Gold on the Hoof Page 11

  “We did not come that way, señor. We came down from the mountains to the west.”

  His face cleared. “Aha! That explains it. I am sorry for my less than polite greeting, señor. We have troubles these days. We thought you were among those who torment us. If you come to the casa, Don Thomas will want to meet you. This is his estancia.”

  Walt and Nastas walked their horses behind the man as he led them to a hitching rail in front of the house. Another man ran ahead of them to warn those inside that they had visitors. The remaining two guards, both older men, waved amiably at the sentry in the watchtower, then ambled back to the stables, carrying their rifles casually resting over one arm.

  As they dismounted, Walt heard the front door of the house swing open. He looked up, and caught his breath in astonishment. A young woman stood there, long dark red hair framing an attractive, freckled, lightly sun-tanned face. Her eyes were a mesmerizing green. She appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties. She wore a white blouse, cut high to preserve modesty, and a long flowing green dress that appeared to use less fabric than was fashionable. As she stepped forward, Walt realized that it was a divided skirt, designed to allow her to ride a regular saddle rather than a side-saddle. He’d heard of them, but never seen one before.

  “Saludos, señores,” she began. “Welcome to the estancia of Don Thomas O’Halloran. I am his daughter, Colleen. I am told you wish to discuss buying horses. I shall take you to his study. I handle the estancia’s business affairs, so I shall be part of your discussions.”

  Walt found his heart beating unaccountably faster. This woman… something about her… he realized with a start of astonishment that he had been staring into her eyes for several seconds without saying a word. He flushed. “My apologies, señorita. I had not expected to see such beauty in the hinterlands of Mexico. I am Walter Ames, a horse rancher from Colorado, and this is my companion, Nastas, a horse breeder of the Navajo nation.”

  Now it was her turn for a hint of color to rise to her cheeks. “Beauty is where you find it. Come with me, please. Your horses will be cared for, and your saddlebags and pack saddles will remain undisturbed.”

  Strangely, Walt felt no anxiety about the gold on his pack saddle. Something about this place and its people just felt right. He handed the reins of his horse to the man who’d led them to the house, and Nastas did likewise; then they followed the woman into the house.

  She led them through an imposing hall, rising fifteen to twenty feet above their heads, with whitewashed walls, paved with dark red tile. Several doors led off it. She went up to one and knocked gently. “Father, we have visitors.”

  “Bring them in, Colleen.”

  “Si, papa.” She gestured to them. “In here, please.”

  Thomas O’Halloran proved to be white-haired, tall, with a sunken frame revealing the ravages of time, even though he didn’t appear elderly. He struggled to his feet from behind his desk and came around it to greet them, walking slowly and unsteadily. He must once have been a strong, powerful man, Walt thought as his daughter introduced them, and they shook hands. His face was shockingly disfigured, a big letter ‘D’ branded into his right cheek. Walt recognized it at once. When did you desert from the U.S. Army?, he thought to himself. That’s how they used to mark deserters.

  “You are Navajo?” O’Halloran asked Nastas, still speaking Spanish. “I’ve heard that some of you are trying to preserve the bloodline of the horses that came here from Spain.”

  “Yes, señor. I am one of them. My family and I have a small herd of about fifty head at my home in northern New Mexico. We’ve tried to breed for quality, rather than quantity. This man, señor Walt, does the same, and we are sharing our breeding stock with him. I recognize some of the traits of our horses in yours. Are they also of the Spanish line?”

  “Yes, they are. I’ve tried to build up the the finest breeding herd of that bloodline in all Mexico.”

  “I think you have succeeded, señor. From what we saw as we rode up, they are truly beautiful animals.”

  “But animals with no future, unless a miracle happens,” his daughter said sourly, anger twisting her mouth as they sat down.

