Best we don’t say anything to your sister or to Aunt Molly about this,” I warned Lucas. “They might not understand.”
He gave a laugh, then said, “Si, they, how you say, would skin your hide.”
I didn’t think it at all funny. “Go ahead and laugh, but remember you have to face Marta.”
That made him somber. He squinted his eyes, and then asked very seriously, “What do I tell them about the guns?” Then he looked toward the little rope corral, “And the fine horse that is mine?”
I pulled on the end of my moustache, pondering what he said and what brung all this about. We had met with the commander at Fort Wingate, and he had two of his men undercover as cowboys to help Lucas and I drive the cattle back to Colorado. The plan was that we might get drawn into a horse-trade along the way. There was a group that would steal horses in Colorado, then sell half of them to some Mormons over in Utah, and trade the other half. Then they’d steal some in Arizona, mix them with the ones they traded in Utah and sell them to the Army or any other buyer. The idea was to join up with the horse thieves and have them persuade us to add our horses to theirs and go with them to the Mormons.
Best plans are often put to waste. We were out about four days from Wingate; I could see Twin Buttes off to the West. The road was easy, and the cowboy-soldiers were able men. We had gone by the small village of Tohatchi that morning and planned to drive the herd as far as Sheep Springs that day. That would be close to a third of the way to Colorado. I figured that they’d have to come on us in the next day or two.
Like I said, the plans we made went right out the coop. Instead of asking us to join them they decided to take the whole cavvy themselves. It was early when we camped, there was plenty of water for the horses. Lucas had a fire going and coffee on. I’ll hand it to the boy, he sure did his part.
Markum was out riding with the herd, and I had a restless feeling in my innards. Being so restless, I decided to saddle up and ride out with Markum while coffee was boiling and Nicholson was fixing supper. It was twilight and I had just mounted and started out of camp when they came at us like a bunch of Comanches. Yelling, screaming, and firing at any two-legged target they could find. I saw Markum fall from the saddle and two men start pushing the horses.
As I pulled my rifle from the scabbard, I heard shooting from the area of the camp. They had the horses running now; I hesitated, Lucas was back at camp. More firing…there wasn’t much I could do. I looked back toward the herd, saw a man riding off to my right. Fixing a bead on him, I fired and he tumbled from the saddle.
There was a sound of a horse coming from camp, I turned in the saddle and heard a yell, “Don’t shoot, Senor; it is Lucas.” He didn’t stop beside me, but continued on after the rustlers. I could see two of them out in the front, one on each side. I watched as Lucas veered off to the left, so I took to the right.
Hawk was enjoying himself. It had been quite a spell since we’d been involved in a ruckus like this. I think the old horse missed it for he was flying over that ground and before long we were coming abreast of the man. I didn’t fire, but instead I swung the barrel of the rifle catching him on the chin. He tried to hold on, but fell right into the charging horses. I looked over the herd searching for Lucas. There wasn’t much I could do so I started to try to turn the horses, much like milling cattle during a stampede.
They were starting to turn and slow down, then a shot came from the left rear of the herd. I had been praying the whole time to myself, but I blurted it out, “O Lord, let Lucas be all right!”
Minutes later the horses were walking back toward where we had them before the ruckus started. I moved warily in the back and spotted a lone horseman coming my direction. I stopped Hawk, and cocked my rifle.
Lucas was pale, well, as pale as a Mexican boy can get. He looked at me, eyes wide, then bent over the saddle puking. “Two-Bits won’t appreciate it if you got any of that on him.”
He looked up, then wiped his mouth, but now a smile on his face…sorta. “Senor Miles, I think I maybe keeled two men, maybe three.”
As we rode back, I looked for Markum. He was sitting, leaning back against a rock. Dismounting I checked on him. He had been shot in the shoulder and upon falling he possibly broke some ribs. I let Lucas get the horses back to their feeding ground while I got Markum back to camp. Nicholson was dead, and not far away from him was another man–the one Lucas shot.
We had stopped the stealing, but we still didn’t have an idea who the traders were in Mormon country. That would have to wait. I needed to get Markum back to the Fort and these horses taken care of.
Five days later, Lucas and I were on the trail heading back home. “Let me do the explainin’, Lucas. You keep the rifle and I’ll hold on to the pistol and talk to your Uncle Charlie about that. The horse, well, I’ll come up with somethin’.”
I worried about him, but all the way back I didn’t hear him babblin’ about anything, nor did he wake me up during the night. I was just praying that he hadn’t seen the “Devil’s Grin.” One thing for sure–he was now a man.