“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 blo
od 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.