Gold on the Hoof Page 3

  “Thank you. I will join them. I need to learn more. We have had more practice with rifles than with the small guns.”

  Walt made a mental note to send for a lot more cartridges, lead, powder, and bullet molds. With so many people to train, he’d need thousands of rounds. From the look of them, he’d also need to provide warm coats, gloves, and thick blankets, to make the trip south in the middle of winter more bearable. Ames Transport could bring everything from Pueblo.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll have our leatherworker make up holsters and belts for those who need them. Meanwhile, we’ve set aside one section of the bunkhouse for you and your men. Nate – you remember him – will take you there. We have hot water for baths, and two oxen are almost ready to eat. Tonight is fiesta time for everyone, to celebrate your safe arrival.”

  That evening the oxen were carved into heaping plates of food, their carcasses shrinking like snow melting on a hot rock in high summer, accompanied by vegetables, seasonings, and heaps of tortillas and johnnycake baked by a relay of grinning wives and daughters of the ranch hands. Walt had discouraged alcohol, strongly supported by Nastas. They knew what it could do to stomachs and heads unaccustomed to it – and besides, it was against the law to serve alcohol to Indians. Instead, he’d arranged a supply of water, lemonade, sarsaparilla and small beer. No-one seemed to mind. The ranch workers used those among them who spoke Spanish as interpreters, and the two groups were soon mingling freely and animatedly swapping stories. An impromptu band struck up in one corner with guitars, castanets and a tambourine, and before long couples were dancing in the dusk.

  Jim Dunnett grinned as he stood with Walt on the porch of the administration building, both holding plates as they watched the festivities. “Dang, there must be fifty or sixty people here, old an’ young, men an’ women, white, black, Mex an’ Injun, all havin’ a helluva good time. I reckon you’ve started somethin’ real good here, Walt.”

  “I’ve surely tried. In my transport business and here on the ranch, work can get real dangerous sometimes. We depend on each other to stay alive and out o’ trouble. The real question about a man, the only important one, is whether he’ll be there for us when we need him. I pick my people real careful, for that reason, an’ make sure they see it that way as well – their families, too, for the married folks. Other differences just ain’t as important.”

  “You’ll be takin’ a mixed bunch south, then?”

  “Sure will. Anyone who doesn’t like the idea will be fired as soon as I find out. Saves trouble down the road for the rest of us.”

  The next morning was a bustle of activity.

  Walt began the day by calling together all those he planned to take to Mexico with him, the Navajos and ten of his own hands. “We’ve got about two months before we leave,” he told them. “During that time we’ll break all the new stock to saddle an’ harness, slowly and gently, and finish most of the work of settin’ up this place for the winter. Also, the Navajo will take a couple of weeks to visit Blanca Peak, south of here. It’s one of four mountains they reckon are sacred to their gods, so it’ll be a sort of pilgrimage. Some of them may stay there for longer.

  “We leave for El Paso on the first of December. We’re goin’ to be coverin’ thousands o’ miles over the next few months; six hundred or so from here to El Paso, then better than two hundred an’ fifty more to Chihuahua in Mexico, or double that to Hermosillo for those who go there. Some will come with me from El Paso, through Fort Clark, then across the Rio Grande to Mexico. That’s the best part o’ five hundred miles. From there it’s better’n three hundred miles south to Monterrey an’ Saltillo. Also, don’t forget: once we get all the way down, we’ve got to ride all the way back again, herdin’ hosses!”

  A soft groan rose from his listeners, many of whom instinctively rubbed their rears in anticipation of the bruising miles ahead. Walt couldn’t help grinning as he continued, “We’ll change horses as often as we need to, but we’re still gonna have to treat ’em carefully, and not push them too hard. We’ll be travelin’ for at least five months. By the time we get back here, you’ll have covered five or six times the distance that a typical trail drive covers from Texas to Kansas. It’ll be something to tell your grandchildren about.”

  “That’s if we can still have children, after grindin’ our butts down to a nub,” one hand muttered, not very quietly. Laughter greeted his sally.

