The sun had started its march to the horizon and the evening. At an easy lope, Stolter had made good time but there was no tell-tale dust of horses anywhere ahead. Stolter went back over his directions to Whelihan that had been passed onto the Mexicans. Rio Mesa. Stolter wasn’t even sure that the small town was still there. By the time another five miles had passed, Stolter’s muscles ached, the wounds throbbed and his stomach had started to growl. He was used to a hard days’ work around the ranch, but not used to be shot at, stabbed, and have someone try to kill him. Stolter began to look for a side trail where he could make camp.
Two hundred yards in a small wash near some scrub mesquite and cacti, he unsaddled. He turned his horse loose to graze and built a campfire. The tops of the hills to the east were on fire with reds, golds, rust and bronze colors. The deep wash of purple crept closer as the sun sank below the horizon. After a sparse supper, Stolter spread out his bedroll and tended to his wounds that had stopped bleeding and were now an angry red.
Would he make it back to his family alive? Would his efforts bring them help or make them worse off? To do nothing would have made him a failure. He had to try. The drive to save them from dirt poor poverty and give them a better life streamed through his veins. The echoes of the voices of his parents drifted to his thoughts as he fell towards sleep. The image of Marianna standing the yard next to him with her long auburn hair flying around in the wind was the last thing he remembered.
Chapter 7
Stolter started to wake up when he heard the horse nicker. Every muscle screamed in objection to moving. The tightness of his thigh reminded him of his fight and wound from yesterday. When he sat up and rubbed his eyes, he was shocked to find three small Mexican children kneeling down around the fire, chewing on tortillas. Stolter started to grab for his Colt but then stopped to calm down. He rubbed his face with both hands and looked at the children.
“You sleep real good, mister.” A short black haired boy about the same age as Colton spoke.
“How long you been here? Why didn’t you wake me up?” Stolter felt irritated that a bunch of little kids could sneak up on him like that. He rubbed his eyes again.
The boy shrugged. “We’d get our butts beaten if we were to wake you up. Grownups need to sleep more than kids you know. We get told that all the time.” Another boy and a familiar girl giggled behind their hands.
“Chica, let’s get breakfast done so we can get out of here, okay?” The older boy looked at the younger girl who stuffed twigs and dry grass in as she built up the fire and shoved a flat pan into the flames.
“What’s your names?”
“Victorio Imperisante Romero Estrella. But everyone calls me Rio. There are lots of Victorios in my family and we are all called something different.” He grinned and unwrapped a couple tortillas filled with beef and beans and handed them to the girl.
Stolter wiped off his feet and pulled on his two pair of socks and boots while the boys watched him.
“Romero Estrella. That sounds familiar and I don’t know many Mexican families. You related to Zippy?” All the kids looked at each other and laughed.
The young girl with the black hair and dark eyes spoke. “Zippy is my uncle. My mother’s brother. He is the eldest in his family and my mother is the youngest. I am her youngest.”
“How did you find me? I thought you were miles ahead of me by now.” Stolter was handed a plate of steaming beef and beans on a tortilla. Every movement felt like another knife blade over his wounds as he sat up to eat.
“Oh, we were up on the next hill waiting for you. But you stopped here for the night and so we had to wait. This morning when we woke up we decided to come have breakfast with you before we go home.” The young boy smiled.
Stolter took a bite of tortilla and looked at the children. “You all speak pretty good English.”
“Six months every year we have to go up to Phoenix to our other Uncle Victor and go to the American school there. We work in his restaurant nights and weekends to pay for our keep. We have a lot of friends up there and Uncle Victor is a good man.” Rio nodded.
The younger boy stood up. “My name is Javier Vicente Ricardo Jonasmilla. Everyone calls me JJ.”
”Nice to meet you, JJ.” Stolter could see the young boy thinking and choosing his words.
“I know more about the horses than these guys so I was the person who picked out your fifteen horses. Mr. Ginger said that you wanted bigger horses so I took those for you. I hope that is okay with you, mister.” Stolter nodded.
