Hell's Gate (Ben Blue Book 8) Page 14

  “Didn’t I tell you not ten minutes ago, that you were walkin’ back?”

  “Yeah, but I thought you were just being mean.”

  “I’m not mean at all… Mean is hiring men to rob and kill and squeeze money out of small businesses and merchants and ranchers… you boys have got a lot of explainin’ to do. But I doubt if it will help much in the long run.”

  I was so mad, I ripped his coat down from the back and tore open his shirt. His right arm had a bullet burn that barely broke the skin. It looked sore, but it wasn’t life threatening by any means.

  “You’ll live. Now shut up about it.”

  Baca had taken care of the horse and refilled the hat with water leaving only one full canteen for them to share, until we reached the waterhole. They had hardly any food.

  When I asked about that Smyth said, “We wouldn’t need much… If you hadn’t stopped us, we’d been in Gallup this afternoon”

  “Fool,” I said, “Gallup is over a hundred miles from here. That’d take you three days with well cared for horses.”

  “Come on let’s get goin’. Go easy with that water, it’s a long way to the only waterhole.”

  “Where’s my hat?” Smyth asked.

  “Sonny boy’s horse is usin’ it… Just put something on your head… folks have been doin’ that for centuries.”

  They both grumbled as they climbed down to the trail. We put them ahead of us, and nudged them along. They stumbled on for a while complaining about no breakfast and such. I left their complaints fly away with the wind.

  Chapter 25

  We hadn’t gone two miles and they were already fighting over the water. If they didn’t get it figured out, they wouldn’t make it to their big party back in Junction City. I didn’t feel much sympathy for either of them. They had caused good men to be killed and robbed. Some of those were men who worked for my neighbors… men I knew and liked. They had pressured businesses and ranchers to buy protection from them with threats, and in some cases… followed through with their threats.

  But like many criminals, they never thought they’d get caught… they felt they were too smart to get caught. And they may have gotten away with it but for one man making a midnight ride to deliver a message. He was a simple man who probably didn’t even know he was the lynchpin for the whole operation. But he was such a simple man, they couldn’t count on him not to be honest and truthful. So they had him killed.

  I thought back to what Sandy Corbel had said about why Bull Grossman wanted to pay for the cattle in cash, “He didn’t trust Bankers”. Maybe Grossman knew something the rest of us didn’t… at least about one banker.

  Sitting on my horse musing about our time in San Juan County and what had gone on there had brought me back to present time. I turned in the saddle and looked back. Father and son were just specks on the landscape. So I trotted back to give them a nudge.

  As I drew near, I saw they were fighting over the canteen. Each man tugging it back and forth, until Smyth finally won and pulled it from Copeland’s hands… I suppose that was due to Copeland’s wound leaving him in a weakened condition. When Copeland lost his grip, Smyth lost his balance. He sprawled backwards losing hold on the canteen.

  By the time I got there, he was licking the last few drops from the empty container. All he had to show for his efforts was a wet spot in the sand. Copeland was screaming at him, but the older man paid him no mind. He just stood up and threw the canteen down and then kicked it. Then he picked it up and threw it as far as he could out into the desert.

  “You two deserve each other… a pair of selfish bastards if I’ve ever seen any. You don’t have any water, and we won’t reach the water hole till sometime tomorrow. Don’t expect any from us, we’ve got to use most of it for the horses. Keep up. And you better go get that canteen because after we leave the waterhole, there won’t be any more until Junction City.”

  I was getting pretty fed up with that pathetic pair. They whined, grumbled, fought, and took no responsibility for themselves. They had always had others to take care of them and didn’t know how to do the simplest things to survive. It would be a miracle if either one survived long enough to hang. I was determined to let them kill themselves by whatever means they chose… I was betting it would be stupidity.

  Moving them along by having a big gray horse breathing down their necks, I got them started. Then I rode on ahead to join Baca. Angel was getting even more fed up with them than I was. The slow going didn’t help his mood. He spoke little and kept his eyes ahead looking and hoping Junction City would come into view. We both knew we had miles to go before it would.

  I got the feeling he was concerned with what might be going on in Silverton. There was no doubt that Pedro was a top notch fighting man and could do things that others only hoped to do. But Pedro could not mix with other people. I had only heard him speak once. He was a deadly foe, and a good friend to have, but he wasn’t equipped to deal with a smart and sophisticated enemy… his tactic was to go in shooting.

  “You know, Angel,” I said, “the way these two are dragging along, it’s gonna take a while to get them into town… Why don’t you go on ahead? I can handle these two crybabies. I’m sure Pedro would like to see you riding into Silverton soon… And you can give my regards to Don Carlos for sending the help.”

  “Are you sure, amigo? I truly am anxious to get back and finish the job once and for all. Things were in good order when I left, but there were a few who might rebel and go back to their old ways when they see I am gone. They may not know their lessons well enough yet…. And it was not Don Carlos who sent me, it was Don Sebastian, his brother in law…. He feels he owes you a dept.”

  “He owes me nothing, but tell him gracias anyway.”

  Hesitation showed in his face, but I insisted, and he finally agreed. He would reach the waterhole well ahead of us, and would go directly to Junction City from there saving many miles and hours. And that was the route we would take.

