills and lease out or even sell Windy Ridge."

"What? How do you know all this?" Stolter could not fathom the options and decisions to be made.

"That is the stipulation. Flint Hills Ranch must remain in the possession of a Richardson. Your children are by birth descendants of the Richardsons, being the children of Marianna. When they reach majority, they will own equal shares of Flint Hills Ranch."

"Wait. I live at Windy Ridge, not Flint Hills." The wire man let out a long sigh and cleaned his glasses again.

"Mr. Stolter, you've been out of sight and out of contact for more than a few weeks now. You probably do not know that your children decided, along with Doyle, to move their home to the Flint Hills Ranch. They live there now."

"What? Why'd they do that?" Stolter clenched the edge of the desk.

Metzger laid the last white sheet in front of Stolter. It was his last will and testament.

"I'm a nosy man, Mr. Stolter. I look into things. In the event that you meet your untimely demise before you reach the Flint Hills Ranch, this document will protect your children from anyone trying to collect your estate. Each of your children receive a modest monthly sum with a lump sum when they reach eighteen." Metzger slid a quill and ink well halfway across the desk.

Stolter picked up the quill, looked at Metzger and put the quill down. "What do you get out of this? Somebody paying you to get me to sign this?" Metzger held out his hands palm up as if to ward off the confusion.

"No. You don't have to sign anything. In fact, I personally would rather you did not. I received instructions and payment to set up this will just in case you traveled through Red Oaks Pass Station. If you had never come through, if you had not walked through that door, I would have held this portfolio for another twelve months. Then the instructions were to send it via courier to an address in New Orleans."

Stolter stood up and paced to the far side of the room. He rubbed his face hard and shook his head. His children had moved the ranch. How did they do it? Who helped them? Who did he know in New Orleans? Who was this Parmentier? Dozens of questions flooded his mind.

"Are we done here?" Stolter rubbed his face hard.

"Yes, unless you wish to sign the bottom of this document. If not, I'll sign and record it that I found you of sound mind and body on this date. I've got a good argument that it will hold up in court, if needed." Stolter shook his head.

The wireman stood up and fished a chain with three keys in the end from his vest pocket. He unlocked a roll top desk and revealed a Western Union telegraph machine.

"Mr. Stolter, if you would write out your message, I'll send it to your children." With a few twists of the small wires, Metzger attached the wires and the machine tapped out its readiness.

Stolter drank down the last of the beer. "Just tell 'em I'm okay and trying to get home." The wireman grimaced and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and looked at Stolter.

The attorney looked like a coiled spring. "These are your children, Mr. Stolter."

The horseman leaned against the window sill and looked out. He wanted to say too much. Everyone between here and home would be reading his words, also. Stolter stepped over to the desk and flipped the will over. He scribbled ink and handed the sheet to the Metzger. The telegraph operator's mouth fell open and he frowned in disbelief.

"If they're really at Flint Hills, they'll know what to do when they get that. Send it." Stolter reached for his hat, picked up the mug, and took three steps towards the door.

"Oh! Wait! There's one more thing!" Metzger jumped up and hurried around the edge of the wooden desk. From the leather portfolio, he dumped out a handful of coins. Into Stolter's hand he counted fifty dollars.

"The instructions say to give you traveling money." Metzger watched Stolter's reaction.

Stolter laid five dollars on the desk. "Acknowledge receipt of the money, Mr. Metzger. Thank you."

More than a few sets of eyes watched the tall, lean horseman walk from the hallway into the restaurant. Half an hour later, Stolter's belly was full and he had four meals packed along with coffee, beans, dried fruit, and sugar.

As he leaned against the corral rail, he thought about the time and distance he had in front of him. It was miles and hours and the more he digested it, the greater it formed into a barrier to be overcome. A figure walking around the side distracted him.

"Mister, those yearlings are right ornery." It was the smithy.

Stolter chuckled. "Yes, I need to find a sack of apples for them. They like those. Anyone around selling apples?"

"No. Still too early in the season for apples. Horses like carrots, too. I keep a bushel of them handy for horses that don't take kindly to having their shoes tended. I'll give you some of them." The man gestured for Stolter to follow. A few minutes later those ornery yearlings were crunching tasty carrots. All the horses except the mustang nosed around for more carrots.

The big paint sniffed and then turned away.

The smithy smiled. "I ain't never thought of myself as being something special. I know I'm not. A lot of the horses that come through here are used to being around people. I've seen that before. Horses won't take food from a man's hand,"

"No, I think he just doesn't like carrots. He'll eat apples from my hand just fine. I think he might have been trained that way, though." Stolter watched the animal walk to the far side of the corral and chew a mouthful of hay.

"Them mustangs can't be trained. They're wild. You don't know when they'll turn on a man. Can't be trusted. Good lookin' animal, though." The smithy shook his head.

"He's been following me and the herd since east of Tucson. Keeps right up with us. Beds down at night when I stop. It's like I happen to be going the same way he is and so he tolerates us," Stolter said with a chuckle.

"Odd to know a wild one like that finds you amusing." It felt foolish to even try to respond to that remark. As he rode past the smithy, he lifted a hand in farewell. He chuckled to himself as he looked back at the herd following his whistle. The herd was rested, bellies full of hay and had drank a full trough of water. The map showed the next stop was nine miles.

### ###

The gray clouds had trailed him since about noon, but now they were right overhead. Cold rain drops hit his face and as he wiped his eyes, the roan lost its footing and began to slide in the loose gravel. The road was covered over by a slide and he saw it too late.

Dirt and gravel lay over the top of moldering slime of dead leaves from winter. The more the horse struggled to climb up the hill, the faster the animal slid down the slope. Seventy five yards to the bottom and Stolter patted the neck of the shaking horse.

When he looked up the slope it was the big Mexican mustang that came charging down the slope flinging rocks and dirt. The other horses hesitated and then whinnied and began to clamber down the slide. Stolter watched in amazement as the stallion tossed its head and whinnied to the rest of the horses.

At the edge of the clearing in the trees Stolter dismounted and strung up the canvas tarp as a shelter. He unsaddled the roan and gathered up twigs and dry leaves and got a fire going. Coffee, cold cornbread and a cup of chili was lunch while he watched the drizzling rain.

Heavy cobwebs drenched with moisture sagged and swayed in the wind. The trees at the opposite edge of the clearing leaned from the force of the wind. The fire hissed and sputtered as Stolter pushed a damp branch into it.

His left wrist was still sore and he rubbed it. His left knee had stiffened up while he had covered the miles earlier and now he noticed the ache. He wasn't a young man anymore and rough and tumble times were a thing of the past. He looked at the smoking fire and shook his head.

After he poured the last of the coffee into his cup and stepped out from under the canvas, he saw that the horses were not in sight. None of them. Stolter frowned and debated pushing out a whistle but then went back under the shelter and sat down. They had followed him for one hundred fifty miles. They knew where he was.

The horseman threw a couple more chunks of the rotted wood onto the fire. He was tired. He felt like he could sleep for a week. He would have to find a way out and get back to the main road. The watch showed 2:30pm.

There would be hours of hard work when he got back to the ranch. Somewhere deep inside he would have to find the strength to go on, to provide for his children and to live a life in peace. He should have stayed home and found another way, like Marianna had wanted. Grimacing, he rubbed his face with both hands and pulled the saddle blanket up over himself.

It was the sharp crack of breaking wood that brought him awake. Two of the horses had moved in under the trees. His roan snorted and tossed its head. The mustang pawed the ground. Stolter sat up with a groan. The rain had stopped. The fire had gone out.

"We aren't going anywhere until we find a way out of here, boys," he said with a voice lacking enthusiasm. Again, as if to understand, the mustang pawed at the ground and whinnied. Stolter frowned.

"Is that where you horses went? You found a way back to the road?" Stolter laughed at himself talking to the horses.

He pointed at the mustang. "I'd bet those kids would know exactly what you want."

With an old shirt he dried off the roan and saddled up. The watch showed 4:30pm. As best he could figure by studying the map, he was still six miles out of the next water hole at Cactus Verde. But it might as well be hundred miles until he could find his way back to the road. He shook off the water from the canvas and tied it onto the back of the saddle. Everything was packed up and he might have another two hours of daylight if he was lucky.

The moment he swung into the saddle, the big mustang whinnied and wheeled away to the south. Stolter was surprised to find the roan headed after the running horse. The narrow trail went through a copse of trees, around a fall of boulders and then climbed up a slick clay bank. Twice, the mustang cut back to an animal trail higher on the hill.

Stolter looked at the chewed up ground and hung onto the saddle as his roan followed the mustang. About two hundred yards later, the panting horses kicked up loose gravel as they came out on a wide road.

"So you went looking for a way out and left me down there to rest?" Stolter looked at the other fourteen horses who nibbled at grass alongside the road. He shook his head and walked his horse east around the curve and came to the slide area. He turned around and trotted back to his horses.

"My money says you've been here before, haven't you? I bet you and Rio and any number of your wild friends have been through here dozens of times. You just got stuck with me this trip." Stolter laughed.

The air was fresh and cool. The road damp, muddy in places with pooled water. When he got too close to the trees he got a face-full of wet leaves.

A sliver of reddish orange paused at the horizon and threw golden streaks up onto the clouds. An old fence and tall saguaro cacti flanked the driveway and Stolter turned in followed by the herd.

It was ten foot square lean-to with a wooden floor and a rusty wood stove perched up on bricks in the corner and a shed roof. Two of the side walls were built up adobe that had started to crumble. The last person to visit had stacked up firewood in the dry corner near a long alder pole bench.

An hour later, Stolter leaned against one of the posts and watched as the horses grazed in the pasture. He'd made it this far, had food, a warm fire, and he was still alive. Tomorrow he would buy a few more supplies in the next town and keep moving towards home. He was asleep within seconds after wrapping the blanket around himself.

### ###

Rising out of the dusty flat land was an area marked by Gary on the map as Sawyer Flats. Wind damaged sandstone spires of rock had been honed into sharp points. Outcroppings of black basalt and lava jutted from the earth. Red dirt and clay missed with dark brown rich earth where tiny green plants pushed up through it to find the sun.

Decades of sudden fierce flash floods had carved through the land making sudden gullies and arroyos where the sandstone forced the water to turn around curves. The horseman paused on a butte to look at the tall saguaro sentinels of the desert. Birds flitted in between the spiny arms chasing bugs.

A gust of wind caught his attention and his eyes turned south. A storm was blowing up with gray angry clouds headed towards him. He wound his way down the north end of the butte and into a stand of stunted trees sheltered up against the sandstone. More rain was coming and he had to work fast. He tied a rope between two of the twisted trees. He slung the canvas tarp over the rope and created a tent as the wind started to whip up. He pounded small wood spikes down through the corners to hold the tent down. He shoved in a couple of alder and birch poles, stacking them to get him up off the ground. It was when he took off his boots that he felt the soreness in his arches and ankles. Somehow he had hurt his feet and had been ignoring the discomfort.

Over half an hour the rain poured in sheets. Thick grayness blotted out the other side of the gully and the drumming beat of rain on the canvas drowned out any other noises. After the first downpour, there was a few seconds of brilliant sun licking against the rust colored cliffs above him. It was gone as fast as it came. His plans to put miles behind him washed away with the heavy rain.

The horses were gone out of sight. They must have found grass somewhere. Stolter pulled a chunk of the stale cornbread out of his saddlebags and chewed on the rough, grainy texture. He thought about a fire but there were more clouds rolling over the top of him and the rain would have drowned the flames.

The flickering match showed the time to be 8:30. He'd managed to get some rest for almost four hours. Judging by the stars overhead the storm had blown itself out or moved on north. His bellow growled and he needed food. He busted up two of the long poles from inside the tarp and managed to get a couple sparks to catch in the kindling. He ate the last of his beef and beans and drank down two cups of coffee.

Perhaps he had just enough sand left to finish what he had started. He had already gone farther than he had anticipated. He had committed to seeing this ride through and knew he had to make it home. But just what that meant he had no idea from here on, But he was determined. Stolter knew he had to avoid getting hurt, avoid trouble and try to keep himself healthy. He couldn't let himself get drained of energy and run down. That was a sure way to have sickness come settle in. And sickness was what killed Marianna.

He wasn't going anywhere in the dark. It was a foreign unknown landscape and he would be a fool to get back in the saddle. He'd never find all the horses. He built up the fire and drank another cup of coffee. He looked at the map again and tried to memorize the next three stops, but his mind drifted away to pretty brown hair and the memory of her soft skin. He laid down and pulled the blankets over himself. He watched the fire until his eyes grew heavy.

### ###

The day dawn with a clear blue sky. Dozens of water drops fell when the breeze blew through the trees. The pasture looked like it had hundreds of gleaming diamonds in the grass.

Stolter had been riding for about an hour after leaving Sawyer Flats. The terrain had become more flat lands, scrub brush and fragrant sage. After he came around a turn, the road broadened out and it appeared to be a crossroads where wagon tracks led to the edges. Stolter slowed down to take a look. Catty corner across the intersection there were three small dark haired children standing on a big wooden box about three foot high.

"Mr. Nick! Mr. Nick!" They smiled and waved their hands. Stolter frowned and pulled his roan over to the kids who are jumping up and down.

Stolter opened his mouth and started to say something, but the biggest boy put his fingers in his mouth and gave a two toned whistle at the horses. They all pricked up their ears and meandered around. The big Mexican paint nickered back and tossed his head as he moved in between Stolter and the children.

"Icksy! Icksy!" They all hugged and scratched the big stallion, talking to him in rapid Spanish. As the oldest boy, maybe eight or nine, threw the padded blanket over the back of the stallion, Stolter realize these were Mexican children. They all wore khaki pants, pull over woven cotton shirts, colorful quilted jackets and brown leather boots. They looked like miniature grownups.

"Who are you? Stolter looked from child to child and waited for someone to answer. "Oh, is this your horse?"

The oldest boy grinned. "I am Eduardo, but everyone calls me Eddie." He pointed to the next boy. "Juan."

The littlest girl waved and smiled. She did not look to be any older than about three or four. She opened her mouth and then looked at Eddie who nodded. "My name is Margarita but you can call me Chita." She giggled, then blushed and buried her face in Juan's shirt.

"Very good, Chita." Eddie grinned and looked at Stolter.

"She's been practicing her English." Eddie reached and patted her black hair. Then he turned to the big mustang.

"This is Viento Salvaje. It means the wild one of the wind. We call him Icksy, for short. Nobody owns the mustangs, Mr. Nick. They are wild animals, but they let us ride if we feed them." Stolter watched the smiling, tiny girl feed apple halves to the big horse. She could have walked underneath the big horse, she was so small.

"Wait. How do you know who I am?" Stolter rubbed his face with his bandanna.

"Rio said you would be coming by. We were waiting for the ride to Yuma. To see my aunt, who is sick. We are going to help her for a couple days." It was a shining eye, white toothy smile of a child. All three children were smiling. Stolter frowned and a dozen questions raced through his mind.

Each child had a big cloth satchel on their back. Eddie climbed back up onto the tall, wooden box and then spread another padded blanket onto the horse's back.

"All three of you will ride the same horse? Do you want to ride with me?" Stolter watched the girl get on first, then the older boy and then the tallest boy. They got comfortable with their feet in the little leather straps.

"No, thank you. We've been waiting for him. We ride him all the time." They had an odd look of puzzlement on their small faces.

"Where are your mom and dad? Why are you out there all by yourself?" Stolter had started to let the questions out.

"We aren't all alone. You're here. Icksy is here. We're late. Let's ride." Stolter was incredulous and shook his head. Eddie clucked his tongue and the mustang walked towards the road and then broke into a trot. Stolter blinked and watched the other horses fall into line behind the mustang.

Stolter yelled, "Wait. Why are we late? When was Rio here?"

It was a verbal command the boy gave to the big horse. It was moving art to watch the weight shift and the powerful animal shift his weight into an easy lope. Stolter then woke up to having to follow three unknown Mexican children on a Mexican mustang with no bridle on a strange trail.

Five miles seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. The children rode as a single rider. When Stolter looked behind him it was an astounding sight to see two abreast herd running with them. His roan had to pull up to avoid hitting the mustang when they slowed to veer off the trail and then picked up speed once again.

There was a row of weathered shacks with women and children waving as the horses passed through. The kids started yelling in Spanish and waving their hands. Two cloth packets were tossed to the waiting hands. Cheers followed, kisses were thrown and hands were waved to them as they ran up a narrow path and veered back onto the main road. Stolter waved and chuckled to himself at the informal delivery systems.

The group galloped another three miles until the mustang slowed to a trot. Stolter pulled up alongside the mustang and again was amazed at the waving, smiling children. Just then the trot became a walk. Stolter looked around at small scrub trees, sandy ground and barren hills in the distance.

The oldest boy gestured to the left and the mustang turned into a path in between boulders and trees. Stolter followed about a quarter mile and then stopped on the side of the path. All fourteen horses walked in. The path led to a wide grassy area with a flowing creek to the east side. The kids jumped down and all the horses waded into the water.

Stolter waved a hand. "I don't think this is on the map, Eddie. I don't want to be lost."

"We know all the stops between here and Yuma, Mr. Nick. You won't get lost." The boy grinned. "Show me your map and I'll help you with it."

Stolter unfolded the brown paper map and Eddie traced the route with his finger to Yuma.

"Just after Silverhaven and before Yuma, we come to my aunt's house. You can stop and eat and stay overnight. The horses can rest and graze there. Chita, give me your pencil so I can mark the map for Mr. Nick." The small girl rustled around inside her pouch and then handed a lead pencil to Eddie.

The young boy made four wavy lines at difference places on the map. "These are the water holes that are safe. It is where we usually stop."

Stolter looked at the boy. "What about the places I have already marked as water holes?"

Eddie looked at Juan who nodded. "Too many people stop at those water holes, Mr. Nick. Too many not good people. We've had trouble on the times when we've stopped at those water holes. There are other places to stop that are safer." Just then Juan said something in Spanish.

"We have to ride if we are going to make it on time, Mr. Nick." Eddie tugged on Juan's jacket.

"Come on, help me check the horses." The kids stood up and one by one checked over all the horses.

"Mr. Nick!?" Eddie called out. Stolter walked over to the boy who was standing next to one of the black yearlings.

"He's got a bad cut on his back leg. We're going to put some mashed up cactus on it and wrap it up so it doesn't get real bad. When we get to Aunt's house, my uncle will take another look at it." Eddie pointed to the rear leg as Juan and Chita trotted into the brush.

Stolter slid his hand down the flank and then looked at the bloody four inch long gash. Stolter frowned. "How do you know to use cactus?"

"Because that's what Uncle uses at the ranch. We watch and learn, Mr. Nick. These horses are important to our lives every day. We have to take care of them." Juan murmured to the horse as he cleaned the wound with the edge of his shirt.

Chita laid down three chunks of cactus onto a flat rock and began mashing them with another rounded rock. Juan lifted the top saddle pad off Icksy and laid it flat on the ground. With his knife he ripped out the seam and folded back the leather. Inside, underneath was a thick white cotton blanket which he cut a six inch wide strip. He handed the long strip to Eddie.