Stolter asked, “How old are you, JJ?”
JJ took a step forward. “I’m 8 years. Why do you ask?”
“My boy back home is 10. His name is Colton. He’ll be helping me with these horses when I get them home.” Stolter smiled and all the kids smiled back.
Rio said, “I turned 10 years old in March. Chita is eight now. We’ve never seen California. We heard it is very beautiful with green valleys and really tall trees.” JJ said something to Chita in Spanish and she started cleaning up the breakfast pan.
JJ stood back up and grinned. “If you will come with me, I’ll show you where the horses are at, mister.”
Stolter handed his tin plate to Chita and thanked her for breakfast and then followed JJ down through the wash.
Two roans, three buckskins, four black yearlings and a pinto all grazed in the scrubby pasture near Stolter’s buckskin. JJ pointed out one of the black mares. “That mare is not broken to riders. We tried and she didn’t want us on her. All the other ones will take a rider even though half of them are yearlings. There’s two Appie crosses over by those trees. The two chestnuts are drinking at the spring.” JJ turned to look at Stolter.
“We can trade you one of our mustangs and take that black south with us if you don’t want her. We’ll breed her to one of our black stallions and keep her as breeding stock.”
Stolter looked at the mare who stared back with defiance in her eyes. “I was just thinking that she would most likely be good breeding stock. One of my neighbors has a black stallion that I could breed her to so that might work.”
JJ went on. “We didn’t have a lot of time to do much training with these horses. But they are all smart and willing to run so that is good.”
Stolter stood looking out at the grazing horses. “So you train horses, JJ?”
“Yes, for racing. Mexican mustangs have a lot of endurance in racing for distance. A lot more than American horses. I have a cousin who trains cutting horses, but only for the cowboys who run the herds. We all like to race.” JJ beamed.
Rio said, “Uncle Zippy has told us stories about taking some of our best mustangs up to California and beating all their fast horses. We heard the story about this champion Arabian who was something really special. It was a big, strong racehorse. Uncle Zippy’s mustang beat it easy in the first mile, in the second mile it was lagging and after the third mile it was so far behind you couldn’t see it. It was owned by a girl, by a friend of Mr. Ginger’s and Uncle Zippy almost made her cry.”
Chica came up alongside Stolter and smiled at him. JJ shoved his fingers into his mouth and let out three loud fast whistles. Out in the distance came the sound of a couple high whinnies. Stolter took a couple of steps back as three paint rippling muscled Mexican mustang stallions trotted into the clearing. The horses were blotched white with rust red and ebony black spots. Stolter guessed that each one was bigger than nineteen hands high. Each horse got a red apple to eat from Chita’s bag.
“When you want to call your horses, whistle three times like I did. They’ll come running. But you should have apples or carrots to feed them. They like treats.” Rio spread a thick padded blanket with a soft leather strap for stirrups onto the stallions. He lifted Chita up to the darkest male’s back. She put her small boots into the stirrups and then tightened the belt to her backpack. She put on small leather gloves and wrapped both her hands into the thick mane. She smiled at Stolter.
Stolter ran his hand down the fla
nk of the stallion. “How do you guide the horse and control him without a bridle?” He looked up at Chita.
The little girl spoke with a clear voice. “Mister, we’re going home. The horse knows where to go and we won’t stop until we get there. We just hang on and have fun on the ride.” Stolter shook his head in wonder and started to laugh.
Stolter lifted JJ up onto the stallion. Rio swung up onto the back of his horse. The man was in awe of these children who commanded and controlled the powerful animals with sheer trust and love.
Rio patted the neck of his stallion and adjusted the cloth pack strap. “Good luck to you, mister. Someday you should bring your fancy cutting horses south to visit us. We’ll have a contest to see who is better!” All three animals began walking out of the clearing.
JJ called out, “Mr. Ginger sent you a message, too. It’s on the horses.” Stolter frowned and then laughed and waved.
