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.