Several times the yearling nickered and was answered by Icksy. Stolter's roan nickered twice. There was an unusual communication going on while the kids tended to the yearling.

Chita cut up two apples and after Eddie stood up to wash his hands, she fed the pieces to the yearling. Stolter felt a sudden pang as the yearling had always danced sideways to avoid the man's hands. Yet here was a small child, without fear, feeding it from her hand. There was a sudden memory rushed over his mind of Lola out in the yard feeding a carrot to a young colt. The white bandage covered the wound and had been tied on with a small narrow leather strap. They all mounted up and Icksy carrying the children led the way west.

# Chapter 19

At dusk, Icksy and the children slowed to a trot and then to a walk. Eddie pointed to the blocked path. Prickly pear cacti had grown across the trail off to the right. The deep green thick skin was dotted with pink to reddish flowers with broad petals. Stolter took out his machete and after about twenty minutes had cleared the path. The mustang led the herd down a slight incline, then left around an outcropping of black rock and about fifty yards further there was a springs.

Juan and Chita cleared out the campfire ring and gathered kindling and wood. From each child's pack w they took out a soft canvas sling. Eddie tied the rope end between the trees. The three saddle pads were sorted into the slings. The kids had brought their own hammocks.

Stolter took out one of the steel pans and shared food with the children. After cleaning up their meals, they took off their shoes and climbed up into the hammocks.

"Would you tell us a story while we go to sleep, Mr. Nick?" Juan asked. The dancing light of the fire threw shadows up onto the trees and rocks. It seemed years since he had told a story to Colton.

Stolter rolled out his bedroll and then built up the fire. He nodded and looked at the three sets of shining eyes watching him.

"Jordy Lawrence and Zeb Black used to ride hired gun for the stagecoach from Dodge City down to Oklahoma City twice a month. It's about 275 miles and because it was a common route, it was a pretty good road to run." Nick poked and stirred the fire.

"Mick Nissen was the driver. Long time driver. Been all over the US taking stages just about everywhere. You knew you were in good hands with Mick driving. It had been bad weather on that trip. Lighting and thunder. Lots of rain. Rain makes the road muddy. As they went around a corner the stage slid in the mud, hit a rock and broke one of the rear wheel. It was in a dozen pieces."

"On that trip there were only four passengers, two men and two women. Nobody wanted to travel in the rain but these four people had wanted to get to Oklahoma City for some reason. So here they all were broke down alongside the road. Mick knew there wasn't another stage due for two days going in either direction."

"One of the women said she would ride one of the stage horses if they were to be unhooked and given some reins. She was a country girl used to riding bareback and mainly with a halter. The driver, Mick, didn't want a woman out riding by herself and he raised all kinds of complaints about a lone woman and things."

"Now Jordy and Zeb were hired to keep the passengers safe. They talked it over and said that they'd ride alongside the women if they wanted to ride on into Fort Supply. It was a four horse team pulling a small stage and they were experienced horses so it wouldn't be any difficulty having the women ride. It was about twenty more miles. That way they could send back a wagon with a wheel and fix the stage. Because he was the driver, Mick had to stay with the stage." Stolter noticed that Chita had rolled over to face away from the fire.

"The two men passengers start talking about how they don't want to stay alone with the broken down stage. They don't want to walk either so they weren't too happy about riding the stage horses but they did. Before they all rode away, the driver had them help pull the stage over to the edge of the road out of the way. Mick built himself a fire and settled in to wait for help."

"At the Wells Fargo station in Fort Supply, Jordy and Zeb found someone to fix the stage, another wheel and help with the horses. About an hour later, it was close to sunset then and still raining fairly hard. It was a miserable ride back to the broken down stage."

Stolter said, "Except the stage wasn't there when Jordy and Zeb got back. It was gone."

Eddie asked, "What do you mean gone?" Stolter nodded.

"At first, they thought that they had gone to the wrong spot in the road. But they found the gouged out dirt where the axle had dug in when the wheel broke. Zeb said that he found the blacked rocks of the fire ring that the driver had started." Stolter shook his head as he poked a long stick into the burning embers.

Juan asked, "Who took it?"

"They never found it. Jordy and Zeb think that another stage came long and helped somehow to fix the wheel. Now, there aren't too many stages rolling along with spare wheel on board. That's like teeth in a chicken. You don't find them."

Eddie swung himself into the hammock. "So what happened to the stage?"

"Jordy and Zeb told me about it over beers one night in Dodge City. They never did find out what happened. They never saw Mick again. And he was one of the top drivers. No way would he have ever had anything to do with the wheel breaking. Mick had been talking about heading out to San Francisco so Jordy and Zeb thought that was where he went."

Juan asked, "How long ago was that, Mr. Nick?" Stolter was quiet for a moment while he thought back over the years.

"Close to eighteen years ago. It was during one of the last runs I made between Missouri Springs and Dodge. Long time ago," Stolter sat down and pulled off his boots. Both boys had rolled over in their hammocks away from the low burning fire.

"We'll ask around and see if anyone remembers Mr. Mick. I think someone in the family probably knows him." It was Eddie's voice in the darkness.

Stolter smiled to himself. "Goodnight Eddie. Goodnight Juan."

### ###

Stolter woke up to the sound of a crackling fire. Eddie tendes a small flat pan warming tortillas to one side. Three small metal pans with lids balanced on the rocks. Stolter pulled on his boots and stood up to stretch. He shook his head and rubbed his face. Chita grinned and then looked at Juan who laughed. He made coffee and sat down to eat a savory beef missed with soft beans in one of the tortillas. Half an hour later, they mounted up and trotted out onto the road.

There must have been a lot of rain up in the surrounding hills because the water rushed past in Willow Creek. "The water is too high right here, Mr. Nick. We'll have to go on farther and try to cross up near the arch."

Stolter had begun to feel tough and mean in the cold weather and hard travel "What arch?"

"The rock arch. We'll show you." Eddie urged the stallion on up the trail. The water crashed into the rocks jutting from the river, spraying the trees. Half a mile along a single file trail they came out on a sandy cove with fallen trees.

Juan yelled, "Eddie! Look!" He pointed across the stream to the other bank. A dun horse with black stockings stood alongside a black horse with a crooked white blaze down its face. The third horse was a tall reddish tinted hammerhead roan. All three horses were wet and shivering.

Stolter walked his roan up next to the mustang. "They've been trying to get across, but the water is too deep and fast here." Icksy whinnied and the hammerhead tossed his head and whinnied in response.

Juan said, "The river widens out up ahead. If they follow along with us, they might be able to get across up there."

Eddie nodded. "I don't want to leave them over there. One of them will get hurt. If we can get them across, we can take them with us or leave them to graze."

At the end of the canyon wash there was a copse of alder and birch trees. The white trunks grew up straight. Around the bend in the river there was a couple acres of short grass. The horses waded into the river to drink.

It took half an hour to get through the slick trail along the river. Several times the roan lost its footing and started to slide towards the water. The rocky bank broadened and the water had slowed its rush.

"Mr. Nick, if you'll take Chita and get a fire started, we'll sit down and eat after we get the horses across."

"How are you going to get them across? The water is too fast. I don't want to have to come after you two." Stolter sounded doubtful.

Juan shook his head. "We aren't going over there. Icksy is going to get them. He's a good swimmer and strong so he'll walk with them to bring them over."

"What?" Stolter had no idea what the boy had just said. How could the mustang know to go rescue those horses? Juan handed Chita to Stolter who lifted the little girl to the ground. A well behaved small girl, she started picking up small twigs and sticks. Stolter unsaddled the roan and piled up rocks to get a small fire started.

Juan then whistled to the herd and walked them down to the far end of the clearing were there was a grassy patch. He dismounted the mare and walked back to where Eddie had stopped the mustang. The two boys talked in low voices and pointed at the other horses and from thirty feet away Stolter had no idea what they could say to the mustang to get him to brave the cold river.

Forty five minutes later the mustang had used his body to shield the rushing water from the white blazed black horse coming across. It stepped onto the bank and went to join the herd in the grass. The boys took out two shirts from the packs and wiped down Icksy, rubbing his coat dry. After he went to graze, the boys washed up and brought out the pans to cook.

"The big hammerhead has the same brand that's on the black horse. They came from the same place. The dun mare has something hurting on her back leg. There is no cut or wound, but she's been hurt." Juan shrugged.

Stolter nodded. "We'll leave those two brands here. I don't want anyone thinking I'm walking off with someone's horse. This is going to be too long of a trip for a horse that is hurt." Stolter watched the steam puff from the coffee pot and dumped in a couple spoonfuls of grounds.

"Eddie, what did you say to Icksy to get him to go into the river?" Stolter looked inquisitive.

Eddie shrugged and said, "Nothing much. We just asked him to go get the horses."

"That's all?" Stolter grinned.

Edie let out a breath of exasperation. "He's a horse, Mr. Nick. He doesn't understand a lot." Stolter thought for a moment that the boys were making fun. Then he shook his head with a grin and poured the coffee.

### ###

Someone had built a broad lean-to out of the trees many years ago. Twenty feet deep, thirty feet broad with saddle stands on both ends to keep the equipment up out of the weather. Strong leather strips had been wound around the trees lashing them together as a shelter. Behind it was an old adobe walled in oven with a small iron grill.

Juan and Chita scavenged around and brought two armloads of twigs and brush and dropped them next to the oven. The children bumped each other and gestured towards the horseman.

Stolter scratched his four-day beard and watched the tops of the canyon walls glow in an orangy, reddish tint as the setting sun cast it last light on the rocks.

"Mr. Nick, you have that look on your face that you are thinking about something. What is it?" Eddie looked at him. Juan broke small sticks over his knee and glanced at Stolter from time to time as he built the fire.

These kids were observant. They didn't just play around. Then he noticed Chita staring at him. "I had something interesting happen with Icksy on the way. I wanted to tell you about it and see what you thought." Stolter put the saddle on the stand under the overhang.

Juan looked out at the horse herd grazing in the tall grass. "Icksy? What about him?"

"On the way to Tucson, we stopped under the Sellwood Bridge and met an older man. We sat for a while and drank his coffee. Chatted for a while. When it was time to go, Icksy walked over to him and stared at him."

Chita spoke in a small voice, "What?"

"White man?" Eddie asked. Stolter nodded.

Juan said, "Icksy is a smart horse. He remembers people." Stolter nodded again.

"Grant offered something in his hand to Icksy and the horse sniffed it. Then he took it in his mouth but I didn't see him chewing on anything."

"Chita said, "Icksy found someone he knew."

"Grant? Leland Grant? They call him Landy?" Eddie grinned and nodded.

"Yes, you know him?" Stolter's mouth hung open as he looked at Eddie with an incredulous look on his face.

"I think Uncle Victor knows him. Rio told us to watch out for him. If we got into trouble before we got to Aunt's house, Uncle Victor said Landy would help us." Juan nodded to Eddie.

"But Landy is too far east now. Be sure to tell Uncle about it when we get into Yuma."

Stolter stopped for a moment and wiped off his face with the tattered bandanna. "But how does Icksy know Leland Grant? How does a wild Mexican mustang know one old traveling man out on the road?"

"Mr. Nick, Icksy gets around. A lot. It is what he does. He goes places. He meets people." Juan gestured to the horizon. "Icksy has been up in Canada, down to the end of Baja Mexico, Texas, and New Orleans. He's been places we haven't been."

Eddie stood up. "Somewhere along the road, he met Landy Grant. He remembered him. And what might be even more important to us, is that Landy remembered Icksy. You'd think all horses look alike, unless they are a paint horse. Their markings tell who they are, Mr. Nick."

Something about this bothered Stolter but he could not put his finger on it. Grant had met Icksy somewhere on the road. Something had happened between that man and the mustang. Stolter would never know what it was.

Stolter shook his head and rubbed his face. Chita and Juan were warming up food in the oven. Stolter brought out the other steel tin of food and shared it with them. Stolter plunged his coffee pot into the river to fill it up and then set it on the fire to heat.

Juan made rolled up beef and bean tortillas with corn and chilies. The children chattered in Spanish to each other and laughed from time to time. They sat down on the front edge of the lean-to to eat dinner.

Chita eyes got wide and she looked up from her food. "Sugar. It was sugar." She looked at Juan and Eddie who both nodded as they ate.

Eddie swallowed. "The man, Landy. He gave Icksy sugar. When you stopped to have coffee with him, did he offer sugar for the coffee?" Stolter remembered the little sugar pouch that Beulah had used.

"Yes, he did." Stolter nodded. Chita giggled. Juan and Eddie giggled.

Stolter looked at the fire and chewed his dinner. He was a right hungry man. He mused about the horse's reaction to the man. Grant was one of those men who was more comfortable in a saddle than sitting on a sofa in a house. By the tone of the talk under the bridge, Stolter had gotten the impression that Grant had never lit in one place for too long. He wasn't a drifter or a no-account bum. He just went his own way at his own speed. And somewhere out on the road the horse had met the man.

The children had hung their hammocks in between the trees behind the lean-to. From time to time Stolter could hear them laughing after they had climbed in to sleep. For the next hour, Stolter kept feeding small twigs and sticks into the fire to keep it going. He was churning something over in his mind trying to make sense of it and nothing would come out. Exhausted, he gave up and crawled into his bedroll against the wall in the lean-to.

# Chapter 20

The next day had been uneventful until after five miles. The map showed a lake that they would have to go around, taking them eight miles out of their way or taking the horses onto two ferry trips at five dollars each trip. Gary and Southcott both had recommended taking the ferry for time's sake. Half a day around the lake or pay the ferryman to get the horses across.

The Mexican children shook their heads. "We've never paid to take the horses on the ferry. We always ride around the lake. We aren't in a hurry so there is no need to pay, Mr. Nick."

Stolter and the children stood on the butte looking at the lake that stretched to the horizon. Nearby there were several tall, organ pipe cactus where birds lived and flitted around. The tiny flowers had white broad petals that curled with pale yellow centers. As he looked at the blooms and watched the birds he compared one hour on the ferry or eight hours of riding.

"I see what you mean." Stolter shook his head.

Eddie pointed to the dirt path that lead into the trees on the north side. "If you want us to ride the ferry across the lake, we will, but we don't want to. We can ride Icksy all the way around, but you'd have to wait for us on the other side."

Stolter took in a deep breath. "When Griff went over the map with me, he said that the trail up and over Johnson Meyer Pass was rough and steep. It wasn't a very good trail."

Eddie frowned as he looked at Juan for a moment. "Mr. Nick, there is another trail around the lake. You don't have to go up and over the pass to get around it."

"What?" Stolter twisted around in the saddle to look at the children.

Juan said, "The Johnson Pass road is the main road that travelers take. I don't know how to say it, but it is the white people road. Not our road. Ours follows the edge of the lake."

"What? What are you talking about another road?" Stolter brought the roan over closer to the mustang and the children.

Juan pointed to the west end of the lake. "Do you see where the two hills meet at the end of the lake? There is a trail there, a dirt path that we take. It's only wide enough for one horse at a time, and we have to be careful if we meet anyone else coming head on. Mr. Griff probably doesn't know about this road because if he did, he would have put it on your map."

Stolter rubbed his face. "All this time I've been worrying about how to get the horses up and over that pass. I've been worrying about what would happen if I lost them off the ferry. Okay, we'll go that way. You'll have to lead, though, because I don't know the way."

The children grinned and without another word, the mustang shuffled down the path headed for the lake, followed by the herd. Stolter followed at the end.

The trail led down along the water's edge, then swung into the trees. For over an hour they walked single file amongst elm, oaks, and fir trees. Several times the yearlings tried to stop and nibble at grass along the trail. Stolter swatted them with his rope to get them moving again. Another hour went by as they returned out along the water. Up ahead, the kids shouted and pointed out to the water. A hawk was fishing the lake and grabbed a fish for its dinner. Stolter saw several deer drinking at the lake. A swarm of tiny bugs hovered over the surface if the lake making fish jump to get them.

It was an undisturbed beautiful wilderness for someone who had crossed over the bland desert. There was a broad, grassy meadow on the west side of the lake. The horses began grazing. Stolter looked at his watch. Two o'clock. The mustang had trotted to the far side of the pasture and he could see the children had dismounted. Icksy took about ten steps away and rolled in the grass. The children laughed watching the big horse kick his hooves in the air.

In the trees there was a built up wooden platform about fifteen feet square with a pole shed roof. Boughs from the fir trees had been piled in layers onto the roof the help shed the water. Stolter then saw the pattern of adobe walled ovens and grills. Eddie's family didn't have to find shelter along these trips. They had built them so they would never be without shelter on the road.

Stolter unsaddled the roan who trotted out to the grass to graze. When he smelled the burning wood, Stolter walked around to the oven. Chita had unwrapped the flat pan and Juan had started to cook food.

Just then Eddie came running up the path and around the side waving his arms. "There's someone coming!"

Juan set the pan off to the side and the three kids ran out to the path and waited. Stolter stood behind Eddie and waited. From the trees, six kids came running, yelling and whooping. Eddie started laughing. "My crazy cousins."

"What?" Stolter frowned again. For the next few minutes everyone hugged each other and kisses were given and hands were shaken.

Eddie introduced Stolter. "Mr. Nick, this is my cousin Alberto Zendejas and his wife, Antonia. These are their children, Bianca, Julietta, Nicholas, Fabian, Carlos and Omar."

After the adults got settled in, Antonia and Juan started the cooking. Alberto and Stolter walked out to see the horses. Barrel chested with dark eyes, longer black hair, and a muscular build, Alberto Zendejas had a strong grip.

"Eddie told me you are headed to California."

"Yes, I'm headed to my wife's family ranch in Bradford. It's called the Flint Hills Ranch."

"Oh yes, I know where that is. That's a small town. We have a friend that lives nearby. Papa LaCosta at Faraway Inn. When you get there, give him my regards, please."

Stolter grinned. "I haven't heard that name in many years. I remember him making a very good apple pie."

Zendejas laughed. "Papa spends a lot of this time fishing. Tane, his granddaughter, now runs the Inn." They heard a voice calling and looked back to the camp where someone was waving an arm at them.

Over the meal, Stolter learned that there was another pasture on the west side of the trees. The Zendejas horses grazed over there in solitude. Eddie, Juan, Zendejas and Stolter talked with enthusiasm about training horses.

Eddie asked Antonia about his aunt. "We came from there four days ago. She is doing much better but she should not be alone. I am glad you are going to see her." She was a pretty woman with dark eyes with long black lashes.

Stolter asked Alberto how far they had traveled. "Our home is in Baja, Mexico. We have a beef cattle ranch that front up against the Pacific Ocean. Not too hot in the summer and it doesn't get cold enough to snow so it's nice in the winter. This is the time of year when we try to get out to see the family."

Juan asked about a family member. "Yes, we took the train up to Tijuana and found out that your cousin Roberto was sent all the way to Philadelphia to go to school. He's been back there for almost a year now. You probably wouldn't recognize him." They all laughed.