  I learned by badgering Copeland that their family name was Barlow, and they were from Chicago. Arthur Barlow, had been a successful livestock trader, but his success and wealth came from some questionable tactics. He and his son, Fielding Barlow had gotten out of Chicago only minutes ahead of the police and some fairly angry victims. They had come to Junction City two years earlier, and had found men willing to do most anything for money. They were back in business. It wasn’t a big city, but the big city methods worked…for a while.

  “I told Father that the robbery was too risky, but it had landed in our laps and we couldn’t resist a big haul.” Fielding Barlow told me. His father simply glared at him.

  With Baca gone, I broke down and allowed them each a little water. I gave them each a swallow, which was what I allowed myself. The older Barlow tried to take another and got himself a half hearted slap, which sent him rolling in the sand for his efforts.

  Neither man had thought to bring a bedroll, or as far as I knew had even owned one. So they slept huddled close to the fire for warmth. I didn’t like having a fire, or giving out the information that we were there, but if I was going to get any sleep they would have to sleep. And they wouldn’t if they were cold.

  I was a light sleeper anyway, but on that night, I slept with one eye open, as they say. The slightest noise would wake me, and I’d look at my horse. Some folks put a weather vane on their barn, so they can see which way the wind’s blowing. In wild country, a horse makes a great trouble vane. Wild mustangs must use their senses of smell and hearing to avoid predators.

  About four in the morning I heard Smoke blow. His head was up, but soon went back to whatever business he’d been conducting before. I watched for a bit but there was nothing out there that interested him. And that was enough for me.

  The sun was just turning the sky and the desert gray, as I dragged myself out of a dream that I would have forgotten by the time my eyes opened. I wondered how many times I had looked at a predawn sky and crawled from my blankets to build up the
fire and make coffee. There would be no coffee this morning, what with our limited water supply. Well at least we can have some salt pork, which would only make us thirstier… but a man’s got to eat.

  Throwing a few pieces of what wood I’d been able to find onto the embers, I gave the younger Barlow a nudge with my booted foot. He grumbled and stirred. I went around to where his father lay. In the half light of the early hour, I went to give the senior Barlow a nudge. Lifting my foot to give him a shove, took a second look and saw there was nothing there but some of that truck he’d been carrying the day before.

  “Get up, Copeland… where’s your old man?”

  He muttered something, but got up and helped me look. We were camped at the base of a small mesa; there was no place he could go, and no place to hide. Then I saw the tracks leading off into the desert. I knew what that meant. He just walked away. He may have been hearing voices, or he may have thought he was escaping. He was unarmed and he had no water… or did he.

  I had horded about a half a canteen for my horse. I’d planned to give it to him before we left this morning. I rushed to where I’d left it with my saddle. The saddle was there, but the canteen was gone.

  Chapter 26

  This time I was doing the cussing. I wasn’t as good at it as some I’ve heard, but I was getting my money’s worth. Mostly I was cussing myself. How could I let a Chicago Live Stock buyer sneak around in my camp right under my nose. If he’d been an Apache, I’d have been scalped for sure. When I’d done enough ranting and raging, I got over my mad and started getting ready for the next leg of the trip.

  “Sorry, old friend, but there’s no water for you this morning.” I told Smoke, as I stroked his neck. He bobbed his head, as if to say “Yep… you done messed up, Ben.”

  I hated to do it, but I saddled up and put Copeland behind the saddle with everything that needed to be taken with us piled in front of him. Then I tied his hands behind him. My first thought had been to walk along with my one remaining prisoner, but at the pace he walked, it would take us all day to reach the water hole. Smoke would be thirstier walking eight to ten hours than carrying double for three or four hours. He was a big strong first generation Mustang Arab, and he’d been down some long and rough trails with never a sign of tiring.

  “All right big fella… let’s see what you’re made of.”

  “Aren’t you going to look for Father?” Copeland or Barlow asked.

  “No. We need to get to water… and besides that he’s most likely dead or dying.”

  “But he’s got water.”

  “He would’ve drank most of it before sun up… If he’s still alive, he’s likely walking around in a big circle somewhere out of his head….He’s got one chance in a million of livin’ through the day.”

  I let the gray pick his own pace, and he surprised me with a fast walk. He ate up a lot of ground in a hurry, and we reached the waterhole before noon. We’d done so well, I figured to give smoke a rest and have some breakfast. Grass was plentiful in that little cove. I gave my prisoner the job of filling the canteens at the spring, while I built a small fire and sliced up some salt pork and made coffee. We had run out of almost everything else. The Barlows were almost out of food when we caught up with them… it was slim pickins.

  We were getting ready to mount up again when I saw something move way out in open country. It was on our trail… following us. I pulled my field glasses and focused on the object. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. It looked like Barlow’s half starved and near dead gelding. He was coming along better than I would have ever expected. He must have found water somewhere along the way. And now he was following us.

  The horse had once belonged to the livery stable in Junction City, and he was on his way home.

  “Barlow… I believe your ride is here.”

