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When they spoke in an Indian tongue, I was almost sure they were the two friends of Peter. It's just that I wasn't positive. This was no time to make a mistake. I stepped around the corner with my forty-five in my hand but pointing down at the ground.
"Ah JessClay, we friend." It was the Dog, and I remembered that he could speak impeccable English if called on to do so.
"How come you're scaring my wife, Dog?"
"Just having a little fun. Peter won't let us scalp anyone anymore, so we have to take what we can get. We didn't mean any harm."
Strange to say, I believed him. Peter and his band had never been here to visit; in fact I didn't think they knew I had settled down in these parts.
"And where is my friend Peter? Out scaring little children and puppies?"
"No, Peter likes children and puppies. Plays with the children, eats the puppies."
I heard Anne's intake of breath at this information. Before she could ask I told her, "Yeah, it's a very old Indian dish. That's why their camps always are full of dogs."
"That's right." threw in Dog. He rubbed his belly as he said, "Nothing finer."
"Not even horse?" Anne had that dry New England humor.
"Nah, mule is the best for big meat. Buffalo hump and tongue is good, but mule is better than that, even."
My ever gracious wife felt she had to make an offer. "I'm sure it's not as good as mule, but I have made a pea soup that is ready to eat."
"Oh, boy," I said, for that is one of my favorites. Dog, however, showed a concerned look.
"You don't mean... I mean it is not..."
I laughed so hard that I couldn't stand up straight. Here was the would-be savage telling us tales of his culinary habits, and he was worried about an innocent white eyes dish.
When I was able to get my breath, I explained it was a soup made from stewed peas, but this was a term he was unfamiliar with. Finally I said, "Like beans," and he was appeased. Anne went and got a few dried split peas to show him, and he nodded, putting them in his mouth and crunching on them. When we sat down to bowls of soup with corn bread on the side, he was mightily pleased.
In an hour Peter showed up. He explained that he had thought he recognized the tracks of my Big Horse and was following them to see what I was up to. He had no idea we had built our house here.
When the Indians were leaving, Peter took me aside. "We never did find out what happened to Amos Heskins," he told me. "We never found any sign of his body up in the valley. But I have seen some strange sign over in those mountains lately. At first the tracks were of a lame man on foot, but he killed a prospector and is now riding his mule. I have not seen him and don't know who he is, but I think it might be Heskins. Be careful.
I thanked him profusely and tried to think of ways to be more secure at our house. I had pretty much thought of everything. When Anne was home alone, she had the shotgun for security. And as it was, she had been coming to the claim to help me on days that I worked there. I had not forgotten my previous entrapment there, so I always stationed her where there was a good view of the surroundings. I had told her the reason why I was nervous here, and she was completely understanding. A lot of women would cry and tell me it was too dangerous, but not Anne. She was ready to do her share and more, asking only that she be a part of the solution.
Perhaps that is how the final shoot out evolved, but here, I am getting ahead of myself in my rush to share my story.
That rock vein did not peter out, and I learned the rudiments of shoring to expand my operation. With the money,
we expanded our pole barn, built more corrals and brought in a prize stallion from Billings as a stud horse. Needless to say Big Horse looked on this with disgust, for he thought the job should be his own. Deep down I agreed with him, but to sell for top prices you have to have a bloodline. I picked out good looking mares whenever I found a bargain.
I spent a little time capturing some wild horses and breaking them to saddle. Some of these were good animals, but a lot were scruffy blockheads that I wouldn't waste my time on. A lot of what you hear about these wild herds is somebody's pipedream. I doubt that a lot of them would even be suitable for making glue. I did put a few new mares in my stable, but that was it.
Well, I should mention the colt. There was one scrubby band of horses that seemed to be based in the Book Cliff area. I had watched them from a distance and decided to try to capture a roan mare that seemed to stand out from the rest.
By the entrance to a box canyon, I readied a rope fence, and one day I caught the herd of horses where I wanted them and drove them into the canyon. There was a lot of scrambling when the animals found they were trapped, let me tell you. I finally got the mare singled out and found she was nowhere near the horse she had looked like from a distance. Deciding I did not need any second rate stock, I was about to set the whole bunch free when I spotted the colt.
He looked to be barely weaned. The odd thing was that he did not seem attached to any of the mares that were here, and I did not know of any others in the immediate area. Yet here he was, with the crowd for company yet all on his own. It was not just his plight that made me throw a rope around his neck and lead him off, though. It was the regal look that showed a rich heritage from some unknown source. While most young colts are gangly and tripping over their own feet, he was stately and sure-
footed. His head was held high, and the lines of his legs showed the potential of being a show horse; a stallion that would lead a parade or a band of wild horses.
He showed no alarm at the rope, though it must have been the first time he had worn one. I could sense that he would be easy to gentle break when the time came. As I pulled into my ranch yard, Anne came rushing out and exclaimed, "Oh, he's a prince," giving him a name that stuck.
Prince quickly became a favorite around the ranch with us and our few visitors. As a rule Big Horse looked at other animals with disdain, but little Prince even won him over and could usually be found as a shadow of the big fellow. When I watched them closely, I saw that Big Horse was actually teaching the little fellow how to act. It paid off later, for that was the easiest horse I ever broke and trained.
When Peter and his little band came to visit his, two wild-looking Indian brothers grunted and acted like they would like to eat little Prince, but by now Anne was well-acquainted with their sense of humor, and they could not get a rise out of her. Eventually they even lapsed out of their dialect vocabulary and used plain-to-understand English.
As usual, Peter took me aside. "I haven't seen those tracks, and that makes me worry even more." I was surprised, for I had never pictured Peter to be the worrying type.