Alberto said, "From there we got on another train and went up to San Diego. We stopped at the Mission San Luis Rey to see Carlitos' family. They have a ranch with beef and horses there. We only stayed a couple of days."

"You would not believe how big Los Angeles has gotten in the last year. They are building everywhere. Hotels, restaurants, museums," Antonia picked Chita up and set the small girl on her lap. She spread her arms out wide with a big smile.

Eddie said, "I see you have Soshee, Maxi, Pepito and Ximena. Where were they?"

Alberto took a drink of the coffee. "Soshee and Pepito were at Florencia. Ximena and Maxi were over at Crest." Eddie turned to Stolter.

"Soshee, Maxi, Pepito and Ximena are the mustangs that Alberto's family are riding."

Eddie drew in a quick breath as he sat up straight. "Oh, now I remember what I wanted to ask you. Do you remember a stagecoach driver by the name of Mick Nissen?" Stolter sat up straight and looked at Alberto.

"Mick Nissen." Alberto knitted his brows together and looked at Antonia who thought for a moment and then shook her head.

"No. It doesn't sound like someone I know. We don't take the stage very much so I might now know him." Alberto shook his head. "If I hear anything about him, you want me to send word?"

Stolter thought for a moment. This was a longshot. Eddie translating, the horseman told the eighteen year old story again.

"Wait!" Antonia stood up and put Chita on her feet.

"The old man that lives on Del Mar. What is his name?" Antonia snapped her fingers with impatience.

"Alejandro? No. Arturo? No. I know who you mean, but I can't think of his name." Alberto slapped his own forehead making the children laugh.

Fabian said, "Angel." They all shouted. Antonia hugged Fabian.

"Yes, Angel. Eddie, when you get to your aunt's house, go over to Angel's place and ask him if he remembers this Mick Nissen. Angel used to take the stagecoach everywhere. He was never home. If anybody will know, he will know." She nodded.

Eddie leaned in and said, "Mr. Nick, if we are going to get to Berry Glen, we have to leave now. It will be dark when we get there if we don't leave now."

Stolter stood up and thanked Alberto and Antonia for their company. All the cousins kissed and hugged each other. As they were packing up the supplies, Stolter turned to Alberto.

"Where are you headed to, Alberto?"

"Phoenix. My uncle has a big restaurant there and we go each year to help him. He's expanding so he needs the help."

"Wait! Victor is your uncle?"

"How do you know Victor? Yes, he's probably everybody's uncle!" Everyone laughed. Stolter told them about coming through Phoenix, and left out a few details.

Eddie, Juan and Chita waved as cousins passed cousins in horseback. After Stolter's horses were moving in behind Icksy the horseman had time to reflect on the big family he had been meeting. If he had gone up and over the pass, he never would have met Alberto and Antonia and their children. He never would have met the four big mustangs who, as he remembered, were individuals because of their beautiful markings.

The trail took them lower and lower down the hill. Stolter had glimpses of a flat, dull land through the trees and realized that they had come down out of an alpine lake area. They had stopped at another small water hole and then moved on.

The horizon was brilliant red and gold. The sun hung like a molten ball in the sky resisting the tug into the earth. Purples and grays crawled up the hillsides behind them.

Fifty feet into the turn off to Berry Glen they were stopped by a snarl of downed trees and flood debris.

### ###

"Eddie, can you see if there is a way around on that side? I'll go this way." The kids threaded their way back through the herd and back onto the main road. Stolter tried to get around the jam but there was no way the horses could clamber over the tangled mess. Back on the road, the horses milled around.

The big mustang came trotting around the bend and up to Stolter. "We found another abandoned camp on the other side of the hill. You can go take a look and see if anyone is around." Stolter nodded.

It was an abandoned farm. A long curving driveway led up to the old home. Most of the house had fallen in and was covered with vines and weeds. Old pickets had fallen over and were tangled in the grass. The stone fireplace and wall were the last fixtures standing that told a house once stood there.

"Hello! Anybody here?" Stolter called out. Eddie called out the same in Spanish. They sat up on the horses and waited for an answer. A movement off to the south caught Stolter's eye. He reined his horse around. The mustang nickered.

"Hello! Is anybody home?"

A voice came out of the barn area. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm Nick Stolter. The trail into the waterhole is blocked by trees. I can't get through. Is there a way to get to the water through here? I got horses that need to drink."

A young boy of maybe fifteen carrying a shotgun came out of the brush. "I saw you try to get through, but the trees are blocking it. If you want to follow me, there is another trail through the orchard."

Stolter nodded. "Thank you kindly."

Stolter dismounted and followed the boy. Tall and lanky, his clothes were patches sewn over patches and his boots showed holes in the soles. A meandering trail went through sixty yards of tall grass and came on a sloping river bank. Stolter let his horse drink off to the side and the rest of the horses came in to drink.

Stolter held out his hand to the boy. "Nick Stolter. Thanks for letting us come in."

"Sam Bellingham." It was a thin, moist hand with a strong grip. "This is my dad's old place. He and ma died a few years back." Stolter nodded.

"We had planned to camp at Berry Glen but we can't get through. Do you know of any place we can build a fire and get some sleep?" Eddie, Juan and Chita walked over and stood next to Stolter.

"This is Eddie, Juan and this is Chita. They are on their way to stay with their aunt who is sick." They nodded to each other.

"On the other side of the orchard is an old barn I've been using. There's an outdoor fireplace I use sometimes for cooking. You can stay over there. Just don't burn down the barn. It's the only one I have that is livable." Bellingham gestured to the west.

"Thank you, Sam. That should be all we need. Is there anything we can do to repay your generosity for letting us stay here?" Bellingham looked down at the ground and dug in his heel for a minute.

"Well, tomorrow before you leave, if you'd give me a hand tearing out those logs, I'd appreciate it. I've got a couple of big harnesses pa used on the draft horses. If those could be adjusted to fit a couple of your horses, we could drag that mess out of the waterhole path." Bellingham looked hopeful. Stolter nodded.

"Do you have any saws or axes? Maybe a couple of good placed cuts would free up those trees and the horses could drag them out." Stolter rubbed the back of his neck. He turned to hear Eddie talking with Juan in Spanish.

The boy said, "Yeah, I've got three axes and one saw. What are they saying?"

Eddie smiled. "Icksy can pull those logs. Tomorrow we'll look at that harness and see if we can get it to fit him."

"That would be very good. I want to stop people from walking across my pa's place trying to get to the water." Bellingham scratched his head. "If you want to come with me, I'll take you over to the barn."

Stolter walked along behind the younger boy.

"What do you do for a living, Mr. Stolter?"

"I raise and train cutting horses in California. This is my new stock I'm taking home to train." Stolter looked at the clearing around the barn. Old fruit crates had been stacked up alongside the barn. Shutters had been nailed across most of the windows. There was a narrow wooden door open in the front.

"You got far to go?" Bellingham gestured to the well-used fireplace.

Stolter then realized that the children had stopped at the edge of the orchard and were talking amongst themselves. Juan and Chita were pointing at the house and arguing.

"Excuse me, Sam. I better go find out what is going on. I'll be right back." Stolter smiled and then touched the brim of his hat. He trotted back over to the children.

"What's wrong?"

Juan said in a near whisper, "I'll tell you but come down to the river where nobody will hear us."

"What? What for?" Stolter was surprised to see the kids walk back towards the horses near the water. On the riverbank, Eddie looked at Juan.

"No, he didn't follow us. He stayed up at the barn." Eddie nodded and looked at Stolter.

"I don't expect you to understand, but we can't stay here. I don't know how else to say this but, people who stay in that barn don't come out." Chita took hold of Eddie's hand.

Stolter looked at the kids. "What?"

"There are ghosts here, Mr. Nick. Ghosts that don't want us here. We wouldn't be able to sleep or rest. Look at the horses. They aren't grazing in all this tall grass." Stolter turned and looked around at the herd. None of them were chewing the grass and the mustang pawed the ground.

"Icksy is getting mean. He's upset. Something is not right." Eddie put his arm around Chita and hugged her.

Stolter rubbed his face. In this big world the children had earned to distrust something out of place.

"You can tell him that Chita has come down sick and we had better keep riding. We can't stay. We need to go before it gets dark and we can't find out way." Eddie signaled to Icksy and the horse started to move.

"Where are we going to go? Do you know of another place?"

"Yes, but it is another five miles. Any place is better than this." Eddie lifted Chita up onto the back of the mustang. Juan climbed up behind and put his arms around her.

Stolter said in a hurry, "Call the herd to follow you, Eddie. I'll follow them out. I'm going to tell Sam we are leaving."

Stolter mounted up and walked the roan over and spoke to Sam. The last horse out was one of the chestnut colts whose eyes were showing the whites. The wind had come up bending the taller trees along the road and pushing bits of brush across the dusty track. When Stolter twisted around the saddle to look back. There were four other men standing next to Sam in the road, all holding shotguns. Stolter frowned, confused as to where those others had come from.

### ###

He remembered putting the spurs to his dun and trying to catch up to the herd. After that, everything seemed like a dull haze. Stolter went over and over what had happened in his mind. Only when the herd turned into a road to the left did the horseman pay attention to his surroundings. The water was shining like a thousand floating crystals and he stared at its beauty.

"Mr. Nick! Mr. Nick! Get off your horse!" Someone was yelling at him and all he could do was look at the bright lights.

He was jolted hard to the left and felt himself falling. He put his arms out to catch himself as he plunked down into the soft grass. He looked up and saw Eddie, Juan and Chita leaning over him. With a groan he sat up and rubbed his face.

"Juan, it's going to rain tonight. Get Mr. Nick's tarp strung up so we can all get underneath it. Chita, go get twice as much firewood and kindling. We're gonna need it. We can't let him get cold." Stolter looked at Eddie and heard him barking out orders. His head swam making him confused.

"What happened? Where are we?" Stolter's head was spinning and his legs felt loose and without strength. He didn't like the way he felt. This was a dozen times worse than a drunken stupor. This was like a very, very slow dream.

"You're okay now, Mr. Nick. We are all safe. The horses are safe. We have food and shelter and water." Eddie had knelt down in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder. Stolter then remembered what he had seen.

"There were four more of them there, Eddie. Four more men waiting inside that barn." Stolter could feel his throat tighten up. He felt a shiver run down his back.

Eddie got Stolter's attention and patted his shoulder. "We're okay now, Mr. Nick. We are far away from that place. We're safe now."

Stolter rubbed his face hard with his gloves. He felt drained and weak. Night had fallen and he could not make out any of the surroundings. A bottle was put into his trembling hands and he recognized the whiskey from the small town. He pulled down three swallows and then coughed a number of times. He could feel the burn in his chest and belly.

Juan gripped his shoulder. "I need you to come over to the shelter with me. You need to build fire for us so we can get warm. Can you do that, Mr. Nick? Please?" Stolter saw the bleak look in the pleading eyes of the boy and some of the fog lifted from his mind. He got up on one knee and pushed himself up to standing.

Chita had pushed a group of rocks around in a circle and piled in kindling. She handed the flint to him and he smiled at her. She was a good little girl, like Lola. It took over a dozen strikes to get a spark to jump into the dry moss. He was focused on the getting the fire going and Chita gave him handfuls of leaves and twigs. He felt a small hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Mr. Nick." Her voice was small and shaking. Just then he reached and hugged her to him as if she were Lola. He felt the small girl shaking as she sobbed with her arms around his neck.

Juan and Eddie tied off the tarp between the trees and then put a pole to help the water runoff. After the meal was done, Stolter searched through his saddlebags and brought out the heavier jacket. He buttoned it around Chita who sat on a log near the fire.

It was Juan that spoke. "Mr. Nick, you have to remember that feeling from now on. It will save your life. When you start getting that cloud in your head, you have to run. You can't stand there and wonder what it is or what it means. It means something bad and you have to run."

Stolter was quiet for several minutes as he stared at the fire. "How did you know?"

Eddie sat down on the other side of Stolter and poked at the fire with a long stick. "It was Chita that felt it. She is the littlest and she feels fear the fastest. Once she got close enough to the barn, she said we had to run."

Stolter rubbed both hands over his face. "Did we get all the horses out?" Eddie nodded.

"You kids are okay? Nobody got hurt?" Again, Eddie nodded.

Juan said, "It's always people. Bad people. People that mean to hurt us. You have never felt that way before, Mr. Nick? Not ever?" Stolter took in a deep, ragged breath and let it out.

"Once, many years ago, maybe I felt it. But I pushed it aside as being afraid of something." Juan handed Stolter a cup of hot coffee and then sat down under the shelter.

"I knew two men, good men. Vic Mozelle and Larry Powers had gone up to Quail Canyon looking for deer. They were good men, simple men. They were out of meat and there were always plenty of deer up in that canyon. The little stream that ran through it could become a raging torrent after rain up in the mountains. You had to be careful of the sound of rushing water and watch for rain clouds over the mountains in the north." Stolter drank down some of the hot liquid.

After Eddie filled the cup, Stolter continued. "Vic and Larry had been gone a week and Vic's wife rode over to our place one day and asked if we'd seen them. We hadn't. They were good friends and they had gone out deer hunting twenty, thirty times. Sometimes a week or ten days gone. After Vic's wife went home, I got to talking it over with Marianna about going out to the canyon to look for them. That's when I got that suspicion that something bad had happened to them."

Juan asked, "Did you go to look for them?"

Stolter shook his head. "A couple of days had gone by and I told Marianna that both those boys would've come looking for me if I'd gone past due like that. After thinking it over, she agreed and said that she'd go with me to look. She was a pretty fair tracker so we packed up enough things for overnight." Stolter pulled off his boots and socks.

Just as we started up the twisting trail into the canyon, a couple riders came out with two bodies roped onto horses. Vic and Larry had been caught in a flash flood and swept away into a log jam like the one back at that ranch. Took these other two fellas close to a day to hack their way through with axes and saws to get Vic and Larry out." Stolter stopped and almost spilled his coffee as he jerked upright.

"That's it. That's what was wrong with Berry Glen. There was no mud in between the brush and logs that blocked off the waterhole!" Eddie and Juan looked at each other.

"Don't you see? A flash flood sweeps along dirt and mud and rocks and anything in its way. Everything gets drowned in the mud. That brush pile, trees, and limbs back at that ranch. It was all clean. They had dragged all that and piled it up to force folks to go over to the barn. That's what I couldn't figure out." Stolter ran his fingers back through his hair.

Eddie put a hand on his shoulder. "We figured it out in time, Mr. Nick. Just try to think about getting home now. Don't think about that ranch anymore. Just think about getting all these horses back to your home."

It made anger boil up inside him. His jaw clenched as he spoke with stunned and ragged breath, "You're sure all the horses are alright? You kids are alright?" They nodded.

After the children had washed up, they climbed into their bedrolls under the tarp, Stolter built up the fire and then laid awake watching the flames dance against the dark sky. Now, he could realize just how close to death he had come. Feet, inches, the length of a shotgun. He shivered again.

Once in the night, he woke to find Chita and Eddie cuddled up to his right side and Juan cuddled up on his left. The fire had burned down to embers. A shadow on the far left of the camp stirred and then Stolter heard the deep nicker of the mustang who had bedded down there. He closed his eyes and relaxed back to sleep.

### ###

When Stolter woke the next morning, Chita offered a mashed up green and yellow cactus for the wounds. Every muscle ached and his left arm had stiffened up in the night. It felt like he was ripping away his skin when he took off the bandage. The sore knife cut in his leg was red and inflamed. The squishy cactus was cool and soothing as the young girl slathered it on the wound. Juan used the sharp knife to cut off a piece of the white cotton sheeting inside the saddle pad and Eddie helped Stolter fasten it.

After an hour of riding, they arrived to the first waterhole, about fifty yards off the road. At the campsite on the far side of the waterhole, a smoky fire flared. As the horses waded into the water, a figure came from under an old black canvas between two trees.

Eddie jumped off the mustang and stepped to the side, catching Chita and Juan off the gray mare. "Do you know that man, Mr. Nick?" Hesitant brown eyes looked at the horseman. Stolter was coated in sweat and wiped his face as he dismounted. He let his roan go to the water.

"No, I don't believe I've ever seen him before." Stolter shook his head as he shook out the bandanna.

Separated by twenty feet of water, the man raised a hand in greeting. "Greetings, travelers! Fine horses you're moving."

Stolter called out, "Howdy, mister. Water looks pretty good." Juan said something in Spanish to Eddie and Stolter turned to look at them.

"What is it? You hurt?" The boys shook their head and gestured towards the water.

"It's like he is not there. I can smell the fire and see the old tent. But it's like he isn't there, Mr. Nick." Stolter frowned and then turned to man on the other side of the water.

"You been here long, mister? I'm Nick Stolter. I'm headed home from a long trip." Stolter took off his hat and knelt to wash his face.

"Good morning to you and yours, Nick Stolter. I'm Jess McLaren. I'm headed home, too, to the gulf. I've been gone many years and it will be good to see home again." Stolter ran the dripping bandanna over his eyes and nodded.

Even though his eyes were clear and bright, the tall man with a black stubble beard carried a drawn look about him. His complexion was like soft tanned leather, worn lines and smooth from the sun and wind. He was a lean dark man, about forty five with black hair and mustache.

Stolter grinned. "I got kin in Hattiesburg. I moved away and married years ago. But I've been back to see them all a couple of times."

McLaren nodded with a small laugh and gestured to the sky. "I may get up that way. My kin are in the bayou so I'll be setting there a spell. You got good skies for riding today."

"What kinda work you do for a living, Mr. McLaren? I raise and train horses. I'm hoping a couple of these will turn out well." Stolter gestured to the drinking horses.

McLaren leaned over to the left and wiped the dust off his patchwork pants. "I'm sure they will, Mr. Stolter. I'd say that I'm a fair hand using hammers, saws and tools of building barns and houses. I was never much good at learning in school and my folks didn't believe in a proper education. They taught me to work with my hands. It has served me well."

Stolter glanced down river to see the horses wading in the water. "Well, the west is growing every year. More houses, more buildings, wider roads. There's plenty of work out there for a man who is not afraid of a days' work."

An image of himself twenty years into the future flashed then through Stolter's mind. There had been times in the past where a dreadful, depressing loneliness came over him causing melancholy. A snapping twig brought Stolter's eyes to the children who were feeding apples to the horses without any hurry.

When he looked back across the water, Stolter could see the man was scrawny and thin in the threadbare shirt as he turned to the side. "I don't want to say that I've lived a hard life, but I believe most men have had easier times than me. But, life is what you make it, I suppose." The thin shoulders shrugged.

As he rode on west, Stolter remembered the man's word about hard work and scratching out a living. He had tried to earn what he could. He had never expected an easy time in life. He had been working since he was big enough to hold a tool. But with Marianna's death, times ahead would most a challenge for sure.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the big mustang moving up alongside the roan. "About another two miles, there is a waterhole. We can stop, if you need to, Mr. Nick, but we'd like to ride on through to Silverhaven. It's five miles and the horses can run it easy. Three miles the other side of town is the turnoff to Aunt's house."