  “Sadly, Colleen is right,” her father admitted. “That’s why you were met by suspicious, armed men, rather than a warmer welcome. There’s a man who’s determined to get his hands on my horses, and sell them to racing stables in Mexico City. There, they’d be ridden to death within a year or two. They use them hard, racing them several times every week, then discard them when they wear out. Often they end up being shot out of hand, their wind broken and their spirits too. I’ll be eternally damned if I allow that to happen to mine!”

  “Yes,” his daughter confirmed. “Sandoval hired a bunch of bandidos, who set up camp outside our canyon at the beginning of the year. They refuse to allow any horse buyers to get in, and won’t let us out to buy supplies. They’re trying to starve us into submission, forcing us to sell out, horses, estancia and all, for a pittance. We’ve been able to send men with packhorses through the mountains to get some supplies, but they can’t bring in enough for all our needs.”

  Her father added. “It’s also a burden for our people. Most of those who work here came with me from America after the 1846 war. That’s where I got this,” and he touched the brand on his cheek. “I fought with the San Patricio Battalion.”

  Walt instantly understood the unspoken implication. He said softly, “I fought the U.S. army as well, or at least the Union Army. I served in the Confederate States Army during the Civil War. I was a sergeant, a scout and courier.”

  O’Halloran’s eyes brightened. “I was a sergeant too! There were a bunch of soldiers, Irish immigrants like myself, who couldn’t stomach the way we were treated because we were Catholic. We deserted, and formed the San Patricio Battalion to fight for Mexico instead, because it was a Catholic nation. We lost, of course, as you did too. Many of us were taken prisoner. If we deserted before the war, we were branded. Those who deserted after war was declared were hung as traitors.” He sighed. “There are few of us left now.”

  Colleen interjected gently, “Father, about the horses?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Before we discuss them, would you gentlemen like to take a closer look at them? Colleen will tell you everything you want to know. While she’s doing that, I’ll have two guest rooms prepared for you.”

  Nastas looked surprised. As an Indian, he was used to being fobbed off with second-rate, servant’s accommodation. O’Halloran obviously understood his expression, because he added, “Any breeder of Spanish horses is welcome in my house, señor Nastas. I have no prejudice against Indians. My late wife, Samanta, was one-quarter Kickapoo.”

  “I see. Thank you, señor.”

  Colleen flushed. Walt understood at once why she reacted that way. The lightly tanned look to her skin that he’d noticed before, and found attractive compared to the fashionable pallor often encountered on women in the United States, was now revealed as genetic rather than sun-caused. She might be described as an octoroon in American terms, he realized. She probably worried that he would now treat her as a person of mixed race, generally looked down upon in polite society. He wondered how he could dispel that fear, but said nothing for now. He’d let his actions speak for his attitude.

  She rose to her feet. “If you’ll come with me, señores, I’ll take you to the horses. Jaime and Valerio can tell you more about them. They help with maintaining the bloodlines and planning our breeding program.”

  10

  As they walked towards the stables, and a servant hurried ahead to alert the hands that they were on their way, Colleen said bitterly, “Even if you buy some of our horses, I don’t know how you’ll get them out of this valley. Those bandidos will just take them away from you.”

  Walt smiled. “We might have something to say about that, señorita.”

  “Just two of you? Against six of them?”

  Nastas laughed. “Only six? They should have brought m
ore!”

  Her eyes widened with new hope. “You’re serious? You really think you can get past them?”

  “With a little bit of luck, we’ll do more than just get past them,” Walt promised.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll say no more at present, señorita. Let’s look at the horses first.”

  She led them into a barn, where two men came forward and were introduced as Jaime and Valerio. Walt shook their hands, but was distracted by something standing in front of two wagons at the rear of the building. He pointed. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is that a U.S. Army mountain howitzer? The 12-pounder 1841 model?”

  Jaime laughed. “Yes, it is, señor. It is a small souvenir of Don Thomas’ service, you understand.”

  “It’s got a prairie carriage, too, so it can be towed, instead o’ havin’ to be taken apart to move on muleback. Does it work?”