  “That’ll only be a problem if you don’t fit your saddle,” Walt retorted, to more amusement. “If that seems like too much ridin’ for anyone, now’s your chance to back out.” He looked around, but no-one moved. “All right. First off today, we’re gonna look at the breedin’ stock the Navajos brought for the ranch. I’ve had a quick look already, and I’m real impressed. They’ve done us proud. After that, we’ll look at the hosses Vicente an’ his mesteñeros brought. I may buy some or all of them, if they’re good enough.

  “After that, I’m gonna issue guns to those Navajo who don’t have them yet. Any of you who ain’t satisfied with the guns you got now, this is your chance to get better ones without havin’ to buy ’em yourself. Mine ain’t the latest models, but they’re all in good condition and dependable. Bring your old ones to the administration building, and swap them for my stock. Make sure your holsters an’ rifle boots are in good condition, and get them repaired or replaced by our leatherworker if need be – also your belts, boots an’ saddlebags. I want everyone to carry at least fifty rounds for his revolver, and double that for his rifle – more if you can. We’ll be huntin’ for fresh meat every day, an’ there’s bound to be those who’d like to steal our hosses. I don’t aim to let them.” There was a growl of agreement from the hands.

  “Make sure your clothes for the trip are in good order. Pack tough, hard-wearin’ duds, at least three full changes, includin’ warm clothes, long underwear and two pair o’ boots. Each o’ my hands must choose a string of three mounts from our workin’ horses. Check your string carefully. Make sure they’re fit an’ healthy, and have ’em re-shod. The blacksmith’ll make up spare horseshoes, and a couple of you know how to cold-fit ’em if any hoss needs it on the journey south. Check your saddles an’ bridles, and put right anything that’s worn. Make sure your bedroll is warm enough to get through the winter, even if we have to sleep in snow. Send to Pueblo for anything you need to buy before we leave, and we’ll ship it here. We won’t be stoppin’ on our way south, except to buy food now and again.

  “We’ll take twenty pack horses with us. They won’t be heavy loaded, so they can keep up with us. Five will carry your bedrolls, so you don’t load your own mounts too heavy. The rest will bear food an’ gear, includin’ oats an’ nosebags to keep up the hosses’ strength on the trail. I’ll take two extra pack horses. Jimmy and Randy,” and he indicated two gangling teenage boys, “are comin’ with us to tend to my hosses an’ gear and run errands for me, ’cause I’ll mostly be too busy with other things.” The boys flushed as all eyes turned to them for a moment.

  “Nate and I will be workin’ with the Navajo, teachin’ them to use their handguns better. If any o’ you want to join us, you’ll be welcome. Otherwise, get ready for the hardest winter’s work you’ve ever done, and are ever likely to do!”

  After agreeing to buy the dozen horses Vicente had brought to the ranch, Walt took him aside. “You know what I’m plannin’ over the winter?”

  “I heard you talk to the hands this morning, señor. I will tell you honestly, I am amazed. To plan so large… you must be talking about thousands of horses!”

  “Two to three thousand, if all goes well. What I really need are men who are good judges of horseflesh. The Army’s got strict standards of what it’ll accept. If we bring back hosses that don’t meet ’em, they won’t buy ’em. I can’t afford that. I need men who can look at a hoss an’ make up their minds quickly whether he’s what we want. They may have to look over several hundred horses in just a few days. Reckon your mesteñeros could handle that job?”<
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  “Some of them have many years’ experience in judging whether a mustang is worth keeping, or a cull to be released. They could do it. However, some will not want to work through the winter. They will want to spend that time with their families.”

  “How many d’you think might join us? I’ll pay each man thirty a month and found – that’s their food, ammo, an’ lodgin’ when we ain’t sleepin’ out under the stars – plus a bonus of two to three months’ wages when the job’s done. That’ll depend on how well we do, of course.”

  “For that, señor, I think I can find you eight men, perhaps up to ten. Like me, they live in Las Cruces in New Mexico Territory, but that is not far from El Paso. I can bring them there when you are ready.”