Stolter nodded. "We'll ride. There's no need to stop." He grinned at the young boy who had a broad smile. He watched Eddie swing an imaginary lasso over his head and heard Juan and Chita cheer from the back of the gray mare. Several times the horseman had watched arm and hand signals between the children and still had not figured it out. But he was content to trust that they knew the meaning.

# Chapter 21

His watch read 1:30 in the afternoon when the road took them around a point of land. To the left were miles of dry, arid, scrub land dotted with mesquite, cacti and creosote bushes. To the right was a broad, flat road headed north up a slight hill and then curved northwest into trees.

They rode on past the turnoff and straight out onto the hard packed dirt. Stolter saw many horse tracks and a solitary telltale four-wheel track that signaled a heavy load. It looked like a freighter wagon. Stolter scanned ahead but saw only twisted cedars, dirt, and the road.

Another twenty minutes and what sounded to Stolter like a pack of wild banshees rode by him at a hard gallop. The horseman had to laugh as the kids whooped and hollered as Icksy veered onto a dusty track to the left. Up ahead was a broad double gate. Several men ran to throw off the ropes and swung the gates wide as the horses trotted in.

Brown skinned Mexican cowboys with shining spurs lifted Eddie, Juan and Chita from the backs of the horses and kissed and hugged them. Women cried and hugged the children. More than a dozen children of all ages swarmed around the group chattering. Stolter dismounted and after a quick introduction, the men unsaddled the roan and led the horses out to the corral to be rubbed down and fed.

Stolter was made to sit on an alder pole bench near the front of the house. A smiling woman brought him a plate of tender, spicy beef, beans, half ear of corn, a dozen tortillas, and a tall tin cup of beer. He didn't realize how hungry he had been. Two platefuls later, he admitted defeat as he held out his hand refusing anymore. The women looked disappointed, but they laughed as he rubbed his belly and groaned.

Eddie had washed his face and changed his clothes when he came outside to sit next to Stolter. "Before you lay down to sleep, Aunt wants to meet you. The men want to hear about the trip, too."

Stolter gestured to his clothes. "I'm a stinking, smelly mess, Eddie. I can't go near her like this."

"Come around to the washing stand in the back and you can clean up there. Uncle found a clean shirt you can use." Stolter nodded and followed Eddie around the broad veranda to the back. The boy showed him the razor, cloth, soap, and a dry towel. Just as he dried off, Chita came out sucking on a piece of candy and with wide eyes she stared.

"Who are you?" She giggled and ran back in the house. Stolter heard the women laughing at the small girl. Stolter chuckled.

Eddie's aunt was maybe fifty with beautiful, smooth skin and long black hair wound about her head in an ornate braid. Ofelia Romero Pelayo was the youngest sister of Salvaterra Romero and had married Rico Augustus Pelayo. While the boy translated her remarks, Stolter detected that she understood a great deal of English as she listened to the events of the trip. Several of the gray haired older men asked questions and Eddie translated Stolter's answers.

After she had retired to her room, Juan said the men were waiting out at the barn. "They want to see your wound. You might need stitches or they can burn it with the iron to make the bleeding stop." Juan nodded. Stolter looked alarmed.

"Juan, what I'd really like to do is find a way to get a message to my family in California. I want to tell them that I'm coming home." Stolter rubbed his face with both hands as they walked to the barn.

Juan smiled and nodded. "Oh, we can go catch the stage in the morning and give them a letter to your family. We have plenty of time."

It was thick adobe walled two story barn with a raised wood floor ninety feet deep. The south side had a forge and an anvil for working on the horses and repairing things. The north side was a series of five individual bunk rooms for the cowboys with doors into the barn and an outside door. The men were gathered around four rough wood tables on the west side.

Eddie introduced the nine men and Stolter couldn't remember all their names and he laughed. Glasses were produced and several bottles of whiskey and tequila. They drank to the horses, the road, the sky, the kids and thanked God several times for getting home safe. It was plain to Stolter that he had escorted and helped to deliver a precious cargo.

The next morning when he woke, he found ten new stitches in his left arm closing the ugly gash. He hadn't felt a thing and had slept like a baby.

The smell of coffee drew him to the house and one of the women pointed at the table and he sat down. He had eaten half of his eggs and beans when Juan came in with paper and a pencil.

"I can write the letter while you tell me what to write. Or I can eat your eggs while you write the letter." Juan grinned. Stolter laughed. The horseman took the pencil and paper and wrote out almost a full page. He folded it over and wrote out the address of the Windy Ridge Ranch in Yucca Valley, California.

"Uncle Zeke is going to rid over to Silverhaven in a few minutes. He'll make sure the letter gets onto the stage for you. Tomorrow, the uncles will take you into town to get supplies for the ride home." Juan waved and trotted out the door as two of the men who sat down at the table with Eddie.

"We want to check over the horses and make sure their feet are good and strong for the rest of the trip to California. Is that okay with you, Mr. Nick?" Eddie looked at Stolter.

"I'd appreciate that. I had planned on doing that the day before I left, but if you have help for it, that would be very good." Stolter wiped his mouth on the napkin.

"Emilio, Pepi and Fredo are going to help me with them. Pepi wants to look at that cut on the leg of that one black yearling colt and make sure it hasn't gone bad. All of those horses know us now and trust us so it shouldn't take too long." Stolter nodded to the men and thanked them. Eddie and the men got up and headed out. At the door, the boy stopped and turned back.

"Oh, and my cousin Emmie came over this morning. She is the one that raised and trained Icksy. She wants to meet you and hear about training the cutting horses." He waved and trotted out.

Stolter swallowed. "I'll be out directly when I done." Just then the cook slid a plate sized pancake onto his platter and Stolter groaned. The woman walked away chuckling.

### ###

Later, Stolter walked out into the yard and watched the kids playing game of tag. A tall, slender teenage girl sat on the top rail at the corral barking instructions in Spanish to one of the younger boys as they rode a young mustang colt. She jumped down when she saw Stolter walking in her direction.

"Mr. Stolter, it's good to meet you. I am Emmie. Thank you for bringing the kids through from Tucson. We are in your debt." Her hand was cool and dry in his with a firm grip.

"Hello, Emmie. The pleasure is mine. If it weren't for them, I'd probably be laying in the brush somewhere along the road." Stolter tried to smile but he eyes fell on the ground as he realized how true his words were.

She could not have been more than fifteen years old. He guess that she might be about the same age as Kelly. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore snug black jeans and boots. Her dark lashed eyes were quick and she had a quick white smile.

Stolter shifted his weight to the other foot. "Your English is very good. You sound like you've lived here all your life."

Emmie smiled. "Yes, we all have put in our hours in the American school over in Phoenix. I'm done with school now and I train our horses full time."

Stolter nodded. "Juan and Eddie both told me about your working with the animals. They are very proud of what you do."

Emmie dug the toe of her boot into the dirt. "Next week I leave to go down to Baja to Uncle Victor's house. He has a couple of promising young colts that might turn into something special with some training. He says they are smart and quick so we'll see." Emmie watched the colt in the corral changing left and right lead foot.

Stolter watched the colt work and said, "Is this one of yours?" The young girl nodded and her tiny silver hoop earrings gleamed. She turned to look at Stolter.

"I understand you met Rio when you got the horses. The young boy on that colt is Rio's younger brother, Miguel. We start riding and training with our colts when we are very young, Mr. Stolter. That colt is Tormenta. Storm in English. For the next year nobody will ride Storm, but Miguel. The boy has to learn the horse like the horse learns the rider." Emmie nodded.

Stolter was silent for a few moments, then he said, "I wanted to ask you about something. On the way here, Chita rode on Icksy in the front holding onto his mane. Juan was behind her. She also rode one of my horses, the white stockings gray mare, again with Juan behind her. I was afraid Chita was not strong enough to ride alone because she was so young." Stolter looked inquiring at the young woman.

"Eddie and Juan are protective of their sister. Chita may have wanted to ride alone but the brothers kept her safe. Here in the corral she can ride alone even though she is only four years old."

One of the men came around the corner of the barn and waved his hand as he yelled for Stolter.

"Thank you for speaking with me. I hope you get home safely, Mr. Stolter." She smiled.

The horseman tipped his hat to her. "If you ever get over my way, stop in and say howdy, Emmie." She waved her hand to him.

Stolter felt familiarity, a kinship with the young woman trainer. This is the young woman that Kelly would grow into someday. Somewhere in his mind he remembered meeting a young woman at a rodeo many years back. With that vivid memory, he walked toward the man.

Behind the barn, the three black yearlings were milling around in the corral. Juan was talking with broad arm and hand gestures in Spanish to the man with the heavy leather gloves.

"Your roan was missing a couple of nails out of one shoe so we fixed that. Somewhere the gray mare with the white stockings lost both back shoes. We put new ones on her." Juan gestured to the corral.

"Your yearlings want to bite. We can't work on them. I was hoping you could hold them while we work on their hooves. They know you better than us so maybe they will be good horses for you while we look at their feet?" Stolter frowned. He stepped over to the corral and looked at the black horses who stood looking at him.

"Do you have any apples or carrots? They like those. Maybe I can get their attention for a while," said Stolter. Juan snapped his fingers and nodded as he walked into the barn. A minute later he came back out with three green apples.

As he cut the apples, Stolter saw the horses start to come closer to the corral fence. Stolter grinned and bit one of the fresh slices and one of the yearlings nickered. The men sitting on the benches laughed. It took over an hour and ten more apples to get shoes on the young black horses. While the men worked, Stolter told them the story of finding Icksy and the yearlings captured inside the brush corral.

There was a spirited discussion in Spanish with much arm waving. Stolter was lost in the words but got the impression that someone had made a mistake and that was why Icksy had been in the corral.

After all the horses were checked over, the men sat around the benches and told horse stories. Stolter had told them about sliding down the gravel and clay slide in the rain. Juan and several of the men agreed that Icksy was a smart horse for finding the other trail up out of the gully. Stolter caught himself scratching at the new stitches when one of the darker men said something in Spanish. Juan looked at him and then at the ground. He nodded and then looked as if he were choosing his words with care at Stolter.

"Mr. Nick, you should know. They want me to tell you about your trip. Jesus, Pedro and Joaquin say that you are headed into trouble. There are many bad men who will try to hurt you and take the horses on the road. And you'll be alone." Juan rubbed his hands together and glanced away.

Stolter let out his breath and nodded in agreement. "I kinda figured that it wasn't going to be an easy ride."

Again, two of the men talked amongst themselves and then gestured for Juan to speak. "You'll ride out with the horses around seven in the morning. It's almost forty miles to the cutoff to Mexicali. Uncle Pedro, Emmie and Miguel are leaving day after tomorrow for Baja. You should be long past the Mexicali cutoff by then. But if you have trouble, ride down the cutoff for a couple of miles and stay there. They'll find you and help you, if they can."

Stolter rubbed his face with his hand and looked at the serious men. He had come to trust Juan and felt that there was more but there were no words to explain. That sense came over him. It was the riding of his courage in the face of coming difficulty. Going home was worth fighting for.

"Muchas gracias, senors. Thank you, Juan. I appreciate the good thoughts. I have to try to get myself home now." Stolter cleared his throat. Juan nodded.

"After dinner, they'll take you into Silverhaven so you can get what you need for the trip. If you don't mind, what kind of things do you want to get?"

For the next half hour the men all threw out suggestions about what might be needed. Juan laughed and said they has enough stuff for a wagon train. They were laughing as the chimes rang calling the family to dinner.

In Silverhaven, there was a family friend with a small general store where they took Stolter into for his necessities. Coffee, beans, two flints, an old cooking pot and cup. He made up a first aid kit with bandages, pins, ointments and two soft cloths.

It was a similar scene at the counter when the men crowded around a large piece of brown paper and debated the merits of each route. Side trails were marked. Waterholes were put in and then scratched out. Trees, bridges, caves, and shelters were all favorite places to stop and the small marks went nearly all the way to San Diego. Stolter bent over laughing until he had tears in his eyes.

"If I follow this map correctly, I should be able to ride almost a full mile before stopping between markings!" Juan translated and they all laughed with gusto.

"I'll be home in time for Christmas!" Again they roared with laughter. More stories were told on the ride back to the ranch.

The sun had gone down. The evening meal was over. Someone sat on the bench in the front strumming a guitar while a woman sang. Stolter had just finished writing out several letters when Eddie came around the corner to the table.

Stolter took Eddie's arm. "I need you to do something for me, if you would."

"Sure, Mr. Nick. What do you want me to do?" The boy grinned and brushed the hair back out of his eyes.

"In case I don't make it home, I've written letters to my children in California. I want you to put these letters on the stage three days after I'm gone. I should be home to get them if everything goes well. If not, I want my kids to know that I was thinking about them and that I love them. Can you do that for me, please?" He handed the envelopes to the boy.

"Yes, sir. I can do that. You're gonna make it home, Mr. Nick. It won't be easy, but you will make it home. I know you will." Eddie gripped Stolter's right shoulder and shook him.

"Now come out front. The men want to have a couple of drinks with you before they go to bed. And Emmie is going to sing!" Stolter grinned and nodded as he stood up to follow the boy out into the cool evening air.

Family. He stood near the big fire and saw how the children were loved and cherished. He didn't know many of the words in the songs but did know the deep ties of family in the people who sang them. As Emmie sang a ballad, Stolter averted his eyes down to his boots. Somewhere in the Spanish words were the love of a man for a woman and the deep ache in his heart flared up. When he looked back up, he saw more than one face nodded and smiled to him.

# Chapter 22

The next morning, two hours had gone by with Stolter in the saddle and his horses trotting behind him. It was a two foot square piece of flattened iron painted white nailed to three posts alongside the dusty road. Big, crude black letters had been painted on signifying the California border. If Stolter remembered the map, there would be water on the left up ahead less than a mile.

Several of the women had cried in the gray light earlier. Chita had hugged Stolter as hard as she could with her small arms and kissed his cheek. She had tears in her eyes. Cook had packed enough food for ten people. For a moment, when Stolter's horses assembled in the driveway, it seemed like Icksy was walking along with them. Then the big mustang stopped next to Emmie and pawed the ground twice and tossed his head and whinnied.

He had been welcomed into a unique family, shared a moment in their lives and allowed them into his. He felt richer and yet more alone. Again, he made the silent promise to himself to never stray from his family again no matter how strong the call to the trail.

Nine miles had loped by and the waterhole was deserted. River willows leaned out over the water on the opposite bank. Flying insects skimmed the water surface. Here he found more buck horn cholla cacti with those fragrant velvety yellow petals shot with purple. There was a bit of beauty in every stop, every slope, and every vista.

As he watched the horses drink, his fingers explored his left side. The wound still made a stabbing pain from time to time but he was healing. When he looked at his hands there was a slight tremor but he shoved that aside for being hungry and tired. All the time was the sound and agony of rage and despair in the back of his mind over Marianna. He was counting on Kelly, Lola and Colton to help soothe the canyon-like void that he now had in his life.

### ###

The map had a mark for a small town up ahead. A half mile farther on the north side of the road stood the little community of Cactus Verde with its ramshackle assembly of buildings. Corrals and lean-tos that sort of got thrown together by accident had become a town for the locals.

Two hundred yards outside of the main town stood a wooden one story building that might be a stables and blacksmith shop. A large corral with seven foot high rails, three water troughs, and stanchions stuffed with clover hay stood south of the building. When Stolter pulled up to the corral he saw the posts were six by six railroad ties with two of them banded together with an iron band.

A hunched-shouldered older man with blue gray watery eyes and gnarled fingers limped out to the corral.

"Howdy, mister. You selling horses? You got quite the assortment here," said the man with a grating rasp.

"No, Sir. I was hoping to put them in your corral for an hour or two while I get some supplies. They're young ones and tend to get into trouble if they're not minded. What do you charge for keeping them?" Stolter dipped his bandana in the cool water and wiped off his face. He could see the teeth chewing on something while the old man ran up the figures.

"Mike Goodson. You don't want 'em rubbed down or the feet checked?"

"Howdy, Mr. Goodson. Nick Stolter. No, no, nothing like that. They'll drink the water and eat your hay. The fewer people running hands over them, the better off they are." Stolter gestured to the herd of feisty horses.

"Your corral is built mighty strong, Mr. Goodson. You expecting elephants?"

Goodson laughed. "Well, young feller, you never know what a wily cowboy will bring in off the trail. I've had mules, buffalo, longhorns, horses of all shapes and sizes. I'm sure that there'll come a day when a big herd of house cats come tearing into town and I'll be ready."

Stolter laughed for several moments. "I know a few house cats back in New Orleans that would tear a dog to shreds. I wouldn't want to run that herd." Goodson wiped his eyes while he chuckled.

"Five dollars for the lot of 'em." Stolter dropped several coins into the outstretched leathery palm. ." Goodson unhooked the swing gate and Stolter pushed the herd into the big corral. Goodson peered at the horses with a skeptical eye. Three ropes and two latches later the animals milled around inside the roomy corral.

"Looks like one of them yearlings' gotta bad cut on its hind leg. You want me to get Brent over here to take a look? Shame to have a good looking horse lost over a wound like that."

Stolter shook his head. "I'll tend to it before I get back on the road. Which saloon has cold beer?"

It was a guttural, coughing laugh that came out of the weathered face. "Only saloon in Cactus Verde is Jack Molly's place. Three Points. Yonder. Around back of Molly's is Walker's Emporium. You might find your supplies there." Stolter touched the brim on his hat with his fingers in a mock salute to the old man and walked across the street chuckling.

### ###

At the end of the bar, Stolter put a dollar on the smooth, shiny wood and asked for a beer. The commotion in the corner brought his attention around for a moment. Stolter shook his head with a chuckle turned around to find the hand of the bartender.

"Jack Molly, Bartender."

"Nick Stolter, cutting horse trainer." He nodded his head towards the corner.

"Your regulars? From the outside, your establishment looks higher class than the likes of them." Molly sneered and harrumphed.

"The three of 'em rolled in a couple of hours ago." A tall, skinny man with deep set eyes let out a deep breath and turned away towards the bar. From the mirror, Stolter could see the two men at the corner table talking and laughing at each other. The table held three empty beer mugs and a whisky bottle. Stolter frowned as he realized that they looked familiar.

"I dunno, but they're a couple of loudmouths," Molly swabbed the bar top with a damp rag. He hung the white towel on a narrow metal bar to dry and poured himself a white mug of hot coffee.

The tall lean man held out a hand to Stolter. "Brent Terwilliger, rancher, builder, too-bit no account man about the town." Molly chuckled and refilled the short glass with amber liquid.

"Nick Stolter. You must be the Brent that Goodson told me about, unless you got kin running around here somewhere."

Terwilliger leaned his body against the bar resting his arm along the shiny wood, looking across the saloon. "You come far?" Stolter shook his head.

"North of Santa Fe. Been on the road for more than a couple of days now. Met some good friends, ran into some bad luck, caught a couple lucky breaks." Stolter sighed. "I got word in Yuma that my wife came down sick with the pneumonia and died a couple weeks ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Nick." Molly refilled the beer with a concerned look.