  “It works very well. We have used it to keep our unwanted bandido visitors at a distance. We do not have many men, you see, señor, so this helps strengthen our defenses. Don Thomas taught us how to use it. I am in charge of its crew when needed.”

  “Do you have all the rounds for it – cannonball, case shot, canister and grapeshot?”

  “Si, señor, although not many are left. It is hard to find them in Mexico.”

  Colleen sniffed. “If you’ve both finished looking at the cannon, perhaps Jaime can tear himself away from it to talk about our horses?” The men laughed, but took her point.

  Walt allowed Nastas to walk ahead of them, talking animatedly with the two Mexicans and running his hands over the superbly conformed horses. He said thoughtfully, “Señorita, if we manage to get rid of the bandidos out there, that would not be the end of your troubles, I think.”

  “No.” Her lower lip trembled for a moment. “I… I don’t know how we can have any future here. After the French invasion, and the Juarez uprising against them, the bandidos have grown into a plague in many provinces, including this one. If we get rid of that bunch, others will come. My father is very ill. He cannot live much longer. I would like to run this place, as I have for some years already, but…”

  “But the men will not obey a woman alone? They want a man to lead them?”

  “The men we have will follow me, but the younger ones we need to hire will not. They think a woman should be married, with a man to manage business matters.” She grimaced. “It’s so unfair! I’ve run this place on my own already for so long!”

  Walt sighed. “Yes, it is unfair. My late wife and I were partners in my businesses, and we worked together as equals. Sadly, Mexicans seem to place more store on what they call machismo than I do.”

  “Your wife died?”

  “It’s a long story, but she was murdered almost two years ago.”

  She drew in her breath with a gasp. “Murdered? How terrible! What did you do then?”

  “I went after the men responsible, and killed them all.” Walt’s voice was flat and hard, with an edge of savagery to it that he didn’t realize he was projecting.

  “And you’ve been alone since then?”

  “Yes. I’d very much like to marry again, but I want a partner, someone to stand beside me and work with me, like Rose, my first wife. There aren’t many women who aspire to that.”

  “What sort of work do you do, señor?”

  “I own a transport and freight company, and a ranch that I’m setting up to breed quality horses. That’s one of the reasons I’m here in Mexico, to buy breeding stock for it. I daresay I’ll have more ventures in due course. I’m talking to a friend about investing in a big cattle ranch in what’s now Comanche and Kiowa country, as soon as peace is established.”

  “So you’re a wealthy man?”

  “I don’t know about wealthy, but I’m doing all right.”

  “I see.” She thought for a moment. “You’re traveling with a Navajo. You feel no prejudice against Indians?”

  “Nope.” He grinned. “I have an Indian name myself, given to me by Satank of the Kiowa. That’s a long story, so I won’t go into details now. Basically, I judge anyone, no matter what their skin color or language or culture, by what they are inside, and how they behave. A good person is a good person, no matter what else they are. Same goes for a bad person, I guess.”

  “I wish more people thought like you.” Her voice was bitter.

  Walt guessed that she was probably still unmarried because of prejudice against those of mixed blood. It was possibly worse in Mexico, among the landed gentry, than it was in the United States. They’d regard her as suitable to be the mistress of some important man, but never his wife. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. It wasn’t his place to ask questions about that. If she wanted him to know something, she’d tell him.

  Nastas turned to him, eyes alight with excitement. “Amigo, I have never seen better horses than these!”

  Walt winced slightly. By letting his enthusiasm show so clearly, Nastas had probably driven up the price. He said only, “They sure do look good. Señorita, shall we return to the house and talk business?”

  “By all means.”

  Walt watched her as she walked ahead of them, her slim, trim body swaying gracefully. He realized he was already more than a little smitten by her. He tried to tell himself to slow down, to take things gently… but he knew already that it would be very hard to do so.

