Ambush Valley (2 page)

One of his drivers, Billy Cotton, has a bad boil rise on his butt that needed lancing. Blond-headed and hardly out of his teens, the lanky boy was operated on by a white doctor and told to lie flat down on his belly for the next few days while it healed. Chet drove his mares and Billy was on a bed in Susie's wagon, red-faced most of the time as a boy could be about his condition, surrounded by the women.

Chet wasn't sure who was the most glad when he healed enough to sit on a pillow and could drive his own wagon again. Flocks of sheep herded by mere boys roamed the country. They had several “guests” stop by at night and stagecoaches passed them in the daytime coming and going.

A few of the drop-ins were rough men who from behind their beards looked like cutthroat killers, but they acted polite and Susie shared her food with them like they were neighbors. Chet imagined that they were so damn glad to have a woman-cooked-meal, they'd act nice at any cost.

Most of their kind ate cross-legged on the ground outside the tent and were armed to the teeth with pistols and large knives, and wore buckskin clothes. Their horses, jaded mustangs, were ridden hard and put away wet. But they acted polite like their mothers had backhanded them often for any infractions to her code.

May complained that some of them made her shudder with how they gazed at her. Chet told her that outside of Indian women most white women were a treat for those men to simply look at.

She frowned at him. “If one of them ever asks you for me, tell them no.”

He'd hugged her shoulders and said, “Why they may be rich.”

“I don't need them. If they can't take a bath and shave once in a while, I want no part of them, rich or not.”

The closer they drew to the Rio Grande, which he considered a third or so of the way, they moved into more mountains and junipers. Even a few pine trees and cooler nights. So far they'd only lost one Belgium mare to colic and she had to be destroyed.

He had a brief talk with Susie how on the Rio Grande at Bernallio Crossing they would take some time to catch up and repair everything that needed their attention.

“Two days we will be there, but I understand that mountain road goes out off into there is real steep. We may have to double-team the wagons and use a log brake on the hind wheels going down there. We could've gone to Santa Fe, but I figure that would take almost a week longer.”

She bobbed her head in agreement. “We didn't need any longer. I am just glad we had the money to take that train ride to Tascosa and the end of the tracks. But we made half that trip in three hard days. Here we've been over half a month just getting to the Rio Grande.”

“It's a long ways out there. I only hope the barrier between us and the Reynolds is great enough.”

She agreed. “You look tired. Are you getting any sleep?”

“Enough. We'll rest and wash up at the river.”

“Good. Step by step we're getting there.” She reached over and squeezed his hands on the table. “No one said this would be easy. But I agree life back there was impossible.”

“Maybe I should have found a place closer?”

“No, when I heard you first describe the ranch you had bought, I knew it would be a grand place for all of us.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. “It will be. I promise.”

 

 

Bernallio Crossing on the Rio Grande River consisted of a mission, a small town on the banks of the river, a ferry, and several farmers on irrigated farms up and down the valley. He bought frijoles and shucked corn, some of which he had ground at the water mill into meal for the women to use. They loaded some good hay and the town had a fiesta for them. Chet knew the Hispanic people and they needed little reason to host such a firecracker-popping event with wine, dancing, and a good time to be had by all.

He danced half the night away with a dark-eyed woman in her twenties named Consuela. Her husband had been killed in a flood trying to save some of their stock. She spoke some English and he savvied enough Spanish so they had a great evening. They laughed and she talked about her village, her life, and him about moving.

Late in the night the music went on, and she invited him to her
casa
. He told her he must first check on his people and his camp. That he only had one horse with him.

“Oh,
mi amigo,
I can ride double if he don't buck me off.”

“He won't buck.”

“Good. Let's go then.”

He mounted the stout bay, bent over, gave her his arm and she swung up like a feather behind him in a pile of slips and petticoats. She clung to him. The horse acted stiff legged the first block of dark street but then set into a running walk. At the camp, two of his rifle-armed cowboys came out and told him all was well.

He thanked them and from there she guided him to her
casa
. Leaning forward, she pointed out the way through the mesquite trees, barking dogs, and dark houses. Her arms around his waist, she squeezed him from time to time and laughed

“Will we wake anyone?” he asked.

“No, my children are at my
mamacita
's.”

At her front door, he drew his spur-clad boot over the saddle horn and dropped to the ground. He caught her in his arms and kissed her. Then he carried her through the door.

She laughed easily. “Oh,
hombre
, you will be fun for me to entertain you.”

With a big smile, he agreed with her.