  “Sounds good. What about you? Will you come? If you do, I’ll make you one of my group bosses. They’ll earn fifty dollars a month and found. At the end of the job, if it goes as well as I hope, each boss will get a bonus of up to five hundred dollars.”

  Vicente sucked in his breath audibly. “That is very good money, señor.” Walt knew the bonus was probably as much as the profit he would make in six months’ hard work, gathering mustangs. “I had planned to stay with my wife and children over the winter, but for so much, I think she will understand if I leave after Navidad instead. Ah… may I bring one thousand dollars to invest in this venture? If it goes as well as you hope, it will help make up for a poor year’s mustanging.”

  “That’s all right with me. Meet me in El Paso on the first of January. It’s a small enough place that you should find us with no problem. We’ll be somewhere outside town, near Fort Bliss. Pablo’s gonna buy or rent a place for us to use as a base.”

  “I shall be there, señor.”

  4

  “I’ll be damned if I’ve ever seen anything like it!” Sandy exclaimed as he reined in his horse at the lip of the Palo Duro Canyon. None of the ranch hands had seen the giant gash in the earth before. They sat in their saddles, the dust from their passage eddying around them in the breeze, staring in awe at the sight below them as the plains plummeted into the chasm.

  “They reckon this is only a small part of it,” Walt said slowly, as amazed as any of his men at the vista opening out before them. “They say it goes on for a hundred miles or more. I guess not many white men have been through here, ’cept maybe the cavalry. The Indians know it well, though. These are Comanche and Kiowa stomping-grounds. They ride down here from the Indian Nations every spring and summer to hunt buffalo, and raid for horses and other loot. They’re gonna be our biggest headache goin’ back. A big herd of horses is gonna draw them like flies to honey.” There was a rumble of somber agreement from the hands.

  Nastas had learned enough English to understand the gist of what Walt had said. In Spanish, he asked, “Then why come back this way, brother? Why not stay to the west, and come up through what you whites call the Llano Estacado, the Staked Plains, or even further into New Mexico?”

  “I’m considering that,” Walt admitted. “Problem is, there ain’t a lot of water or grazin’ in that part o’ the world. We’ll be drivin’ several hundred head o’ breeding stock. I want to keep them in good condition, but they wouldn’t be after a few weeks of short rations an’ that nasty brackish alkali water.”

  Nastas laughed. “You brought us along, remember? We can scout for good water and the best grazing. If you wait until spring – say, early April – the grass will already be growing. We can lead you over the safest route, and avoid Comanche or Kiowa hunting and raiding parties. They will be after the buffalo herds, but most will stay to the east of the Llano Estacado, where the grazing and water are better.”

  “You may be right.” Walt looked around at the relatively flat plain surrounding them. “The reason I took this road south is to check the grazin’ conditions. Also, at this time o’ year, the buffalo herds ain’t here, so the Comanche and Kiowa have little reason to hunt; and the poor grazing means they can’t raid too far from their homes. During spring or summer, it’d be more’n our lives are worth to use the Comanche Trail like this, drivin’ a hoss herd without an Army escort. That’s how the Trail got its name, after all.”

  Sam added, “That’s why all this land’s still open and not settled. Clear out the Injuns, and cattlemen will be all over the Texas Panhandle. We’ve traveled for days to get here, and ain’t seen a single cow or even one ranch. There must be millions of acres just waitin’ to be used.”

  “You’d have to clear out the buffalo as well,” Walt pointed out. “They eat all the grass. The skin-hunters have already shot a lot, but there must be hundreds of thousands still in the southern herd.”

  Sam spat in disgust. “Yeah, but if them damned skin-hunters carry on like this, there won’t be. Remember all the buffler skeletons we saw further north? They musta killed thousands last year, and they woulda killed more if there hadn’t been so many Injuns around. They don’t even take the meat – just the hides. They leave everythin’ else to rot. They’ll be back come summer, with them long-range rifles o’ theirs, to do it all over again. It’s no wonder the Injuns hate ’em. Can’t say I blame ’em for feelin’ that way.”