  Don Thomas greeted them as they came back into his study, and ordered a servant to bring coffee. “What did you think of my horses?” he asked as they sat down.

  Nastas shook his head. “I have never seen finer, señor.”

  The old man flushed with pride. “It’s taken almost thirty years, but yes, I do believe we’ve done the breed proud. How many were you interested in buying?”

  Walt held up his hand. “Before we talk numbers, señor, your daughter mentioned that your future on this estancia is probably not very bright, due to the bandidos and the unrest that still plagues Mexico. Would you agree?”

  Don Thomas frowned, but nodded. “Yes, I do. That’s why we haven’t bred our mares for over a year, because we couldn’t be sure the foals would be able to grow up undisturbed, or that we’d find a market for them. I’m in poor health. When I’m gone, I don’t know how Colleen will be able to run this place. She’s unmarried. Many men in these parts won’t obey a woman’s orders. However, if she marries, her husband will expect to take over and run it the way he sees fit. It’s very unlikely he’ll know as much about horses and the original Spanish bloodlines as she does, so he may make the wrong decisions, and run it into the ground.”

  His daughter’s eyes flashed fire. “That’s assuming I’d marry someone like that in the first place! All they want is a little woman at home to keep up the house, entertain their guests, and provide children at regular intervals. I won’t be a brood mare for anyone!”

  “I don’t blame you, señorita,” Walt assured her. He turned back to her father. “I suppose the future of your workers also worries you?”

  “Very much. Most of them came here from the United States, where they were mesteñeros and vaqueros in what is now Texas. I hired them because they knew so much about horses, and told them to bring their families with them. At one time we had over fifty people living and working here. Now, with their children grown up and moved away, the older ones have nothing to look forward to. I worry greatly about them, but I don’t know what to do for them.”

  Walt nodded slowly, mind racing. “What if I could offer a future for your horses, and your workers as well, señor? I might even be able to offer one to you and your daughter, too.”

  Don Thomas and Colleen jerked upright. “A future? What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I told Colleen that I have a ranch in Colorado, where I plan to breed horses. I came here to buy breeding stock, among other things. If the price is right, I’ll consider buying your entire herd. What’s more, I’ll hire all your people, and help them move to Colorado. If they can prove that
they were born in what is now the United States, there’ll be no problem. They can continue to look after your horses, and teach my ranch hands all that you’ve taught them. I’ll build houses for them, and they can live there as long as they please, even in retirement. Furthermore, if you and your daughter would like to move with them, I’ll give you a home either on the ranch, or in Pueblo, the nearest city, where I also live much of the time. You can decide for yourselves. Of course, you’ll be relatively well off, because I’m sure you won’t sell your horses cheaply; so that money will let you live anywhere you please.”

  There was a long silence. Don Thomas and his daughter gazed, first at him, then at each other. There was a dawning hope in her eyes, a silent longing. Her father nodded slowly. “If… if that can be made to work… it would open up a whole new future for all of us, but especially for Colleen. I’d almost lost hope of one for her until now. What sort of price were you thinking of paying for my horses?”

  “What do you normally ask for them, señor? I don’t want to gouge you.”

  “I usually get the equivalent of a hundred to a hundred fifty dollars per horse.”

  Walt was astonished. That was far less than he’d expect to pay for animals of such high quality in the United States. Two to three times higher would be more like it. He managed to say, “Those prices are acceptable to me, señor. How many horses have you?”

  Colleen answered, eyes bright with new hope, “We have seventy mares of breeding age and five stallions, plus three dozen working horses. They’d be much cheaper, of course.”

  “Of course. Shall we average the prices you quoted, and say one hundred and twenty-five dollars per breeding horse, stallion or mare?”

  Don Thomas coughed explosively. He struggled to catch his breath, and Colleen hurried to his side, pounding his back, her face concerned. At last he recovered himself. “Young man, you do realize you’re talking about more than nine thousand dollars?”