After Stolter had saddled up, he spent the next hour getting lead ropes on the horses. The black filly dodged the rope three times until Stolter held out an apple to her. He looped the rope around her while she ate it.
Little leather pouches were tied into a braided section on the hanging side of the mane on each horse. Stolter’s fingers detected coins. Whelihan might have come through with gold after all. Rather than spend the time to take out each pouch, Stolter moved the string out on the road in a trot headed west. He’d wait until night camp to get a closer look at the pouches.
Two hours of steady riding passed by without incident. Then he heard the gunfire.
###
Stolter picked his way through the rocks and ended up on a narrow path where he broke into a gallop. He ran six miles headed due south until his horse slowed and crept down a trail in the shade. At the bottom up under a rocky overhang near a waterhole, a man laid with bloody wound on his left side.
Nick took the canteen and ran to him and dribbled water into his mouth. His hand was over his side where his shirt was soaked. Stolter ran to his saddlebags and pulled out the bandages. It looked like a gunshot wound. The bullet had to come out but had no idea how to get it out of his body. The wounded man groaned, tried to move, and grimaced.
Stolter whispered, “Hold still, mister. It looks like you’ve been shot. I don’t know what to do but I’ve got to stop the bleeding or you’ll die.” The stranger had lost a lot of blood and missed several meals it seemed.
“Knife. Cut.” Stolter got the knife out of his saddlebag and brought it over to him. He tore away the bloodied shirt and saw the small hole seeping blood where the bullet went in.
“I’m carryin’ scars inside and out. Use your finger, feel for the bullet and then cut it out.” His head fell back and he was unconscious.
“No, I can’t do this. I could cut the wrong thing and then you’d die and you can’t die here.” Stolter had always tried to mind his own affairs, but his man was dying. He felt his temples pound and the aching anger behind his eyes started. He looked at the knife and took a deep breath.
His shaking fingers probed into the hole and about two inches in him felt the slug. Using the tip of the knife and a finger he gripped the tiny metal and lost it twice. It seemed like an hour but only moments later he held the slug in his hand. Stolter shoved it down in his pocket and then poured water over the wound to clean it. He tied together the long white bandages and wrapped it around the wound. He drank down a gulp of whiskey to stop the shiver from his strain. Stolter pulled the heavy saddle blanket off the roan and shook it out to cover the man.
The herd grazed in a flat grassy area to the south. Stolter could leave the horses and get the man to a doctor but he didn’t know which way to go or how far. The man had been asleep for about two hours. With a groan he came awake and gripped his side. Stolter rushed to him.
“Go get Beulah. She can stitch me up and get me to the doc in Rio Mesa. Tell her Griff said please.” In a halting, pained voice the man told him how to find the woman that would help.
###
Five or so miles back to the north Stolter paused behind some mesquite before going out onto the main road leading west. With a quick glance he moved on across it and looked for a rutted wagon track road leading towards some low hills. Stolter could feel the feathered edges of panic rising in him and he fought it down. Twice he had to double back to the main road and keep looking for a rutted road.
The well-worn driveway had a ridge of scrubby grass in the center as it led up the hill. It stopped at a wooden gate. It continued on up the hill and around a bend disappearing out of sight. Stolter called out, not wanting to cross onto someone’s land uninvited. After a few minutes, Stolter threw caution to the wind and lifted the rope loop up opening the gate. He was careful to loop it closed on the other side.
On the other side of the ridge was a wood framed ranch house with a broad veranda. A woman sat rocking with a shotgun across her lap. Stolter stayed on his horse.
“My name is Nick Stolter. I live over in Yucca Valley in California. I’m looking for Beulah Rose Vallarian.”
“I am Beulah Rose Vallarian, Mr. Stolter. You can get down and water your horse over at the trough. Just so you know, I am a pretty good shot with this gun, once I get you close enough. Why are you here?” It was a clear, feminine voice with the inflection of a smile.