  Walt nodded silently, reflectively. At Fort Union, he’d noted a general sentiment among the officers and men that the more buffalo killed, the better, so as to deprive the Indian tribes of their sustenance and force them onto reservations. They relied on the buffalo for food, and hides to make their tepees and other necessities. Without them, their present wild, free way of life could not continue… and that would also end their incessant raids and cruelties to others.

  Another Navajo scout, Niyol, had been looking around the horizon. He said slowly, “I cannot see anyone, but I have a feeling we are being watched.”

  “Es posible,” Nastas admitted. “There could be a small raiding party nearby. Some braves get bored sitting around the fire over winter, doing nothing. They prefer to raid while there are few others competing with them, so the pickings are better. Our horses would make them rich, if they could steal them.”

  “Es verdad, amigo,” Walt agreed. “We’ll have to keep our eyes peeled. Double guards tonight, do you think?”

  “I think that would be wise. There is another thing. Comancheros come up from Mexico to trade with the Indians. There may be some of them around. We must watch carefully.”

  “Let’s do that. Have your scouts form a screen a few miles ahead of us, two by two. If anyone sees anything, one scout must stay on it while the other comes back to warn us. Also, let’s not fire any shots unless we have to, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. D’you reckon your scouts could hunt for meat with their bows an’ arrows instead?”

  Nastas snorted. “Can a bird fly? Can a fish swim? Of course we can!”

  Walt had to laugh. “All right, amigo. We’ll leave meat for supper, an’ breakfast too, in your hands.” He turned to the others. “We’ve seen the canyon, and we’ve still gotta get round this end of it and make another ten miles before we camp for the night. Let’s ride!”

  The scouts killed a deer for supper. They led the group into a hollow, where the flames of their fires would not be visible across the plains, and tethered the horses. Everyone carved pieces of meat from the deer and threaded them onto twigs and improvised skewers, roasting them over the coals. Johnnycake baked in cast-iron skillets helped make it a filling meal, rounded off with black coffee strong enough to stain their enamel mugs.

  “Wish we’d brought a chuckwagon along,” one of the ranch hands groused. “We coulda had stew, an’ pie, an’ -”

  Walt cut him off short. “It couldn’t keep up if we have to move fast. A chuckwagon’s fine for a cattle drive, but not for a hoss herd. Better for us to ride greasy sack like this, with our food on pack horses or huntin’ for it, and small groups cookin’ their own.”

  “Iffen you say so, boss.” The hand sounded unconvinced, but didn’t raise the point again.

  Walt watched with interest as the Navajo prepared three wild turk
eys they had shot with arrows. They didn’t bother to pluck them, but slit open the stomach cavities and removed the entrails. Next, some of the scouts slathered each bird with moist clay that they dug out of the bed of a small creek, working it deep into the feathers. Others built a long, narrow campfire on an open strip of earth. When each bird resembled a ball of clay, they swept the fire to one side, dug down into the earth and buried the birds. They then swept the coals back on top of them, and added wood to build up the fire once more.

  “What’s the idea with that?” Walt asked Nastas.

  The Navajo grinned. “That is our breakfast.”

  The fire was allowed to die down when the men went to sleep. The following morning, the scouts dug up the birds. The clay had been hardened overnight by the residual heat of the coals, and the turkeys had cooked inside their protective shell. When it was cracked and removed, the feathers came off with the clay, and a delicious smell of baked turkey wafted over the campsite. Three large turkeys, along with the last of the johnnycake from the night before and fresh-brewed coffee, provided breakfast for twenty-five hungry travelers. They praised the scouts to the skies.

  Grinning with pleasure at the compliments coming their way, six scouts swung into the saddle. Two would ride ahead, two to the left and two to the right of the main body, all six remaining in distant sight of each other and scanning for any potentially hostile presence. When everyone had finished eating, they cleaned their utensils, packed up, and prepared to follow the scouts. They all took fresh horses from their strings, letting those they’d ridden yesterday run free with the remounts.