The mountain range in the west rose tall and hosted a long hard nine mile grade. Halfway up he looked back at the green farmland that lined the river.
Good-bye, Consuela.
On the grade he found one wagon stalled, so he tied his lariat on to the tongue of JD's heavy wagon and made a dally on the horn. The bay horse helped the team dig in, going uphill over the worst grade of all. At last on flat ground, he went back to help the others. They were all soon on top. Near noon they all rested atop the flat country dotted with small farms. Parked beside the road they waved at a dust-stirring stage that passed them eastbound.

Chet's wagon train drew its way westward. They found water and then used the tank wagon in dry stretches, refilling it at missions and small villages. He was so grateful his horses were shod and had everyone take great care crossing the volcanic fields with their sharp-edged glasslike rocks, which worried him for close to a day. On the western end they pulled off and made certain all the stock was safe.

“No problem,” JD reported.

“We all better offer a prayer,” Chet said, grateful for the safe passage. The ones close by gathered and he offered a short thank you to God for their delivery.

In another few days they reached Gallup and then the final fort in New Mexico. They took a day to rest and gather their wits. By his calculation they were within two weeks of their destination in Camp Verde. With no serious safety mistakes, besides being weary, they lounged around in camp and got some catch-up on their sleep.

His Aunt Louise complained she was no muleskinner and when would they reach this next hell he had picked out for them. Chet wanted to tell her he had offered her a place in town and a stipend to stay in Texas. An offer she scoffed away telling him she could drive any team he had. But he kept his tongue—there was no way to reach her at times when she was in her cranky stages.

Susie made a survey of her supplies and told him they would have plenty of everything. JD and the men told him things were going much smoother than they thought it would. He thanked them all for trying so hard. He was so pleased they had not driven their cattle as well. From his previous experience driving herds to Kansas, he'd found such treks to be bitter journeys.

The wagon train moved on the next day. There were fewer settlements in the region ahead and his written guide of the Captain Marcy Road that he and JD used indicated that water sources would be harder to find.

West of Gallup, an Indian woman wrapped in a trade blanket stood beside a small wagon with a dead horse in the shafts lying in the road. Chet rode up, dismounted, and removed his hat.

“How did he die?” he asked, motioning to the dead horse.

“He was fine until he stumbled and fell facedown,” she said with a shrug.

Amazed that she spoke English so well, he nodded. “How far are you from your home?”

“Two days.”

She looked to be in her late teens. A handsome young woman and very straight-backed.

“Is there anyone can take you home?”

“I have no idea. I hoped some of my people would be coming along.”

JD rode in and stepped off his horse. “What happened, Chet?”

“Her horse fell down dead.”

“What do we need to do?”

“She says she lives two days from here and hopes some of her people will come by.”

“What can we do?”

Chet turned to her. “Is your place west of here?”

She nodded.

“We can hook your wagon to one of ours and haul you in that direction. My name is Chet Byrnes. This is JD my scout.”

“Nice to meet both of you. My name is Judy Bell.”

He looked at the food and supplies that she must have brought in her wagon.

“Mrs. Bell, I think your supplies will ride in the wagon if we don't go too fast when we pull it behind one of ours.”

She reached out and touched his arm. “My name is Judy. I have no husband.”

“Oh. All right. I am sorry.”

“No problem. I would appreciate that very much.”

“Good.” He stepped out and waved Frank, one of his drivers, over from the file, and JD began to unhook the harness. They stripped the dead animal out of his harness and the three men and she pushed the wagon back. The shafts were soon hooked and tied to Frank's wagon. Her harness was removed and loaded. Next the dead horse was dragged off the road. Chet took her up the line to Susie's parked wagon. Meanwhile JD and Frank made sure the wagon would follow.

“Susie, this is Judy Bell. That was her horse that died unexpected. She will be riding with us. She speaks good English.”

“Oh, so nice to meet you,” his sister said.

“No, I am so grateful to all of you for stopping for a poor Indian woman.”

“Come get in our wagon. I am certain we can move on.”

Chet nodded and he helped them both into the wagon. With a salute, he mounted up again, gave a shout, and the wagon train was on its way again across great sweeping grassland. The belly-tall grass fascinated him. These regions had never had buffalo like the central plains, so the grass was waving to any stockman who crossed it.

The day was uneventful, and that evening Chet spoke more to the Indian woman.

“Do you live with your family?”

“No, I live with an older woman, her name is Grandmother. We have sheep and goats. We weave rugs and blankets for sale.”

“Navajos don't live in tepees?” he asked.

“No, we have hogans. Six-sided log cabins. The sun shines in our front door every day.”

“I have seen some that are abandoned.”

“If a person dies in one, we simply move out of it. No one will ever live in it again.”

“Where did you learn English?” He was looking at his hands so he did not make her too uncomfortable to talk to him.