"My oldest girl is fifteen, then my girl, Lola who will be ten in a few days. My son, Colton is almost nine now. I have no idea on how they are getting along. I figured neighbors were helping them out. There's good people in the town." Stolter took a couple big swallows of the cold beer.

"People watch out for kids. I'd think your kids know who they can trust." Terwilliger lifted his glass in a short salute.

"To your health and luck getting home, Nick." Stolter smiled and lifted the beer glass.

"Thank you, sir." Stolter had just set the heavy mug down when he heard the chair scrape against the wood floor.

A thin, wiry man leaned back in his chair at the round table and had to catch himself before he toppled over. The older, grimy man picked up his saddle bags and in a gruff voice said, "Spike, keep your nose clean. Remember we got work to do."

Spike righted his chair and then grimaced, waving his hand to dismiss the other man. The first man strode through the swinging doors, pulling his hat down.

"Barkeep, another beer!" The belligerent dirty blonde man stood up and staggered his way to the bar. Stolter glanced and saw a thin bearded profile with a thin white scar from the ear down to the curve of the chin. The horseman frowned trying to remember where he'd seen that.

"And I want a clean glass this time!" Molly glared at the man and Stolter saw the vein pulse in the barkeep's jaw as he set his teeth. "The last one I got looked like it had lipstick on it."

Jack Molly slammed the beer glass down on the bar and a doubled up right fist backhanded the fool across the mouth, smashing his lips. Molly was a big and very powerful man, but the blonde man while was lighter in weight, he was almost as tall and a man with that wiry tendon strength. The force of the blow knocked the man's head back and his eyes flew open. That was when Stolter recognized him.

"Wait! Wait!" Stolter took a tense step towards the bloodied lip.

"Check his Colt. On the underside of the barrel is number 62, the year I married my wife. If that's my gun, this man jumped me the other side of Tucson over a week ago."

Terwilliger had moved over closer to the door and the next click was the hammer on his Colt revolver. The bloodshot eyes of man at the corner table were wide as he raised his hands.

Just then Molly brought out a double barreled shotgun and drew back one of the hammers. "Go check his gun, Nick. Just stay out of the line of my fire. I'm not in the mood to be moppin' up blood today."

Stolter sidled over to the blonde man. "The man that was with you that day. Big, heavy gut, fat hands. He called you some odd name, like Riley or Rufus or something."

The drunk man in the corner with his hands up, chuckled. "Oh, that there's Rafe."

"Shut up, George." Stolter emptied the one revolver and set it on the bar.

"You tried to take my horses, but they were too smart for you." Stolter lifted the heavier Colt and inspected it. He laid it on the bar and pushed it to Molly.

"1862. Wedding present from my wife, Marianna. May she rest in peace." Stolter pivoted and brought around a right fist slamming it into Rafe's left jaw. The man dropped like a stone.

Rafe got up to his knees, shaking the fog out of his head and looked around to get his bearings. He lowered a shoulder and jabbed a right up under Stolter's chin, forcing his head back then a quick left and right into the ribs, and shoved him off. Two other patrons hurried around to the backside of the bar to get out of the way. Rafe charged him like a bull with its head down with an ugly sneer on his face. Stolter pushed himself away from the bar and rolled free, smashed a wicked short right that tore Rafe's ear into a bloody mess.

Stolter shook the stabbing pain in his right hand, flexing his fingers. Rafe fell, rolling over and struggled to get up but he fell to one side, panting and heaving. Stolter walked back to the bar and slugged down his beer.

Molly yelled to the other man in the corner. "Get your friend and get him out of here before we do some real damage." The wobbly-legged man dragged Rafe out of the saloon.

"I'll probably be looking over my shoulder the rest of the way home now. At least I've got my gun back." Stolter pressed the damp rag to his reddened hand. Molly nodded and poured him a shot of whiskey to go along with another beer.

Stolter had drank down his beer. "I need to get some food in me before I forget my manners."

Molly gestured to the north. "Go out the door and cut down the alley and go around back. You'll come to Walker's place. On the other side of it is the restaurant. Laurie should have dinner ready about now."

Stolter put two dollars on the bar and picked up his Colt. "Good to meet you, Jack Molly, Mr. Terwilliger." He put his hat on and walked out onto the porch.

As he walked up the narrow alley between the building Stolter felt annoyed with himself. He had lost his temper and thrown judgement off to the side when he had revenge in his hands. He hated himself for losing control yet a piece of his confidence was back that he'd bested the blonde Rafe.

Stolter had no illusions about who he was or what he was doing. After leaving the Mexicans it had become a roiling urge to ride to home and safety. He'd lost his better judgment for a few minutes and he told himself to be smarter than that. He had to be patient and smart if he was to get there alive.

Two buildings down there came the faint sound of dishes rattling together, voices and a drifting scent of food. As Stolter walked past the general supply store he saw it, too, was closed with the draperies drawn over the windows and the chain and lock in place.

When Stolter stepped in through the open double doors to the high-ceilinged room he saw round wooden tables and chairs scattered about the room. There was maybe a dozen people eating, chattering and reading the newspaper around the room. The far wall was a series of long tables and benches. A tall, thin girl scurried past with two plates heaping with steaming food.

"Find a seat, mister. We'll be right over to you." She flashed a smile and then hustled along.

Near the window he put his hat on one of the chairs and sat down to a small vase of flowers, a cloth napkin and two clear glass salt and pepper shakers. A cup and saucer appeared at his elbow and he moved back a bit as black coffee poured into the vessel.

"Good morning!" Blonde curly hair piled on top of blue eyes and a white smile. The young girl sat the pot on the edge of the table. "My name is Laurie. Are you ready for breakfast or are you waiting on someone?"

"Hello, Laurie. My name is Nick. No, I'm not waiting on anyone. What do you have for breakfast?" Nick smiled at her.

"This morning we have baked ham, eggs, country home potatoes, pancakes and sliced apples. We also have sliced steak in gravy with biscuits, beans and yams." She pushed a strand of hair that had fallen down. Nick gave her his order and then watched her scurry back to the kitchen.

He looked around the room. Several lone men in jackets, white shirts and bolo ties drank coffee with their eyes down on assorted papers. In the south corner was a heavier woman with three small children chattered arguing about food portions.

The platter of food slid onto the matt in front of him and Laurie filled up the coffee cup. With a smile she was off to another table. Several couples came in, two of the men paid their bill and left. Stolter worked on the tasty ham and soft pancakes.

He held up his napkin to get Laurie's attention who nodded from across the room. She was carrying several empty dishes when she made her way to him. "I'm head west later today. Can I get some food in a tin to go along with me?"

"Yes, Sir. We usually put sliced steak, beans, gravy and biscuits into a small tin pan for the fire. It's three dollars because we have to charge you for the tin, sir." She smiled.

"Can you tell me when Walker's opens up? I'd like to get a few things before I leave town." Stolter wiped his mouth with the soft napkin. Laurie nodded towards the heavier man near the kitchen who was drinking coffee with a newspaper.

"Mr. Sullivan owns Walker's Emporium. Most times when he is done with his breakfast, he goes over to clean up and get ready for the day. I'll let him know he has a customer waiting." She smiled.

Just as Nick took a sip of the coffee, there was a voice at his side. "Laurie said your name was Nick? I'm Jeff Sullivan. I own the emporium next door. I'm headed that way if you want to come on over." Over six foot, curly black shorter hair and a broad forehead over brown eyes, the store owner had that calm, knowledgeable face of someone who had weathered more than one storm.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. I'll be over directly." Stolter nodded and swallowed. Sullivan nodded and tucked the newspaper under his arm as he left the restaurant.

After Stolter signaled for a refill of his cup, he glanced around the room and found several pairs of eyes looking away. Folks sometimes did that with strangers so he thought nothing of it. After Stolter made his food arrangement with Laurie he paid the bill and left. The sky had brightened with the bottoms of the clouds dusted with gray. Two noisy crows were perched on the pointed roof of the shop down the street.

One of the store doors was propped open and when Stolter knocked, a voice called out. "Come on in, Mr. Stolter." It was a deep room with wood plank floors and thirty foot long shelves and cases and three mirrors mounted on the wall behind the counter. Sullivan poured a small glass of whiskey as Stolter put his hat on the smooth, gleaming wood.

"I'm on my way home to California and there's no telling where I'll get another chance for supplies." Stolter rubbed his eyes. Sullivan poured himself a drink.

"Thank you, Mr. Sullivan."

"How far have you come? We get a lot of travelers that come through."

"I helped out a couple of friends in Tucson for the last few days. I'm head home now. I figure I've got about one hundred fifty miles to go." Stolter watched the man start folding a stack of thin, white cotton towels.

"I feel the same way when I head for Santa Fe. I've got a sister over there that I ride over to see once a month. She married a fella raises goats and pigs. She's happy and I don't stay for longer than three days so I'm happy." He laughed and winked. "What do you do at home? You raise beef or what?"

Stolter watched the man lift bottles and clean under them on the counter. "No, we breed, raise and train cutting horses. My wife was a champion cutting rider and I met her at a rodeo. She beat me for the blue ribbon. Our oldest daughter learned to train the colts and fillies and she's a natural at it, like her ma." Stolter became quiet and took a long drink.

Sullivan had glanced at the horseman in the mirrors a couple of times. When he turned around he squinted with a frown and leaned on the bar. "Something bad happened while you were away from home, I'd say by the look on your face." Stolter averted his eyes and nodded.

"Aside from a cold and sniffles, I can't remember Marianna, my wife, ever being sick. She was always healthy and hearty. The only thing I can figure is that she worried herself over me being away and the pneumonia came and settled into her lungs. She died over a month ago. There was a telegram in Yuma waiting for me at the Wells Fargo office."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Nick." Sullivan lifted a stack of papers up onto the counter and began sorting them into piles.

"Thank you for that, Jeff." Stolter drank down the rest of the shot. "I'm going to need bandages and some ointment for cuts and scrapes. I've been getting bad headaches, too."

Sullivan nodded and went into the back room. A few minutes later, he came out with two clear glass pint bottles. "Two dollars each, as I won't get the bottles back. Molly puts it up for me." Stolter moved around the store setting his socks, a shirt, two bandannas and a pair of gloves on the counter. From his pocket he put the money on the bar.

"You got a map for the next water hole to the west? I think it's about twelve miles to Mattola Creek if you're going south or over fifteen miles to La Jolla Rojo Ranch if you're going northwest." Sullivan picked up the white towels and put them into a bucket on the floor.

"I'm head for La Jolla Rojo. I think that's where Griff has me stopping."

"Griff? Griff Southcott? I know him." Sullivan's face lit up in a smile. "He used to come through with stage horses every other week. How is he?"

Stolter nodded. "He'll be okay. On a trip to Red Springs, he was shot and thieves stole two of his mares. I got him into Rio Mesa and the doc sewed him up. He's a tough old bird and I managed to get him back to his ranch. I left him the good hands of a friend so I believe he'll be alright."

"I'm damn sorry to hear that. I'll have to send word for him to get well. Thank you for telling me, Nick. I consider Griff a friend." Sullivan wiped his face on one of the towel and then threw it into the bucket. Stolter gestured towards the open double doors.

### ###

"You know, maybe you could tell me something about the town. It just feels odd to me that all the buildings are here on the north side of the road. The only building on the south side is the corral and blacksmith. Why is that?" Stolter could see Sullivan avert his eyes away like a sensitive nerve had been hit.

The shopkeeper shook his head. "I don't like to talk about what the old folks used to say about the town. Most of it I don't believe. But then again, we don't know what our neighbors suffer, now, do we?" Sullivan pulled up a tall stool behind the counter and sat down to rest his forearms on the counter. Stolter had a puzzled look on his face.

Sullivan cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. "Charlotte Kleinhaus, her grandpappy, Hays, was said to one of the original founders. It was a big town back in those days, too. Must have been five or six more buildings. Except back then, it was called Columbia Junction. I still don't understand why it was called that either."

"Used to be three, sometimes four stages come through here every day. Two going north up into Nevada. They come up out of Mexico and passengers would change stages here. Couple of the Overland stages used to stop in here to change teams and passengers. That's how I met Griff. He'd bring in the teams. Back in those days, you might have thought another Dodge City was growing here." Sullivan's mouth failed to make a complete grin and he half sneered.

The shopkeeper refilled Stolter's glass. "Hays Kleinhaus owned everything on the south side of the road. He built up two hotels, five saloons, and a couple of general stores. He had freighters coming straight here off the Santa Fe right from Chicago bringing anything and everything you could ever want. All stretched out over half a mile, I'd say. All the way down to the smithy's place. Jed owned that. Jed Holtz." Sullivan looked at Stolter to see if there was any recognition.

"Well, the way it was told me was that Hays' wife was found up in one of them hotels behind closed doors with a man traveling through. Hays liked to go insane. Forced everyone out of the buildings holding a shotgun on everyone. Dumped kerosene in the rooms. Burned it to the ground. The fire jumped to the saloons and Hays started letting off shots to keep people back."

"You mean he burned it all down? Because of his wife with another man?" Sullivan nodded.

"They had been married for many years. Their oldest daughter, Charlotte's mother, was away in Kansas City visiting her in-laws when it happened. Elizabeth came home to find half the town gone. Piles of burned wood. Her mother died in the fire. Elizabeth blamed her father. Hays disappeared."

"Elizabeth swore that nothing would ever be built on the land again where her mother died. I guess she had her father's temper. She blamed the townsfolk for not stopping her father. They moved the most part of the town two miles north on the other side of those hills. People just decided to get away from what happened here."

Stolter stood up straight. "If I remember my history rightly, Columbia was sort of a nickname that the founding fathers had for America. The Roman conquerors never set foot on this land and Columbia celebrated that. Junction is a place with things and people meet. They hook up or share a common existence. How about if it was meant to be called the meeting crossroads of America?"

Sullivan laughed with a nod. "No, but that sounds reasonable for Columbia Junction. At any rate, after Elizabeth died, Charlotte held a meeting and asked everyone to come up with a new name for the town. It's been called Green Cactus ever since. Cactus Verde for all you types coming north."

Stolter drank down the last of his drink and picked up his hat and the wrapped parcel. "If I'm ever back this way, I'll stop in. Thank you, kindly." Stolter smiled and nodded.

"Safe travels, Nick. I'll send your regards to Griff when I write." Stolter waved as he walked to the door. Sullivan followed him to the doorway.

"You're coming up on La Jolla Rojo. That is the last telegraph until you get into Franklin Valley. I can send word to your family that you are in California and making your way home. If I get a response back, I'll send it over to La Jolla Rojo." Sullivan nodded with a concerned look. "It's the least I can do for you."

"You are very generous, Mr. Sullivan. I would be indebted to you, if you'd let my family know I'm coming home." Stolter walked back to the counter and wrote down his ranch name and the children's names on a piece of paper. He shook hands with Sullivan and left.

Back at the restaurant, Laurie handed him two flat steel pans with steel lids held on by brackets. "You put these at the edge of the fire and let them heat slowly for about twenty minutes. Not too hot or they'll burn."

"Thank you, Laurie. You'll save me from starving." Nick smiled. "One more thing. Where can I get about a dozen apples or carrots?" Laurie gave him an odd, sideways look for a second.

She took in a breath while she thought. "On the west end of town, about a mile out on the right, there is a driveway about a quarter mile. It's the old Gregson place. They have an apple orchard but nobody lives there. There might still be a couple crates of apples in the barn, unless someone took them. WE pretty much help ourselves out there."

Nick touched the brim of his hat and paid for the food. At the corral he stowed both tins into the saddle bags. Goodson seemed to appear like a shadow coming out of the shade.

"You're right. Them horses are plain feisty. Terwilliger came over to take a look and one of them black yearlings rushed at him. Kicked the fence." Goodson's lower lip stuck out as if he were perturbed.

"My saddle blanket is pretty worn. You wouldn't have another, would you, Mr. Goodson?" Stolter asked. The old man held up a crooked finger to pause and went into the dark shed. It was a closely woven, multi colored wide long blanket that he brought out. It was almost identical to the ones used by the kids on the mustangs.

"I buy these off the Mexicans when they come through. They weave a right good saddle blanket. That one will last you a long time. Two dollars." Stolter chuckled to himself and handed the coins to Goodson.

"Happy trails, Mr. Nick Stolter. I hope you make it home safe and sound. I don't mean to sound foreboding, but you don't have an easy ride ahead of you, going west. If I wake up tomorrow and find you and your feisty horses back in the corral, I'll understand." The old man nodded to Stolter.

The ropes were lifted and the latched slid back. Stolter whistled for his horses and they trotted out. Stolter hoped he would not have to backtrack his progress. There was a feeling in the back of his head that everything up to this point, this time, this town, had been the easy part.

Jack Molly and Jeff Sullivan stood on the porch in front of the saloon waving as Stolter rode by. For a small town with few visitors, he had felt welcomed for the few moments. As he rode he flexed his left hand and fingers. Welcomed and avenged.

# Chapter 23

Eight miles on west, the map had been accurate. The rows of old apple trees were overgrown and gnarled. Years of branches bearing heavy fruit had broken some of the limbs and leaned some trees over like a tottering old man. On the east side of the orchard were straighter, younger trees with shorter limbs. Stolter figured those were plum trees.

At the end of the orchard was a barren area bounded on three sides by basalt outcrops and clumps of thick, dry brush. At the rim Stolter found an old cattle trail that led him down to the small fifty yards of grass. After about half a mile of exploring, Stolter realized that he'd gotten turned to a dead end and walked back up the trail.

The west side of the old barn had crumbled as it rotted away. The roof was half caved in. Two of the swinging doors laid on the grown with grass growing up around them. The gloomy interior showed a wide plank wooden floor still sound and solid under his feet. To the left against the wall were five stacked wooden crates. Stolter picked up one of the red apples and turned it over in his hand. Chance were these were the last picking before the cold winter set in.

Laurie had been right about the barn. He lifted a crate and took it out into the yard. One by one, he separated out the mushy, rotted fruit from the good. Two of the saddles bags were filled. After he put the crate back in the barn he stood on the edge of the doorway and looked out.

The weather had held cool and sunny. Birds flitted about the orchard trees. Stolter flexed his left arm where the stitches had started to itch. Those would come out tomorrow. The lump on his head had gone down, but he still suffered headaches from time to time. Stolter had grown up standing his ground, resisting those who would push him and seeing through his plans. When he had taken Marianna as his wife, they had become two together facing the world. As much as he did not want to admit it, he felt stronger with her at his side. Now that was gone. He'd have to go on for the sake of his children.

Stolter shook his head as if to push those thoughts away. A couple of quick whistles did not bring any horses. They must have found water or grass somewhere. He started around the side of the bar and that was when he heard the click of the pistol. Rafe Winston and two other men stood with guns drawn in the clearing.

"George, get his gun belt. Mike, go find them horses." Winston gestured Stolter over to the side of the barn. The man who unbuckled the belt without a word was the drunken man with the wide eyes from Molly's place. There was a healing scar over his right cheek.