  He didn’t know what I was talking about and I didn’t bother to explain. I just watched the horse get closer. When the gelding arrived at the cove, I’d give him a quick going over. And if he looked like he could hold up, then Fielding Barlow would ride the last fifteen or so miles into Junction City. It would save us a lot of time.

  Barlow came to the mouth of the cove and looked out across the sun baked plateau. The horse was close enough to recognize without the glasses, so I stowed them away. We watched him come along, and when he was close enough to smell the water or smell my horse, he picked up the pace.

  He came in at a jog and stopped at the entrance, when he saw us. Taking us for what we were, he snorted and moved on past us straight to the water. Smoke looked up from his grazing and replied to the snort, to make sure the newcomer knew who was in charge. They worked out the pecking order in a short time, and the bay went back to drinking.

  I gave him a good look and checked him for anything noticeable to the naked eye. Then I put a lead on him and pulled him away from the water for the time being. Soon both horses were side by side working on the grass and other growth in the cove.

  We were within striking distance of Junction City, and I wanted to go ahead and finish my work that day. But rest and a good feed would do a lot for both horses. So as anxious as I was to get home, I chose to leave in the morning instead of this afternoon.

  Taking Barlow with me, I took a walk outside the cove to have a look at what our overnight home consisted of. I always like to know my surroundings. I took Barlow with me because his father’s rifle was wrapped up in my bedroll, and there were two pistols in my saddle bags… his and my spare. I didn’t like the man, and I considered him incapable of mounting a rebellion, but why put temptation in his lap.

  If there was a way to describe our accommodations, I would call it of lump of rock with a bunch of other lumps around it. But of course, that doesn’t say much. The main body went about four hundred feet in the air, and covered roughly fifty acres. It didn’t look like a worn down mountain, so I suspected it had come up out of the ground at some recent time. Most likely it came up the same time as the San Juans… but that was only guesswork.

  The other lumps were all similar but smaller, and I suspected that all were attached somewhere below the surface. Beyond our cluster of up thrusts, there were mesas spread across the western horizon. Otherwise the land was open with scattered growth. Of course the land only looked open, and it was actually, filled with gashes, gullies, cracks. I’ve seen very few places, which looked flat and really were.

  Sitting in the shade of the wall that towered over me, I was cleaning my weapons. I hadn’t had much time to give the attention they needed since the encounter with the Apaches and the Barlows. Spent powder and the ever present dust wouldn’t necessarily keep a gun from firing, but it could sure keep the next cartridge from getting in position. And when needed, a jam means that gun is no better than a club.

  Fielding Barlow was standing at the mouth of the cove looking out over the seemingly flat terrain. I felt a little sorry for Barlow the younger. I didn’t think he was really as bad a man as his father, but he was raised by a man with a broad streak of evil in him. He had no business in this country. But he had either done murder or had caused murder to be done. He was guilty whether he was just obeying his father’s orders or was actually doing the killing… He was a grown man and made a grown man’s choices.

  “Marshal… What do you make of that?”

  Chapter 27

  Feeding cartridges into my Winchester as I walked to where he was standing and looked out over the plain, I picked it up immediately. A smudge on the horizon was all it looked to be, but I knew that a smudge doesn’t just appear. It could be that band of wild horses coming in for a drink, or something else. It could be a small bunch of cattle… or maybe those Apaches had regrouped and ready for another try at being scalps hunters.

  They had started with six and there could be either four or five left, depending how bad the one I shot had been hit. I figured they had started out on their way to make a raid on the Navajos, but got distracted by the Barlows. If that was the case, we were in a bit of a p
ickle. I doubted it Barlow’s horse was in good enough shape for an all out run for Junction City. And I wasn’t going to leave him for their pleasure. I’d rather shoot him myself.

  Digging the field glasses out again, I determined it was indeed mounted men, and from the way they rode, I could tell they weren’t white men. I pulled the father Barlow’s Winchester out of my bedroll and gave it to my prisoner…. Our chances weren’t good, and two pulling triggers in their direction sounded better to me than one. Besides, I would feel better if he was killed fighting.

  “They’re gone…” Barlow shouted. “They’re pulling back.”

  “Hate to stomp on your hopes, but they just went down a wash… We crossed it this morning. They’re tracking us.”

  They were still nearly a half mile off and taking their time. They reappeared, and I put the glasses on them again and said, “Damn!” Barlow looked up at me like he was afraid to ask the problem.

  “There’s only three of them now.”

  “Isn’t that better?”

  “No… that means one or two stayed in the wash and will try to get in behind us,”

  He was silent and, he was sweating. His light framed body was shaking. There was no resemblance to the smooth talking saloon owner. I already had my spare six-gun in my waist band, but I pulled his little small bore pistol from my saddle bag and gave it to him. He looked at it as if to say “What good will this do?”

  “When you see there’s no hope left, stick the barrel under your chin and pull the trigger… You don’t want to be captured alive… I mean that.”

  I didn’t know if he had the nerve to do it, but all I could do was advise him. If he took the advice was another story. I planned to fight until they killed me because as long as there’s a breath in my body, there would be fight.

  The three that had come out of the wash continued to move forward slowly and steadily. They pulled up about three hundred yards out and just sat there.