“I’ve come to see if you’ll help acquaintance of yours, Griff Southcott. He’s been shot.” Stolter patted his horse as he led him to the water trough. Nick heard the woman snort and turned back to look up at the veranda.
“He’s been shot, but he’s not dead yet? And he thought of me?” She had stood up.
“He needs stitches and bandages, Ma’am. I don’t want to move him, otherwise I’d put him back on his hammerhead and take him to Rio Mesa. I believe there still might be a doctor there, but I don’t think he’s gonna last the trip,” said Stolter.
“Oh, yes. Dr. David Brownlow is still doing his doctoring there. That would be the best bet to get Griff up and to the doctor.” Beulah stood up and leaned the shotgun against the rail. Stolter could see the woman was in her forties, a full bodied woman with an ample bosom. Her blondish hair was up in a bun on the back of her head. She was no great beauty to begin with but she was attractive all the same.
“Around back in the corral by the barn is my horse. If you would kindly, saddle him for me, I’ll change into my riding clothes and get my supplies together.” A glint on a silver bracelet shined when she waved her hand before she went inside. Stolter looked at his horse and shook his head wondering what kind of situation this was.
After Beulah had tied on the saddlebags she mounted up on her horse. They closed the gate and Stolter took off down the driveway. He had told her about hearing the gunshot, and how he had come to find Southcott. She made a curt nod without saying a word. Stolter had found most women to be inquisitive, curious, even nosy, but Beulah kept her thoughts to herself for the time being.
Chapter 8
Southcott was unconscious when they arrived. Beulah unpacked her supplies and had Stolter help roll Southcott to the side so he was braced against a limb. The dressing was soaked with blood. About an hour later, Southcott was stitched up and a fresh, clean white bandage was pressed over the wound. Stolter helped get the wrapping around the man.
“Go tend to your horses, Mr. Stolter. I’ll sit here with him until he wakes up.” She shooed the hovering Stolter away.
Stolter guessed that it was close to midnight when Southcott groaned in pain when he tried to move. Beulah had rolled up a towel for under his head and covered him up with a threadbare quilt. The injured man blinked a couple of times and then rubbed his eyes thoroughly when he saw Beulah.
With a strained voice full of pain, the injured man asked, “What made you decide to get off your porch and come help me?”
Beulah motioned to Stolter. “This kind man asked nicely. He informed me that you said please so here I am. That’s all.” Stolter shrugged.
“I put ten stitches in your belly, Grif
f. You should rest for a week to let ‘em set in and heal up a bit. Mr. Stolter here could probably rustle up a crude lean-to if you have a hankering to take up residence in this beautiful oasis.” Beulah took a drink of the hot coffee and looked out towards the grassy patch.
Stolter piped up. “Getting you up on horseback and jostling you all the way to Rio Mesa might be the best thing to do. At least you’d have a real doctor to look at you.”
“Got anything to drink? I’m parched.” Southcott was trying to get his tongue to work inside his lips. Beulah dug around in her carpetbag and handed a small bottle of whiskey to Stolter. Southcott chugged down two swallows.
“In the morning, I think I’d like to try for Rio Mesa. Nick, I doubt that you can catch and ride my hammerhead and I can’t ride him alone. And you got your horses to think about. I’ll have to ride with you double.” Southcott gasped as he drew in a sharp breath and his hand held his bandage.
“Ma’am, if I could lock up my horses in your corral while I get Griff into Rio Mesa, I would be indebted to you. I went through hell to get them and they are the means of my wife and children having a good year when I get home.” Stolter ran his hand back through his black hair a couple of times and looked at the ground.
Beulah nodded and waved her hand a little as if it made no difference. “You know, that hammerhead always did like me better than he did you. I brushed him and fed him apples. You spurred him. You put too much load on that horse.”
“I’m in no condition to argue with you, Beulah. Do as you damn well please. You will anyways. Least I can say thanks for stitchin me up.” Southcott said and tried to roll on his left side only to swear because of the pain. Beulah looked him and shook her head.