"You do look like a two-bit horse thief." Stolter saw the gun butt coming and tried to dodge it but it grazed his chin. He got in a hard left up against Winston's jaw before the other man grabbed his arm.

"Where'd you get them horses? Nobody around here has stock like those. They ain't carrying any brands either. Where'd you get 'em?" Winston threw a heavy right hand into Stolter's midsection and doubled him over with a grunt.

Stolter coughed. George straightened Stolter back up to face Winston. "They ain't your horses, Rafe. They won't go with you. Let me give you a piece of advice here. Those black yearlings. They'll kill you. You catch 'em, don't turn your back on 'em. They're mean." Stolter wiped the back of his left hand over his mouth and glared at the blonde outlaw. Mike came running around the corner of the barn. Reddish brown hair over a freckled greasy, complexion with a thin, black beard.

"I found 'em. We're gonna need to get ropes on them. Couple of them are mean, biters." He leaned his hands on his knees panting.

George tightened his grip on Stolter. "What you picking up these apples for? You must have some sweet tooth, mister." Stolter leaned his weight and kicked hard at the man's knees. Just as he broke loose, the fist caught him on the chin and the light turned into darkness.

He had no idea how long he'd been out. Winston wasn't a loner like Stolter had thought. He had been running with a crew or some sort of gang. It was a sniffling, snuffling snort that made him open his eyes. Two of the paint pinto colts stood over him. They backed up when Stolter sat up rubbing his jaw.

"What're you boys doing? Did you escape the ropes?" Stolter looked around. It was late afternoon with the sun already headed for the horizon. When Stolter got up on one knee, everything started to swirl and turn and he sat back down to rub his face again. After a few moments, the fog cleared and he got to his feet staggering with weariness.

Stolter put his fingers in his mouth and whistled out the call for the horses. Not even a whinny. He picked up a couple of the apples that had been strewn around in the fight and gave them to the pintos. Winston and his men must have taken the others. He could feel the anger building inside him as he knew he wouldn't go on without his horses.

One of the pintos nickered and tossed its head. Eddie had been working with these two on the way to aunt's house. A dawning realization came over the horseman as he looked at the young animals.

"Well, boy, now you get to show me what you've learned." No bridle, no saddle, no pad but with a lot of hope Stolter gripped the mane and swung up onto the back of the pinto. All at once, the animal danced sideways and momentary panic showed in the whites of its eyes. Stolter patted its neck and spoke low and soothing to calm it. Then he clucked his tongue and after a moment's hesitation, the horse walked up the trail alongside the orchard. Quarter mile around sandstone canyon walls it came out into a grassy area.

One of the buckskin fillies, all three of the black yearlings and both pinto paints were left. His own roan, the gray mare, two buckskins, all the chestnut colts, and both Appaloosas gone. Stolter patted the spotted neck.

"We're gonna have to go looking for your friends. Eddie and Juan kept trying to tell me that you were smart horses. Let's see how good you are at tracking."

Stolter urged him to walk back out to the main road. Faint tracks led back to the east and Stolter was happy that the colt seemed to trot well and had settled down. Three miles back along the road the pinto slowed to a walk and then stopped, turning to the right looking at something. Stolter clucked his tongue but the horse didn't move. On the ground, Stolter looked for tracks and saw nothing. He dismounted and looked at the pinto colt.

"What do you see that I don't?" Stolter rubbed his head and wished that he had paid more attention to Eddie's training. Just then, the colt nickered and trotted twenty yards farther east and nosed into the brush. Stolter followed the horse down the bank, around a couple of alders and scrub brush. Both Appaloosas grazed on shoots and lifted their heads when Stolter appeared.

"What? You guys stop in here for dinner or something? You leave me laying back there and just decide to go look for a snack?" Stolter laughed at himself talking to the horses.

He ran his hands over them and they were none worse for the wear and excitement of horse thieves. Stolter knelt down and picked up a couple of twigs. He broke them into smaller pieces as he thought over the situation. He looked back at the pinto colt who stood looking at him.

Stolter stood up and tossed the broken twigs into the brush. "Come on, fella. Let's go find more of your buddies." He made his way back up the narrow path up the bank and came out on the main road followed by the colt.

Two miles farther east, the colt stopped at an overgrown driveway. Old wagon tracks had been carved into the dirt, but left unused, weeds and grass had crept in. An old split rail fence had been overrun with rambling rose and vines. The colt whinnied. Another whinny answered and Stolter nodded.

"Hey, you are pretty good at this tracking stuff after all," Stolter said with another laugh.

Forty yards up the driveway there was an old dilapidated farm house, long and low. It looked like it had been deserted for many years. The colt walked to the left of the house and Stolter followed it out to an old barn.

"Help! Help! Who's there! I need help!" Stolter frowned hearing a man call out for help. The two chestnut colts and the chestnut mare stood with their heads over the top rail of the corral looking at the man on the ground. It was George.

"Mister, mister, you gotta help me. My leg's broke bad. I can't move! I need help." His right hand held his right leg and grimaced in pain at the slight movement.

Stolter crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, now you do realize that you got your leg broke because you stole my horses. Maybe this is your reward for trying to run off with another man's property."

George shook in pain. "I need a doctor to set my leg. If I don't, I'll lose it and be a cripple all my life. I know now that I fell in with the wrong sort. I was just looking to make a couple of bucks and buy a couple of drinks and food."

Stolter shook his head. "Where's my other horses? Where did Rafe take them?"

"He's got that gray mare and a buckskin colt. Rafe's got a bad bite on his arm from one of them black yearlings. Came close to shootin' 'em, he did."

Stolter asked, "Did he head east? Which way did he run?"

George groaned in pain. "I've got your roan out back and these three chestnuts." After Stolter checked on his roan he walked back out to the barn area.

"I'll set your leg and put you up on the road to Cactus Verde. I don't know if they have a doctor there so you'll just have to take your chances."

The horses all jumped and spooked when George screamed in pain as Stolter set his leg. Stolter kicked two of the old pickets off the fence and broke them in half for a splint. One of George's shirts from his saddlebags was ripped and tied into strips to bind the splint.

Stolter looked through his saddlebags. "Where's my gun?"

George wiped his bandanna over his ruddy face. "Rafe took it. Mine's in the saddlebags. Take it, if you want. Rafe'll probably shoot you, he see you coming. I want nothing more to do with him."

Stolter took the old pistol and shoved in down the waistband of his jeans. He opened the corral and put the pinto colt in with the chestnuts. As he closed the gate, he looked at the shaggy haired George.

"I'm going after my horses. When I get back to pick up these three, I'll put you up on your horse. You'll make your own way after that."

Two miles east, Stolter heard gunfire. He pulled out the old pistol and made sure he had six shots. Keeping to the edge of the road, he walked his roan farther east. From a trail in the brush up ahead about twenty yards, two men came riding out on the road at a full gallop headed east. One of them was Rafe Winston along with the man called Mike.

After a few minutes, Stolter crept up to the trail and peered in. Down in the brush was a camp. A body was face down off to one side. Stolter's gray mare was tied to a tree alongside the last buckskin colt.

Stolter rolled the body over. It was Hal Stewardson, one of the men from the camp a few miles back. All the pockets had been cleaned out. There was a trickle of drying blood from the corner of the mouth. The powder burns on the side of the head indicated that it was murder. Stolter could do nothing for the dead man. Then he went to the roan's saddlebags unfolded a small piece of paper. He wrote down what he thought had happened and who was involved. Then he put down the Windy Ridge Ranch address in Yucca Valley. Stolter tucked the note inside the shirt.

With the gray mare and the buckskin trotting behind him, Stolter rode in the darkening afternoon back to the pintos. George had tried to drag himself about ten feet but had given up. Stolter helped him get up onto his horse.

"About three miles down the road on the right, you'll find a camp with a dead body. I saw Rafe and Mike ride out of that camp. When you get to Cactus Verde, send someone back to get that dead man. He may be someone's father or brother." Stolter stepped back as George's horse headed for the road.

"And George. If I ever see you again, I'll shoot you myself."

It was after sunset with the gray darkness getting closer when Stolter opened the coral gate and brought out his horses. Alongside the road, caught in the impenetrable scrub mesquite and post cacti was an old wooden sign. La Jolla Rojo Ranch.

It was another half hour taking the stock back to yearlings. He built a fire in between the rocks near the water and heated Laurie's packed dinner. He felt weak as a wet cat with a heaviness in his muscles from the exertion. Through no fault of his own, he had made only six miles that day. He felt alone and defeated.

Later, the fire had burned down to embers. The overhead sky twinkled with stars. Tomorrow Eddie would mail the letters to let them know he was coming home. As he lay in his bedroll he couldn't sleep and dozed on and off. Exhaustion overtook him at some point and he fell into a deep sleep.

### ###

The red streaked dawn brought a jittery nervousness to the horses. The three yearlings had acted up for the first seven miles. They raced ahead and then lagged behind. Stolter who was still tired from the restless night could almost see the pintos shaking their heads in frustration. It was another mile to water. The chestnuts whinnied and raced by him, following by the pintos and then the yearlings.

As they came around the bend in the road, Stolter pulled up to see three people standing at the waterhole. The woman had a torn dress, messed up hair and dirty smudges on her face. The man jerking her arm had a long red scratch on his cheek. Another heavier man with puffy cheeks and a handlebar mustache stepped out from the other three saddled horses.

"This is none of your concern, mister. You should move along now."

Stolter shook his head and dismounted. "This waterhole is not on private land. You don't own it or control it. What's going on here, miss?"

The heavier man puffed up his chest with importance and said, "This woman is in possession of something I own and I want it back."

"Miss?" Stolter led his horse down to the water. Beady black eyes under a black broad brimmed hat turned loose of the woman. He took a couple of steps and stood with clinched fists.

"You are interfering here, mister. Leave us alone. Mind your own.." the man gasped and clamped a hand up on the side of his neck. His eyes bulged and he cried out as red blood seeped from between his fingers. He turned and saw the woman holding a bloody knife in her hand. She threw it down and ran for one of the horses.

Just as she rode by them, she called out, "Thanks, mister."

Stolter was struck from behind by the heavy man. He lifted an arm as he fell and felt a boot kick into his ribs. Stolter grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it as hard as he could and rolled. He was slow to get up and caught a left fist to the temple and was stunned.

"Harry! Stop her! Don't let her run, Harry!" The wounded man was down on one knee fumbling with a bandanna to cover the wound.

Harry lunged to grab Stolter. The horseman was a little faster and sprung up and turned to the right fast. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry shift his weight and bring up his right fist. Stolter's fist came around with the momentum of his turn and slammed into Harry's temple. The heavier man was stunned and his knees started to buckle and then his hand went for something in his boot. A slender steel knife glinted in the light and caught Stolter's sleeve and then Harry swung the blade in a wicked rip at the horseman's head. It would have been a devastating gash in his flesh.

Stolter came out of a crouch and bowled himself into Harry's legs. The knife flew off into the dirt and Harry went face down in the dust.

"Harry, stop! Help me! We can't let her get away! Let him be, go after her! Stop!" Pleading, the wounded man begged Harry. Panting hard, the heavier man staggered to his feet. He clenched and unclenched his hands and swore.

"Can you ride, Dash?"

"I think so. Help me get on my horse." Harry put an arm around Dash and helped him over to the saddled horses.

Stolter saw that they were planning to race out after the woman. Thinking fast, he shoved his fingers into his mouth and gave out two whistles trusting his horses to obey the command. The yearlings were the first trot in close to Stolter, expecting a treat. Then the chestnuts came in. The Appaloosas crowded around and made it almost impassable for the two men to get to the road.

Harry swatted and kicked at the yearlings. One of the colts drew back its lips and came away with a good piece of torn jeans.

"Well, maybe we helped her get a head start, fellas." Stolter cut up apples from the saddlebags and fed the animals. He dipped the bandanna in the water and washed his face. The side of his mouth was tender and there was a lump above his eye. At least when he got home, he'd start to get healed up.

His watch read 1:30 in the afternoon when he came to the outskirts of Nuevo Vargas. Griff had made a mark on the west side where to stop with the horses. Eddie had made a small square on about one hundred yards to the south side of the town for a camp and water.

At the south camp, there was a Mexican man, a woman and a small boy cooking over a small fire. They were all slow to stand up when the horses walked in.

From the road, Stolter yelled, "Buenos dias. Estoy amigo di Ofelia Romero Pelayo. Con permiso?" The Mexican man stood up with a smile and beckoned him into the clearing.

As the horses watered and grazed, Stolter and the couple communicated back and forth in broken Spanish and English. Zeke and Maria Rodriguez and their young boy of three years, Omar. He shared one of the tins of food and the woman made several tortillas for him.

They were waiting for their ride south into Baja. They had been up in the Nevada territory and had come from seeing relatives along the way. Stolter told them as best he could about Eddie, Juan, Chita, Emmie and Icksy. At the sound of the mustang's name, the man sat up straight and with great animation talked about Fuego. He said the word several times and Stolter shook his struggling to understand. Then as if light had struck him, eit hit Stolter. Fuego and Icksy were friends.

No, not amigos. Hermanos. Brothers, like Eddie and Juan. They all smiled and Stolter felt like he had uncovered a secret.

When Stolter unfolded the map, Zeke pointed out four more camps ahead. It was more like a big station map showing where to get rides. Everybody in the family travelled. People organized their time and work so they were ready when a ride came along and then they went. Stolter thanked them for their generosity.

Six miles and an hour later, he tied up at the rail behind the corral. The horses milled around in the grass and began browsing.

Stolter stood outside the small trading post and brushed the dirt off his pants. His upper left arm reminded him of the wound when he reached to take off his hat. He stepped into the store.

"Good afternoon, sir. Are you looking for anything in particular?" A round, shiny balding man with little glasses perched on his nose greeted him with an open-mouthed smile.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, I need ammunition for my revolver." Stolter laid the old pistol up on the counter.

"I see you have a Paterson. We don't see too many of those around. Lots of people buy the new guns." The clerk turned around to a tall case behind him and ran a finger over the small boxes.

"You'll get my last two boxes until supply comes in. That's four dollars. Anything else?"

"I need a little tin pot for coffee. Mine must have come loose and it's laying back on the trail somewheres." Stolter shook his head. The clerk laughed.

"One of the freighters will find it and pick it up, I'm sure. We have one man that comes through all the time on his way into New Mexico. Tells me stories about the things that people toss off to the side of the road, or like you, it works its way loose and jumps for freedom." The clerk laughed again and cleaned his spectacles. The store door opened up and a younger man leaned in.

"Hey, mister? These your horses out here? I think they're waiting on you." He pointed out to the front and Stolter stepped over to the doorway. The three black yearlings saw him and whinnied. Stolter laughed.

"I bring 'em to water, make sure they have grass to graze and feed them apples. The darned things follow me around like happy puppies." Stolter shook his head and walked back into the store.

The clerk handed the ammunition and supplies to Stolter. "You selling them head? Mighty fine looking yearlings."

"No, sir. I breed, raise and train cutting horses up in Yucca Valley."

The clerk looked alarmed and gripped the counter when Stolter said the name of the town. "Yucca Valley? Right?"

"God in Heaven! Jimmy! Run get Miss Belle quick! We found the man from Yucca Valley!" Jimmy stood with his mouth hanging open for a couple of seconds and then ran out the door.

Stolter stopped and frowned. "You been looking for me?"

The clerk offered a hand, "Mr. Nick Stolter? From Yucca Valley?" Stolter took the hand and shook it with a suspicious look on his face.

"I'm honored to meet you, sir. I'm Dave Richards. I own the store. Let me say, I am so very sorry for your loss."

Stolter took off his hat. "How'd you know about that?"

"We've been following the telegrams of your family trying to find you. Well, I should say Miss Belle has. She has them all for you here. We thought you might come through so we've been keeping watch. Come on out to the front where there's better light, Mr. Stolter."

To the left down the boardwalk, came the young man Jimmy leading a hurrying young woman in slacks and a knitted colorful sweater.

"Mr. Stolter?" It was a white, pretty smile.

Stolter took a step backwards. "Yes, what is this about?"

"My name is Belle Del Grande. I help run the Western Union office here for the town. Your family has sent a couple of messages for you. I brought them." She handed six sheets of white paper with fine penmanship written words. Richards ushered Stolter to a broad wooden bench.

The first message was from Doctor Collins in Yucca Valley about Marianna's death. The second message was from an attorney, Merle Doyle of Bradford, representing Kelly, Lola and Colton Stolter. The third message was from Kelly Stolter and it said that everyone was healthy, safe and waiting for him to send word.

The fourth message was from the First National Bank in Tucson confirming receipt of deposit. Stolter frowned and rubbed his head. He had not made any bank transactions in Tucson. The fifth message was from a name that he had not heard in years, Mary Rideout, and it said for him not to worry and safe travels. The sixth and last message was from the initials "KLC" and it said that they had moved to new home at Flint Hills.

Stolter had an incredulous look on his face. "How did you come to get these, Miss Belle?"

The young woman smiled and in a rush she said, "Often time folks don't know where people are, so they send a telegram to general delivery. That means all the stations get the message. Some station masters get so many that they just let them pile up. We don't get that many and as they came across the wire, I've been writing them down." She blinked several times and smiled as she wrung her hands.

He staggered with weariness. He still bore the old wounds, had taken a beating, not slept well and had been on edge for miles and days. And now the news of home felt like a hundred pound weight had been added to his shoulders. Stolter leaned his hip against the counter. "What does this mean?"

Richards cleared his throat. "Well, the way we have been thinking on it is, after your Mrs. passed on, this attorney, this Merle Doyle was brought in to help the children. But now, you see the town where the attorney is at, well, that's over 135 miles to the south of Yucca Valley. We looked it up." The clerk nodded.

Jimmy leaned against the rail and scratched the ears on one of the black yearlings who nudged against him. "It took us a couple of days to figure out that it must be your wife's family who is in Bradford. But they didn't write, it was the attorney. There must have been papers telling your children to contact that attorney if anything bad happened."

Stolter looked at Jimmy. "So when she died, they wrote a letter to the attorney. You're right. My wife's family is from Bradford. But her father died many years ago. There's nobody left there. I think Doyle must have gone to see the children to help them."

Belle said, "The message from Kelly, we figured that was your daughter, said that they were all fine and just waiting to hear from you. There's no trouble or difficulties so we figured the attorney did talk with the children and did help them."

Richards again spoke, "When we saw the Tucson bank wire, we figured you had been successful in business, because of the deposit. That's when we decided to speculate and say that you were most likely on your way home."

Jimmy said, "So that meant all we had to do was keep an eye out for you to pass through."

Stolter rubbed his face with both hands. "I don't understand why Mary Rideout would send a message. She is a friend of Marianna's family. Maybe she was acknowledging Marianas's passing."

Jimmy had scratched all the ears on the yearlings and they had been nudging him with their noses. "They like you, Jimmy. You must smell good to them. They usually bite." Jimmy laughed and ruffled their manes.

Stolter looked at the last telegram. "Why would they move from Yucca Valley to Flint Hills? We were buying that place."