“We had a mission school in my village.”

“Did you go to the prison camp?”

She nodded about the incarceration of her people down in New Mexico where they died in great numbers before finally the Navajos promised to fight no more. Then the government turned them loose and many more died on the walk back to their land from way down south in New Mexico.

“You have no husband?”

“No. Maybe I speak too much.”

He laughed.

She drew her spine up. “My people lost many leaders in our confinement down there. We need strong people to keep our nation strong. I must scare men away when I shout, ‘Stand up!' They say be quiet Judy Bell, the white man may send us back to hell.”

She amused him with her strong ways. He was reminded of the woman Mary, who led the Yava-pais and who he helped so her people survived. This woman had the same strength.

That evening he told her about a horse they would give her from their saddle stock. “JD and the other drivers think we have a horse that will pull your wagon home. He will be our gift. He's a saddle horse and very gentle. You can drive him tomorrow and see so when you have to leave us that he will work for you.”

“That is very generous of you and your family. I don't know how I will ever repay you.”

“He's a gift.”

“I know a gift. But I am also proud.”

“Unless you can magic-like make a horse, you'll have to accept our horse.” He shook his head. “I am not being mean or bossy.”

He thought she would cry.

She dropped her chin. “I am grateful for all you and your family have done for me.”

“No need to be sad.”

She tried to smile. “You wondered why I have no man. I wonder why you have no wife. Your sister may be the reason. She is a great leader for you. She does much work.”

“Susie is a good person. But she's pushed me at a woman in the past—it did not work out. The woman had to stay there and care for her folks in Texas.”

“Oh, I am sorry. We all must do things that are not our cause. I will drive your horse with pride and return him some day.”

“He is a gift for you to keep.”

“I may want to see your land.”

“You will be welcome.”

“Oh, I am sure of that.”

“I better go check on things.” He excused himself.

The next afternoon she drove away, headed north on some wagon tracks. He watched her disappear in the brown windswept grass and sagebrush. A strange woman he'd liked to have known more about—but he had a ranch to worry about. Better keep moving.

“You liked her,” Susie said quietly as he walked her to her wagon.

“I like women. Strong ones. You will meet another in Arizona.”

“I am looking forward to that.”

He chuckled. “Susie you are the light in my life. Thanks for all your help. In a few days we will be there. I want you to find a strong man.”

His sister gave him a we-will-see reply.

They left the Marcy Road on a cutoff that would shorten their miles. In two days they camped at a small natural lake. The place was a wonderful spot in the pines and produced fat cutthroat trout the younger boys hauled in on bent willow poles. They were within days of reaching the new ranch.

Chet spoke to JD and the drivers before he left. “This is still Apache country. The army is chasing them, but be on guard and take no chances on them. They could slip in and kill some of us. So be wary all the time.”

With care, he went over the details of the map with JD and then he set out for the ranch. He rode a big stout bay horse they called Holdem and made Camp Verde the first night. He had a short beer in one of the saloons in the block of businesses that the town consisted of, then went on to the ranch after sundown.

Someone shouted, “The boss is back!”

And he was swarmed.

Hoot came running out beating on a large kettle. “Well ain't you a picture for sore eyes. Get in this house, you rascal. We've been talking bad about you and you must've heard us.”

“Where's your outfit?” Wiley Combs, the shortest man in the outfit asked, hitching up his pants.

“They're two or so days east of here.”

“They need any help?” his foreman Tom Flowers asked, pushing forward through the men to shake his hand.

“We can send a few men if you can spare them to relieve some of the drivers and my aunt.”

“How far off are they?' Tom asked.

“Maybe thirty miles or so. They're coming across from the east. Ten wagons of them. We cut off the Marcy Road.”

“We can damn sure find them,” Hampt said, bear hugging him.

“We're all still here,” Sarge said. “'Cept Busby Stone.”

“What happened to him?”

“Oh, he's working his own place. You recall Mrs. Kelly O'Bryan?”

“A round redhead?”

“That's his bride.”

“Good for him. Tom, how is your wife and kids?”

“Fine, sir. They're here.”

“Mr. Byrnes, I ain't shook your hand yet.” It was the kid Corey who helped Hoot.

Chet leaned back to look at the improved-looking youth. “My gosh, you look like a cowboy to me.”

“Well I'm trying.”

They shook hands.

“I sold the Bar C mostly lock stock and barrel, boys. Got a good price and didn't have to trail them cattle out here. We came a third of the way by freight train.”

“Aw, boss, come inside. We've got coffee made and some apple raisin pie left,” Hoot said. “You can tell us all about it.”

And he did.