I, on the other hand, was so filled with myself by the success summer had brought me that I took his warning lightly. "If it was the old man, he is long gone," I told him. "He'll be looking ahead to winter, and if he's out of Brown's Hole then he will head south for a warmer
climate. Phoenix would probably be a good guess."
If Prince was the shadow of Big Horse, he was the pet of Anne. She was always out teaching him little tricks, and he followed her around like a puppy. On days when she stayed home, Prince was often let out of the corral in the morning to spend the day following Anne about whenever she came outside. She often said who needed a dog when you had a colt that thinks he is a human. She had a good point.
I wanted to divert my stream above my mine to uncover some new bedrock when the spring run offs occurred, so one sunny September morning I went to start the work on this, leaving Anne at home to whitewash her fence. She had insisted we have a fenced yard in front of the house, and I had learned her tastes were usually good, so with the help of Big John's carpenter I had put in a good one. Along with the painted rocks it really gave a taste of New England. Now Anne wanted it white, and she had insisted she do it by herself. She was a much more patient painter than I have ever been.
My chore progressed much faster than expected. I was able to split up a nest of boulders with a half a stick of Giant. The normal flow of the water remained the same, but when it overflowed it would cut a fresh path, leaving a lot of new gravel. I was well pleased with myself on the afternoon ride home.
I was alarmed when I arrived there. With only a few pickets left to go Anne had knocked off her work. When I checked the house she was not to be found. On a hunch I checked about for Prince, and he was also missing.
Going back to the fence I checked for any clues. There were a couple of places where the colt's nose print showed in the whitewash. These places were not far from where she had started. Apparently she had taught him not to do it anymore for the marks were not repeated. Like I said, the little horse learned very quickly.
I found the fresh tracks I was looking for on the soft edge of the garden spot. For some reason the Colt had taken a bee line from the fence toward the nearby hills. Anne in turn had walked after him.
I could not fathom why they should do this. Finally in a clump of weeds I found my answer. It was just a white piece of cloth but I knew what had happened. Someone had attracted Prince's curiosity by flashing this cloth. It was a trick often used by antelope hunters. The flash of the rag makes them think another animal is jumping around. I wouldn't have expected a horse to fall for such a ruse. Price was just a colt, though, and still mighty curious.
When just out of sight of the house, they had been taken. It looked like the abductors, for there were three of them, had headed pretty much straight north toward Wyoming.
Who could be responsible now for this I had no idea. Amos Heskins had been the only enemy I had made in the West, and
he had been mortally wounded on another field of battle. True, we had never found his body, but there was no way he could have lived through that barrage of shots I had put into him. Whose tracks Peter had seen in that area I could not tell, but there was no way they belonged to Heskins. No, I had another enemy here that I knew nothing about.
I knew it might be a spell before I caught up with them, so I went back to the house and quickly loaded all the gear that I might need. I filled my
gun belt with 45 shells and tucked the Lightning in the small of my back. I even put Anne's 41 derringer in my pocket. When I made the rescue lead would be flying, and I wanted to be ready.
I followed their tracks until dark. There was no moon, so I was forced to camp on their trail. At first light in the morning I was on the move. Big Horse had a way of covering more ground then other mounts, and we should gain on them, for they would be hampered by the slower movements of the colt. That thought put chills flowing down my spine. What if they tired of little Prince and decided to be rid of him permanently? Anne would be devastated. No, I told myself, that just can't happen.
I pushed as hard as I could and came upon the colt at midday. He was happy to see me and in fine shape. I gave him a few oats and tried to point him in the direction of home. He followed us for a little ways, then stood and watched us go.
It was a couple of hours until dark when the trail turned into a canyon. I was sure this was where they meant to spend the night. I left Big Horse outside and proceeded on foot.
I was inside the circle of campers before I knew it. They had obviously circled back and laid out their rolls behind convenient rock. The first clue I had was when a dark figure rose up from the ground and started shooting. I quickly shot back, and the figure dropped. Another sprung up right in front of me, and we exchanged shots as well. Both of us were moving and shooting, and both of us missed.
I heard a muffled voice coming from behind a rock, and I rolled over to it. It was Anne, bound and gagged so as to give no warning. I rapidly undid her gag.
"It's Heskins!," she exclaimed upon being freed. "Heskins and Nason and somebody else they called Phinney."
That must have been the first man I shot. I explained about the two others. "We were sure Heskins was dead. Peter and his boys went back and looked several times. And I saw Nason get killed by the bear. I stripped the clothes off his body."
"He was just unconscious. I heard them talking. Nason woke up in his long johns and had nothing else to put on. He sounded awfully
angry; perhaps he might even be a little bit crazy."
"I wouldn't be surprised, with all the evil things he has done. It could be that his conscience is starting to hound him."
I gave Anne her derringer and the Lightning as well. When the shooting started every bullet might count. I halfway expected them to wait and wage a dawn attack, but these men were not Indians. They didn't have the patience.
They came in a rush in the last few minutes of light. Wisely they had come in from two sides to get the crossfire. I took my time, and ignoring Heskins' fire I shot him where it counted. This time he would not be back to fight another day.
I spun around to meet Nason's charge and my heel slipped on a rock, tumbling me to the ground. Bullets were digging a trench in my face when I got turned and threw a bullet into him, too low. Quickly he jumped back to stand by Anne. I could not return his shots for fear of hitting her!
He was carefully lining up his sights for a killing shot when a deep bang went off beside him. A blue hole appeared on his temple, and he fell slowly to the ground. With one shot from her Southerner derringer Anne had put an end to this nightmare.
She shuddered when she leaned against me and said, "Jess, can we travel tonight? I don't want to stay here. I want to go home."
And so we did.
The End
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