Richards said, "Mr. Stolter, there is an attorney involved with the welfare of your children. I would hazard a guess that he is making sure everything is done proper. Attorneys are that way." He paused a moment and then looked at the horses.

"You've got more questions and only your children will have the answers. Moving that distance is a big job and a lot of work. I'm sure that attorney would not have let them move unless it was vital to their safety and security." Belle and Jimmy both nodded in agreement.

Stolter stood up. "I guess I better get on the road. Thank you Belle, Jimmy and Dave, for keeping watch for me. I don't feel quite so alone now." There was a tightness in his chest because of the genuine concern strangers had for him.

Belle took a step towards Stolter and started to reach for his arm and then drew back. "With your permission, I'd like to send word to your children that we found you and you are on your way home." She looked somewhat worried.

"That would be right kind of you, Miss. Can I pay you for the wire?" Stolter started to fish coins out of his jeans. He stopped when she shook her head.

"The way you can pay, Mr. Stolter, is to send a wire out once you get home. Just put on it 'home safe and sound.' Send it general delivery and we'll know you made it." Stolter smiled and stepped down into the dusty street.

The yearlings followed him as he walked down to the corral. Stolter cut up apples for them and then mounted up. It was then that he noticed the lone wire on poles along the road. He thought about the message that would soon be in the hands of his children. What he didn't notice was the two men on horseback sitting on a ridge watching him move his herd west.

### ###

"Who is he, boss?" The man with the field glasses followed the herd until it disappeared into the curve of the low road. After he put down the glasses, he looked at the other man. Bob Moss held up his pocket watch and looked at the time. He shook his head pursing his mouth with a quick grimace.

"It's coming up on 4:30 and I'd say he's headed for Camino Pequeno. We might have to run them head all the way back to Yuma to find a buyer. Unless you know someone who buys, no questions asked." Moss put the watch into his vest pocket.

Harry Clark had an angular chiseled face with mean, dark gray eyes. The thick set man with a scant beard claimed to be from the north of England and held his emotions and tongue in check. His black broad-brimmed hat was streaked with dirt and dust and sat pushed back on his head. Clark walked back to the big buckskin and stowed the field glasses in one of the saddlebags.

"I was doing a job with a fella out of Tucson. Name of Beadle. I'd done some things with him up in Kansas City. He told me about an easy hotel job and I'm not the type to take my business indoors. But he was very convincing. He'd come up out of the Gulf and was headed for San Francisco." Moss stopped to rub his eye.

Clark adjusted the bridle on the buckskin. "So what happened? Where is he?"

"Dead. Shot in that hotel in Rio Mesa. Beadle said that it was full of old timers, widows and drunks. Told me we could slip in and out without anybody missing a snore. It was all going pretty good until we got to the third room. That man down there with them horses. He was in that room, along with another man and a woman."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stolter looked around and said, "Are they in town? I'll talk to them right now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

### ###

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. "We don't know who you are, Mr. Nick Stolter."

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

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

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

"What?" Stolter blinked his eyes hard and shivered.

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

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

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

"No. I'll stay here." He could see Rickie pursed his mouth shaking his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stolter struggled to sit up. "Alright. I have two dollars."

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

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

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

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

After they had walked away about twenty yards, Ricky yelled back. "Remember Mr. Nick, go to Valdez. Go around Farwood. Run for home." The four people waved and then walked into the trees leaving him alone once again.

He stood there for another twenty minutes looking out over the grass. He cursed those black yearlings. He wondered where his roan was at. Every muscle ached and throbbed. He came in carrying ten stitches and now he carried close to one hundred.

Alejandro had cut a small pile of firewood and laid leafy branches over it as a makeshift shelter. Ana Maria had filled his two tins with food and covered them over with the mended strips of his torn shirt.

His senses were not keen and his head felt like a knife was in it. He wanted to lay down and sleep but it would be agony to get into the blankets. Then he realized that he had taken a step towards to alder pole platform. He had intended to go look for the buried pouch of the documents and money. But he stopped and his common sense told him other eyes might be watching. He'd have to wait until the cover of darkness.

He groaned as he knelt down and pulled the blanket over for warmth. He had no idea how long he had slept. When he opened his eyes, the sun was climbing up the trees on the far side of the clearing which meant it was late afternoon. He didn't fight the urge for more sleep.

It was in cool darkness the next time his eyes opened. His watch was gone. Maybe it was lying in the grass somewhere. He'd never find it. He sat up and fought the desire to lay back down. The fire had gone out and it seemed a monumental task to strike the flint and blow the kindling into a smoking fire.

As he stood waiting for fire to build, he looked out into the darkness. There was comfort in a fire and he just wanted to feel the warmth and try to gain some strength. "Where are you horses at? The cricket's song answered him. A slight breeze rustled the leaves overhead. The stars seemed to twinkle a little faster.

After he ate and drank the hot coffee he felt better. He still felt cold. Part of him wanted to see the healing on his back and part of him couldn't bear the sight of what had happened to him. With a snort he considered the supposed remarks of the salty doctor in Rio Mesa.

He felt the energy drain out of him. His eyes grew heavy. His feet seem full of iron. He pushed the gear under the edge of the platform and laid down.

"Nick Stolter!" He came up out of the heavy sleep and almost chuckled to himself thinking that the horses could talk. It was cold.

"Nick Stolter! Wake up!" That was someone calling his name. He threw back the blanket and gritted his teeth in pain as he sat up. He rubbed his eyes and looked around.

It was a tall, skinny man. He stood thin with narrow, hunched shoulders and a body that looked like he hadn't eaten in a week. The white skin was in hard contrast to the black, deep set eyes. "I think I found your three hooligan horses. I put 'em out there with that gray mare."

Stolter saw long, bony hands with dirty nails. The coat was patches on patches but looked warm. "Who are you? Where did you find them?" Stolter coughed and looked away to spit the vile taste out of his mouth.

There was a heavy pack on the man's back and he steadied himself with a long, gnarled wooden pole. "About two miles down along the river, they were grazing in between some young threes."

Stolter shook his head and tried to stretch his back but he twitched in pain. "How'd you find me?"

The man chuckled. "Everyone knows you're here. I know you're not doing too good. I had someone cut me a break years ago so I'm sort of turning the favor."

Stolter wanted to scream in agony as he pulled on one boot and paused to catch his breath. "Friend of mine got shot and his horses stolen. I helped him get back on his feet and a couple of snake bellies took my horses. I was sleeping in a nice hotel room and couple men busted in and tried to rob us. I haven't caught a break yet."

The man knelt down next to the fire ring and picked up a stick to drag in the dirt. Every so often he glanced out at the horses. "Yeah, I saw a couple of graves a mile out. Those the guys who roughed you up?" A sparse black mustache and five days of stubble surrounded a slight grin.

Stolter rubbed his face. "Might be. You here to try your luck?"

The man held up a bare hand, palm out. "No. You don't have anything I want."

Stolter held his ribs as he coughed twice. "I had someone tell me that the trip home has been easy up to here. The miles from here to home are going to be the hardest I've ever ridden." He pulled on his other boot. After he had looked around, Stolter frowned because he didn't see a saddled mount anywhere.

The stick pushed into the dirt making a design. "I've had folks tell me that. What I learned was it might have been hard for them, but they don't know me. You might be the same."

Stolter took in deep, ragged breath and looked at the man while he let it back. He watched the man lay in a couple more chunks of wood to the flames.

The thin man stood up and lifted his hat off his head. Bony fingers combed back through his hair. "I heard tell there is a trail from north of here that winds up through the Rockies up to Oregon. I'm looking to see what is up that way."

Stolter rubbed his hands together and then rubbed his fingers. He was stiff and sore and his belly was empty. With considerable pain, he walked out to the edge of the grass and could see the pintos and chestnuts grazing. Farther out, he saw the yearlings with their heads down. It was disturbing to think that he had lost days and almost lost his herd. He turned around and the man was gone. He hadn't heard a sound, not heard a word as far as he could tell, there were no tracks leading away. He rubbed his head and walked back to the shelter and looked at where the man had knelt down. The dirt was smooth and undisturbed with no marks from the stick.

He sat down and pulled his boots off. He was cold and his head was pounding like a drum. He couldn't think straight. He laid down and pulled the blanket over himself. As tired as he was of sleeping on the ground, he had no choice and dropped into sleep.

Later that afternoon, with monumental effort, Stolter put on his jacket and went out in the grass. He was surprised to see the black yearlings walk up to him for scratching. He stood with his arm draped over the back of the roan. He had never dreamed a vivid dream like that. Lola used to tell him about her dreams but only when they were away from the house and just him and her. He had always listened and smiled at the active imagination of his youngest daughter. She had a sensitivity that he had never understood until now.

He had a couple pieces of beef jerky left, two pieces of dried fruit and Ricky had left him four pieces of spicy caramel candy. Stolter knew he'd have to ride out today and head for Valdez so he could get that doctor to look at his wounds and find food.

Twice he dropped the saddle trying to get it up onto the back of the roan. He could not get the cinch tight. After he loaded on his gear and made sure to stow the soft leather portfolio with straps, he used the stacked firewood as a ladder to mount up.

# Chapter 24

Every jolt of the horse, every time he twisted around to look at the horses following him made the stitches scream in his skin. He tried a trot and it made his back feel like all the stitches were being ripped out. He hung onto the saddle horn and concentrated on staying in the saddle. He found the wagon wheel and the long leafy driveway.

It was a ten foot wide wooden gate built from milled boards, aspen poles and iron braces. It looked like it would stop a herd of elephants. As Ricky had said, there was a heavy iron link chain threaded through the gate and around the log that had been sunk into the ground. The wide, worn driveway led about one hundred yard to the west and disappeared in a stand of alder trees.

Back at the buried wooden box hiding place, he debated walking so he wouldn't have to get back up on the roan.

A young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen trotted down the lane on a pony. When he got down he stood looking at Stolter swinging a key on a chain. "What you want, mister? You selling horses?"

Stolter took in a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Doctor. I need a doctor."

"You're riding. What's wrong with you?" The boy had a drawl sometimes found in those with a mental impairment. He leaned to the left. The afternoon sun glinted on the reddish highlights in his hair and showed his freckled skin.

"If there's no doctor here, I'll ride on. Thank you, kindly." Stolter reined over his horse to head back out to the main road.

"You'll have to pay. The doctorin' ain't free." The kid tilted his head to one side and made a lopsided grin as he twirled the key. Stolter pretended to fish around in his left front pocket and then took off his glove and fished around in his right front pocket. He looked at his hand.

"I got two dollars left." He lowered his hand and showed the boy the coins. The boy clucked his tongue and started to unlock the gate.

"What you got to trade? If the doctorin' costs more, you'll have to pay somehow," the boy said as he swung the gate back. Stolter counted his horses that were by then nibbling grass near the trees on the opposite side of the lane.

"I'll leave these horses out here. They're somewhat ornery and I do want anyone getting bit or kicked."

"No, sir. They'll be alright on this pasture right here. We aren't running any stock here right now." The boy waved him on in. Stolter walked the roan inside the gate and turned the horse to watch the chain and lock thread back through the wood and iron rings.

Through the trees, over a wooden bridge and then up the side of a hill, they came out in front of a long, low ranch house with a veranda along the entire front. Several people got up out of chairs and stepped to the porch rail as the boy and Stolter walked into the yard. "He's needing a doctor. I don't know what for."

A short, heavy man with spectacles and suspenders walked down three of the steps and peered at them. "Who is he?"

The boy cursed under his breath as he got off his horse. "Sorry, mister. I didn't ask your name. I'm always supposed to, but I forgot."

"My name is Nick. Couple of men ambushed me in my camp few miles back to the east. A husband and wife stopped to help me. She sewed me up the best she could." Stolter coughed and then spit off to the side.

Right then, a gray haired woman came out of the house wiping her hands on a blue apron. Her long skirt fanned about in the wind and several strands of her gray hair bobbed about. All the men backed up a step.

It was a melodic voice. "Did you say you needed a doctor, mister?"

"Yes. Ma'am. I think I tore a couple of them stitches in my back. I think I might have a broken bone in my left hand.' Stolter took off his left glove with a grimace and held it out to the side.

"Jimmy! Help that man down offa his horse. Joe, go get my medical bag! Jorge, clear off that table there and go get one of my white sheets! Move!" She pointed at a man and he started to run.

Stolter held up his hand. "I told your boy I only have two dollars left, ma'am. I was beaten and robbed back on the road. It's all I have."

"That will be plenty, mister." Jimmy stood holding the bridle of the roan while Stolter slid down to his feet. He stuffed his gloves into the saddle bag and laid his coat over the saddle. Jimmy took the roan to the water trough and glanced back.

"Lordy, your whole back is bloody, mister!" Stolter nodded and clenched his fists as he fought the scream rising in his throat.

Jorge ran down the steps to Stolter. "Mr. Nick, my name is Jorge Valdez. This is my mother, Wilhemina Valdez. She's pretty good at doctorin' and your back looks bad." He spoke with a heavy Spanish accent.

Stolter towered over the five foot tall woman who bustled about like a whirlwind. The horseman put his hand on Jorge's shoulder to get up the five broad wood steps to the veranda. Her blue gray eyes were clear and steady.

"It's gonna be painful to get that shirt offa you, Nick. If you have another, I can cut this one off you and make it easier." She held her hand to her mouth as she walked around him.

"No, ma'am. I'm out of money and out of shirts. Just help me get it off and maybe rinse it out and I'll put it back on." Stolter had to stifle the scream that tried to escape his lips when she pulled the fabric away from his wound.

"I'm gonna need you lay face down on the table. Would you like a shot of whiskey for the pain, first?" Stolter shook his head and took a couple breaths. His back felt like it was on fire. She had a light touch and for the next ten minutes cleaned him with a damp cloth.

"You're right, Nick. You've got five torn stitches. I'll have to pull those out and put in new ones. You've been bleeding for a while now." Her fingers worked over his entire back.

For half an hour he could feel the needle sliding in making new stitches. An older man sat down in a chair a few feet away. Black, straight hair, hard black eyes with a back mustache. "I am Ricardo Valdez. What you doing with them horses, Nick? None of them carry brands." The man gestured with his head towards the front gate.

"They belong to a friend of mine. I picked them up in Arizona for him and I'm delivering them to his ranch in Yucca Valley. You'll have to be careful of them, if you go near. They like to bite and kick." Stolter flat out lied. Then he coughed and grimaced again.

"I had Joe go down and take look at them. You are right. The blacks rushed him and tried to bite him. They are mean. I don't see why they are so special." He felt the small hand on his shoulder and turned his head in her direction.

"I have a compote that I use on stitches. Help them heal right nice like. I'm going to put it on and then put on the bandages. The next doctor you see will check your stitches again." She patted him twice and then went to work slathering him with the cool salve.

When she was done, they helped him sit up. A bowl of hot soup was brought out to the table and he was given a slice of bread and a spoon. He wanted to lick the bowl. "Been a while since you've eaten, mister?"

Stolter nodded. "I ran out of food two days ago. The men who robbed me took the saddle bags with my food stores. When I get to Franklin Valley, I'll get more food."

Jimmy had been leaning against the porch rail snorted and with a laugh said, "How you gonna get food with no money, mister? We're taking your last two dollars."

Stolter wiped his mouth with the cloth and then stared at Jimmy. None of the Valdez had not tried to take his gun.

"I'll send a wire. He's five days behind me on the road from Santa Fe. He'll make sure money is waiting for me in Farwood. I can make it that far." The woman stood up with a brisk movement. She reached and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You stay right there. I'll pack a lunch for you. Jimmy, go fill up his canteens. Jorge, go get that small bottle of whiskey and bring it here." She looked at them blinking at her. "I said move!" There was a clattering of boot heels racing across the veranda.

"Your friend sounds like a generous man." Valdez pursed his lips as he spoke. Jorge came back with the small bottle of amber liquid and Stolter gulped down two swallows and then gasped for air. The soiled shirt had been rinsed out and hung on a hanger on the porch to dry. As Stolter struggled into the damp shirt, he turned and looked at Valdez.

"I don't know the whole story about the man who used to own these horses. I just know he died and I was asked to take them on to California. I'm a friend helping a friend." His eyes held steady on the Mexican's.

Wilhelmina came back carrying a cloth sack and handed it to Stolter. "When you get into Franklin Valley, stop at the Laughing Coyote saloon. That's my brother, Bob's place. Tell him you want Willy's beer. That's the one beer he allows me to have when I come in. You can sit at the table out on the boardwalk and eat this little supper. You can leave the sack with Bob and I'll pick it up next time I'm in town." Stolter put the two dollars in coins onto the table and smiled to the woman who picked it along with the bowl and walked back into the house. After the door shut, Stolter walked down the steps.

Jimmy walked over to the rail with the roan. "Your saddle is pretty loose, mister. You want me to cinch it up for ya? No sense in falling off your horse and tearing them stitches."

"Jimmy that would be right kind of you if you would, please." Stolter nodded. Valdez walked down to the bottom step and leaned on the rail.

There was a hint of accusation in the voice. "I never got your full name, Nick."

"Nick Stolter." The horseman watched the raised eyebrows and mouth drop open with no sound.

"You're the Nick Stolter that the Texas Rangers are looking for?" All three men came to stand on the bottom step.

"They were looking for me, yes. I talked with them in Yuma. Everything has been settled." Stolter watched Jimmy threading the cinch.

"I'm sorry to be nosy, but what was that all about?" Valdez looked curious.

Stolter felt a slight annoyance. "They only look for people if a bank's been robbed or somebody is dead. I made sure nobody saw me do either one." Stolter touched the brim of his hat, clucked his tongue, and winked. Valdez looked alarmed.

"Thank you for your hospitality and tending to my wound. I appreciate it." He waved.

Stolter eased himself up into the saddle. He with his back and stitches numbed from the salve, he felt refreshed. Maybe all he had needed was food and a couple gulps of whiskey. He followed Jimmy and the pony down to the gate.

"You are kind hearted people, Jimmy. People on the road will try to take advantage of you. I see why you keep those gates chained up." Stolter leaned on the saddle horn and looked at the boy.

Jimmy squinted with his forehead creased in a frown. "When I was little I used think that it was just here to keep us in. So we wouldn't run off. Now I know it's to keep others out, too. Happy trails, Nick Stolter."

When Stolter looked back before the curve in the drive he saw Jimmy with an arm raised waving. The horseman had been apprehensive of the Valdez Ranch and its owners from the words of the Mexicans. Stolter waved once, whistled twice and then headed for the road followed by the herd.

### ###

After Stolter doubled back to the hiding place, he sat for a few minutes surround by pancake prickly pear with brilliant orange with white cluster stems in the centers. He was exhausted once again and just wanted to lay down and rest. He half expected someone would make a play on the horses and knowing his injuries, leave him to bleed out along the road. The sky looked like it was almost noon.

He put the horses into an easy gallop. Six miles went by. At the seventh mile a long straight driveway went up a gentle slope to a small white house perched on the hillside. Not long after, there were three small houses with fences around the front yard clustered together on the south side of the road. The whitewashed sign hanging from the lean-to rail introduced the Franklin Valley Ranch.

"Hallooo." A long haired older man with a cane walked around the side.

"Howdy, mister. My name is Stolter. Can I water my horses here? I been pushing them sorta hard and they get feisty if they don't get water."

"Yes, sir. Come on around this side and they can get to water." The man hurried around the south side of the corral and gestured to the long water troughs. Stolter whistled for the horses and they came to drink.

"You want that roan rubbed down? Fifty cents, comes with a cup of grain, mister."

Stolter smiled and flipped a dime coin to the man who caught it out of the air. "No thanks. He's okay as is. Can you point me to the Laughing Coyote? I need to see Bob." The man nodded.

"The third building on your right in town." The old man winked and hobbled back into the lean-to.

The Laughing Coyote had six men standing at the bar and another few around wooden table on the east side. There was a husky, young cowboy at the end of the bar who had a split lip and a raw welt on his cheekbone. Stolter suspected this was one of the men who attacked him back oh the trail, but couldn't be sure. A hand appeared in front of him.

"Bob Lassiter, bartender." The man was gigantic at six foot four. He tipped the scale over three hundred pounds and his hands looked like twin Christmas hams.

"Nick Stolter, horse trainer." Stolter nodded. There seemed to be no recognition from him, but the young cowboy twisted around in his chair.

Lassiter grinned an open-mouthed smile. "What can I get you, Nick Stolter?"

"I was just out at your sister's place. She said I should ask for Willy's beer." Stolter had a look of hope on his face as he raised his eyebrows. Bob squinted and pointed a finger at Stolter.

"You see? That's why she can't be in charge of running my saloon. She'd give everything away because she is too kind hearted." He winked and smiled. He lifted a heavy pitcher and poured beer into a tall mug. Stolter winked and put five cents on the bar.

"You mind if I sit out front and eat my dinner? Wilhelmina packed a good bite to eat and my belly started growling four miles back." Stolter gestured to the front and Bob waved him out.

Several folks rode by on horses while he ate and they waved at him. He waved back. Lassiter came out and cleaned off a chair and sat down. "So Nick Stolter, why were you out at my sister's place? Not very many folks stop by there. Her husband is not the most hospitable." Lassiter sipped the small glass of beer he brought with him.

Stolter nodded. "I was ambushed on the trail coming from Yuma. I stopped looking for a doctor. She replaced my torn stitches." Lassiter looked alarmed.

A scrawny cowboy in worn leather chaps tied up his paint at the rail. His boots were worn down at the heel and his leather gun belt was smooth and shiny from use. He and Lassiter exchanged greetings before he went into the saloon.

"Virgil Franklin built this little town mainly as a gift to his wife, Rosalie. She felt she was out in the middle of nowhere after living in St. Louis and so he built what you see. People moved in. It's mainly the families of the cowboys on the ranch who have these little businesses for travelers like yourself." Stolter listened while he shoveled potatoes and beef.

Lassiter asked, "You going very far tonight? It's nigh on to four o'clock. You might want to stop for the night."

Stolter said, "The men who ambushed me took my watch. I just know the sun is up or it's down." He pushed the small cloth sack towards Lassiter. The big man held it in his hands with a little smile.

"Our mother liked to pack up snacks and food for us to eat. She always put them into these little sacks she sewed with her own hands. I haven't seen one of these in years."

Stolter wiped his bandanna over his face. "I wish I knew what that salve was that she put on my back. I don't feel those stitches so bad now."

Lassiter pushed his lower lip out in thought. "I'd have to say she mashed up nettle and aloe vera cactus. That would take some of the pain away and cool down the skin. We use it on burns and such."

Two narrow hipped cowboys walked up onto the porch and touched the brim of their hats to Lassiter. One of them wore the patched, shabby suit coat of a hard-grained man with a layer of dust. The other grim dark-faced man wore black jeans and a heavy leather vest over a black long sleeved shirt. Something about the men looked familiar to Stolter. He had seen similar men all across the west.

"Bob, is there a telegraph machine in the town? I'd like to send word to my family that I'm coming in early Saturday morning." Lassiter drummed his fingers on the table.

"Our Miss Lillian is in charge of the telegraph machine. It's two doors down and in the office at the back of the restaurant." Lassiter nodded. "Don't eat the pie." He tapped a finger alongside his nose as if to impart secrecy. Stolter stifled a laugh and drank down the last of the beer.

"Thank you, sir. And thank you again to Wilhelmina." He stood up and picked up his hat.

"Safe travels, Nick Stolter." Lassiter did a mock salute and went into the saloon.

Lillian McCarthy was a petite brunette with a long ponytail, a white apron and balanced a tray dishes as she hurried by him near the door. "I'll be right with you, mister." She went to the counter at the back and put the dishes into a tub. She came back smiling.

"Did you want to sit and eat? I just pulled fresh apple pie out of the oven," she said with a big smile.

"Ah, no. I need to send a telegram, please." Stolter held up a hand and smiled to her.

She looked surprised. "Oh! Alright then. Please come with me to the back. You can write out your message there." She halted in front of him and he ran into the back of her. She turned. "I charge five cents a word, mister." Stolter stopped and shifted his weight to his other foot and put his palm against his cheek as if to think.

"I can pay that." He smiled. She led him to a small desk with paper, a quill, and an ink well.

"I have to go see to my other customers. I'll be back in a few minutes, mister." She patted his shoulder and hustled away.

Stolter looked at the blank page. He had been gone from them for a month and a half. He was coming home injured and in need of help. They would have to be ready in case of the worst. He thought about having them ride to Farwood to help him with the horses. Stolter felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at Lillian who hustled away again.

He scribbled, 'Coming home Saturday. Prepare for herd. Make guns ready. Nick Stolter.'

Lillian picked up the page. She hissed, "You're Nick Stolter? Come with me." She gripped his sleeve and drew him along with her out the back down, down some steps and across an alley. At the back door of a grayed wood building she knocked twice and then towed him in with her. She pointed to a chair. A man in a white shirt and a black buttoned vest looked up in alarm over the top of his glasses.

Again, Lillian hissed a whispered statement. "This is Nick Stolter." The man gasped and then put both hands out as if to stop any sound.

Lillian gripped his shoulder and made Stolter flinch. "Stay here until I come back. They'll miss me at the restaurant if I'm gone too long. I don't like suspicious, nosy people." She flew out the door.

The man leaned a bit closer to Stolter. He whispered, "Mr. Stolter, my name is Mel Tegan. I wish I could have met you under better circumstances."

Stolter had lowered his voice. "What is this about?" Tegan brought out a key from his vest and unlocked a desk drawer. He lifted out a leather portfolio and unwrapped the string. Nine telegrams were inside.

"These are from your friends and family. They've been trying to find you, along with other parties." Tegan slid the portfolio to Stolter who sat down and started reading. Windy Ridge was paid off, free and clear. Two horses had been sold. The Flint Hills ranch house had been repaired. From Mary the message was that the children were healthy and waiting and not to worry. There were others but the one that caught his eye was from Lola Stolter, his daughter. It read,

' _Guns ready. Bring the war.'_

He shook his head grinning and after a minute felt the hot burn of tears in his eyes. She had found the book and had been reading. Stolter chuckled. Tegan looked alarmed.

Stolter explained how he had given tasks to the children to keep them busy while he made his way home. The Sun Tzu book on warfare strategy had appealed to his daughter who had an interest in weapons. Gauging by the look on Tegan's face, Stolter doubted the man believed him.

"We thought you were headed into a range war of some sort." The bloodshot eyes blinked behind the glasses.

Stolter shook his head. "No. But I think there are a couple of men following me that are going to try to kill me and take those horses I'm running. And I can't bring danger to my children's doorstep. I have to figure out a way to stay alive and get home in one piece." Tegan had sat back in his chair.

Stolter said, "If I was closer to home, I'd know the road and I could run at night. The map I was using is long gone so I'm riding blind." Tegan jumped up and put his hand over his own mouth.

"Lonnie over at the corral knows that road. I'll go get him and we can draw another map. You are twenty two miles out of Farwood. I'll be right back. Don't move!" The man put out his hands as if to stop Stolter from moving.

Tegan had been gone five minutes when Lillian came running in and slammed the door behind her. "He left you here alone?"

"I do have a gun, ma'am." She waved her hand as if to dismiss the weapon.

Exasperated, she put both hands on her hips. "Where did he go?"

"To get Lonnie at the corral to help draw a map of the road to Farwood." Stolter was starting to feel like he was called to the principals' office.

"Oh, that's a good idea. I'll go pack up a slice of pie for you!" Stolter reached to put his hand on her arm.

"No, please don't go to any trouble for me. I've already eaten and I'm afraid the saddlebags would squish it like a bug." He let go of her arm and she opened her mouth to speak but just then Lonnie and Tegan came in the door. Tegan unrolled a large piece of brown wrapping paper and handed a pencil to Lonnie.

"I was over to Bradford two weeks ago. Max's wife makes a right soft doughnut and I'll eat them all day long." He leaned over the paper and drew jagged circles, tree shapes, wavy lines indicating water and other assorted insignia. Twenty minutes later, Stolter was confident he would know where to get out of the way of trouble, where he could fall back to and when to go into a full speed gallop. Vaguely, images of the country and the road swam in his mind.

"Do you want to send that wire, Mr. Stolter?" Lillian asked.

"Yes, but now I want your advice on what to say." The three mumbled and murmured amongst themselves and after a few minutes, Lillian wrote out the message. "Arriving Flint Hills noon Saturday. Warm the cannon." Stolter grinned.

"I need to get on my horse." Stolter laid sixty cents on the table. He shook Lonnie's and then Tegan hand. "I and my family thank you for your help." Lonnie folded the map and Stolter stuffed it inside his shirt. Tegan gave Lonnie a burlap sack and Lonnie nodded as he took it.

"What's that for?" Stolter asked.

Lonnie grinned and winked. "Apples. Come with me." Down the alley three doors and Lonnie cut in between the buildings. He led the way through a grassy area and then saw an old overgrown orchard of apple trees. In the lean-to against the fence on the north side were stacked crates full of apples. Lonnie held the sack.

"I'm not sure if your horses will eat these sour apples. I've got to get rid of them before Lillian makes any more pies. They're so bad. They are just horrible." Lonnie looked apologetic and Stolter laughed.

Two cowboy figures leaned against the front of the Laughing Coyote and they turned their faces away as he rode by. There was something familiar there but it eluded him. Tegan and Lillian waved as he rode by the restaurant. There was a flock of black crows in the alders along the road. It was twenty two miles to Farwood and he had a hunch that it might be the longest twenty two miles of his life.

### ###

Bob Moss put down the field glasses and said, "Yeah, I'm sure now. That's him. He's been running them horses since before Yuma. Far as I can tell, he ain't got anyone riding with him."

In the massive grove of poplar and ash surrounding Farwood was an outlaw camp. The tall white trunks swayed in the light wind and the silvery leaves rustled as to block out any other sounds. Three men lounged around a fire.

Moss poured coffee from the tin pot into the cup. "Did you ever wonder why you keep running across the same people again and again? It's like the world is putting them in front of you for some reason and you are supposed to guess about why they are there." He smirked. Clark shrugged and sipped the hot coffee.

Jeb Kadon looked like any of the other hundreds of lone men on the western roads. Tall with a black stubble beard. Even though he could put enough food for three other men inside him, he still had a whitish pallor drawn look about him.

"You gonna pick him off or does he know something you want to know?" Long bony fingers took a long time to roll a smoke. He was a lean, frowning, dark man, about thirty five with black hair and mustache. Even after bathing in the river, he still looked dirty.

Moss said, "He's carrying money. Four sets of saddlebags on that roan. He's got to be carrying money. Knock him off that horse, take those bags, and be on our way. No fussing with negotiations, no pleadings, and no breaks."

Kadon said, "I don't expect no breaks from anyone and I'm mighty stingy with giving breaks out. I won't say I've lived a hard life because I could be standing next to a fella at the saloon who'd had it much worse than me, I'd never know it. That man down there has had a couple of lucky breaks, I'd say."

Clark said, "I was never one for sitting and reading to learn something. I always watched something be done and that's how I learned. Keep my mouth shut, watch and learn. We been watching this Stolter fella for a couple of days now. We know he was ambushed and beaten pretty bad. We talked to one man who says Stolter is carrying stitches."

Moss gestured to the other men. "Check your guns. Let's go make our payday." He led the way down through the rocks and threaded between the trees. The dust hadn't settled from the passing of the herd. They all pulled up their bandannas and broke into a gallop.

### ###

Three miles out of Franklin Valley, the roan started to climb a low hill. Near the crest, he glimpsed the last rays of a golden red sun. It flooded him with a memory of another road.

Coming out Chisholm late one night, the trail had been lit up by the full moon with hundreds of stars overhead, Stolter's horse was rested and moving with ease through Slater Valley and then started climbing Crismayne Hill. It had been a dry few days with light wind and only morning clouds that burned off as the sun rose higher. He had passed shacks, horses, people and wagons never paying them much attention. He had been focused on getting somewhere.

Then another man on a horse had slammed into him in the darkness. He'd been thrown and hit his head and passed out for a few minutes. When the stranger ran to jump him, Stolter fired one shot and killed the man. The horseman climbed back up on his mount and made it into Shreveport with an hour to spare before his riding job with the Kingman Stage pulled out.

Back then, Stolter could not remember what had happened aside from the gunshot. It was months of working it over in his head before he could piece together why he had fired his gun. He rode back and forth over that part of the road several times hoping the area would help him remember, but nothing came. It had been a long, nagging mystery in his life about what had happened that day. All these years he had considered that missing time a personal loss, as if an unlucky incident took it from him.

The map showed a lake or creek to the south about a quarter mile off the road. He took the horses into the narrow path. Cobwebs were strung like white silk from tree to tree and he had to hold up an arm to keep them from his face. Around the waterhole were tall, white trunks that swayed in the light wind as the leaves made a low hissing rustle. A company of army soldiers could be marching by and Stolter wouldn't know it.

He got off while his horses drank. One by one the animals began to graze in the short grass along the water. The gray and white spotted Appaloosa cross filly had lost weight and had slimmed down. The Appaloosa cross colt had more muscle in his flanks. The chestnut colt had taken to following around with the three feisty, black yearlings who bit at and kicked each other in play. The chestnut filly seemed to be more of a loner but when she ran she followed behind the gray mare. Perhaps the filly wasn't as mature as he thought her to be. When he ran his hands over the gray mare, he didn't find anything unusual. She had lost some weight like they all had but she'd get that back once she pastured.

The three buckskins were always near each other. Even running in the herd they would run side by side or follow each other. The light tan of their coats was accented by the black stockings, manes, and tails. Eddie had told him that these three were the most promising as they seemed to be intelligent. The black yearlings had a fiery spirit that would need to be tempered. But the buckskins wanted to carry a rider. That had made Stolter laugh at the time. The older chestnut mare and her colt had never accepted an apple from Stolter. They had shied away when he had walked amongst them. The mare bore calloused from a halter or bridle so it had looked like she had been ridden. Colton had a knack with shy animals so maybe he could figure this one out.

Stolter's back had been one big, hot ache since the Valdez Ranch but it had lessened over these last miles. He was injured and knew that he was not up to full strength. He just wanted to get home to his family and the safety of the land. Stolter could feel the dreadful, depressing loneliness that kept trying to slide into his mind. He should be relieved and happy because this long drawn out suffering was about to come to an end. But try as he might, he could not find the joy in it and would not until he had cross the Flint Hills property line.

The outlaws had to be behind him now. He was too good of a wounded target trying to make a run for safety. The only choice he would have would be to stand and fight against three guns or make a run for it and lead them into his own ambush. It was with sour humor that he looked at his situation. As he hand fed the last of the apples to the tired animals, he could feel that he was so close to home, yet so far.

### ###

All the horses follow him back onto the road. It was odd that he didn't recognize any of the road landmarks this close to Flint Hills. He wild guessed that it should be about nine more miles.

A bullet whizzed by his head and he ducked down over the neck of the roan. The dust from the herd running behind him was thick. Several of the horses whinnied and raced up alongside him rolling the whites of their eyes in panic. He spurred the roan, giving it freedom to run all out.

It was a sheer panic run up to a gentle left curve to the south and then a wide swing back to the north. Three more bullets flew past his head. A glance back showed three men on horses galloping after him. He grimaced as an ache from the stitches started to build.

A cluster of reddish boulders to the side of the road looked familiar. The horse's hooves thundered over wood. Stolter looked around and realized that he had made it into the county and had crossed Three Wagon Bridge. That meant that the ranch was three miles ahead. In the dim light he could just make out the trees on the embankment on the right.

He said a silent prayer that the children had received his telegram. Flint Hills was thirteen miles east of Bradford and they might not have gotten it. He wasn't expecting celebratory torches and bonfires as if a conquering hero was arriving back home. Stolter grimaced as he gripped the reins.

As he rode along the East Bradford Road, he remembered the country. There was an old oak opposite the road leading to the ranch. It had grown even bigger in the years since he'd been gone. A few more strides, up over a slight rise and then around just a little to the right.

The tall double posts at the gate had been whitewashed and the big wooden sign still stood along the fence. A left turn onto the broad, driveway flanked by three heavy posts sank deep into the earth. He just had to hang on for a few more yards. He had swung the roan in and off to his right he heard the crack of the rifle half waiting for the stinging slash in his body.

Stolter swung to the left and half jumped half fell to the ground near the water trough. A rifle sounded and he looked toward the barn. It had to have been Colton. He was the only long shooter in the family. Another rifle fired and the impact of the bullet rocked the body that laid near the fence.

A man's voice called out, "Moss, I'm shot! Moss?"

Moss took cover near the fence, pulled his revolver and shouted, "Harry! Can you make it out? Harry!?"

Stolter saw the bigger man with a bloody chest squeeze through the fence rails and run for his horse. A few seconds later hooves raced back down the road.

Colton was the first to run to his father. "Pa!" Stolter wrapped his arms arounds his son.

Lola came running and hugged her father. He blinked his eyes to clear his blurred vision. From the corner of his house, walked his eldest daughter, carrying a revolver in each hand. She was taller than he remembered, carried herself with a dancer's grace and showed a purpose in her stride. He was surprised to see her walk to the mangled body lying in the yard, look up at Stolter and then fire the heavy Colt into the body. That was when she broke into a run to him and came sliding to a halt in front of her father.

"Harry is going to be late for dinner!" Stolter looked at his three children and sighed with relief. He kissed their foreheads again.

Stolter grimaced as he said, "I've got a gunshot in my hip. I need a doc to get the bullet out."

Kelly nodded. "The doc is due here at noon, Pa. I told him you were coming home with stitches and he said he'd be here."

His eyes blurred up and he blinked several times. "I don't know how you did it, but I'm glad you're here." He hugged them all again.

### ###The End###

###

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, take a moment to leave me a review, please?

Thanks so much!

Lee Anne Wonnacott

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

