Chapter 4

Three weeks later we were on the range moving some cattle to keep the grass in shape, when we told Pa we were leaving soon. He just grinned. “I figured. You boys been kind of antsy lately. Got any idea where you’re going?”

“We think we might like to see Colorado, see if every creek up there is really filled with gold.”

He frowned a little but didn’t say anything. He paid us wages just like the regular hands and we’d saved a mite up. Almost three hundred each. That was more than most cowboys make in a year. Pa bought the two horses we had brought back, and we sold the fancy pistols for eighty dollars. There was a silver mounted saddle on one of the horses and we both thought it was a bit too gaudy for a regular puncher. We got another forty out of that.

Two weeks later we were saddled up and the pack mule we were taking was loaded down. Little sister and Mother cried. The men of the family just gave us a firm handshake, and Pa told us to watch out for each other.

We took our time, looking over the new country, going steadily North and West. Zeke spotted a small herd of wild horses led by a mighty fine looking stallion. We studied on them for a while and decided it would be a good thing if we had a few extra mounts, so we set a brush wall in a little box canyon and waited until they were close. We rode up slowly, the stallion snortin’ and pawin’ the ground, easing them before us.

When we got close we pulled our revolvers and charged the herd. The stallion was no fool but we managed to split up the herd and drove about a dozen into the canyon, dragging brush in to block them off.

If we would have had time, we’d have spent all summer gentling the horses down, but time was of the essence. We picked out the four best mares and a little dun stallion that looked to be no more than two years old. The rest we turned loose to rejoin their herd.

Over the next two days we got beat up pretty bad. Zeke had a black eye and a bloody nose where the stallion rared up on him, slamming his head backwards into his face. I had a scraped arm and a bruise the size of Dallas on my back, but we topped them, working with them every day for a week before going on. Zeke took an old cinch ring and put a brand on them, BZW, our initials.

Three weeks before we got into gold country we stopped at a pretty fair sized town. Picking the best looking livery barn in town, we turned our horses into the corral. We had to hobble the stallion as he was still thinking he’d rather be back home but the mares were fine.

The owner came out and looked them over. “Fine looking animals. If you’re interested in selling them talk to me first.”

We told him we’d think about it and loafed around for two days before we got down to trading. I let Zeke handle that because if I’m honest here, I was a born sucker. All I needed was to hear a sob story and I’d give you the shirt off my back. Zeke didn’t give a damn (well, he did really, but he projected being a hardass really well) if your wife was sick and you had seven kids you couldn’t feed, he was going to get his price or he’d move on. In the end both parties allowed as they had both gotten something out of the deal and shook hands. I kind of hated letting that little stallion go but I didn’t have the time to train him the way he needed so I let it be.

We idled along, and two days later we heard shots. It’s odd, but most Westerners can tell a lot by listening to shots. A few shots popped off during a wild night in town won’t register as much as the same amount of shots during a gunfight. There is a difference between a single hunter’s shot and a volley loosed by a group of buffalo hunters. The shots we heard were fighting shots, a brief flurry, silence for a minute or two, then a single shot followed by another flurry. It sounded like two or three against one.

The landscape had changed as we’d ridden. Gone were the plains, replaced by verdant meadows and hills not quite big enough to be called a mountain, covered with trees and brush. We decided not to go intot he situation blind so we secured the horses and donned the knee high moccasins Dolores had a squaw make for us. They were made by the Mountain Apache of Mexico, people who knew the value of sturdy footwear that didn’t make any noise if it brushed against a branch. Seems Ma was kin from way back.

We took our time, easing over the ridge. There was a wagon there but I didn’t see any horses. What I did see was a lone man, lying under the wagon trying to keep up with three others as they closed in on him. I could see two more lying on the ground behind them. It was a pretty safe bet they wouldn’t be gettin’ up.

We got a little closer and could hear the yellin’.

“Give it up Yankee Boy. We got your hosses and before it’s over we’ll have the wagon. Stop shootin’ and walk off and we’ll let you go.”

I could hear the grim humor in his voice as he spoke. “I got a better idea. You boys turn my horses loose, gather up your dead and leave before there’s more.”

That led to a round of cussing before the leader shouted back. “The hell with you. We’ll just wait you out. You gotta sleep sometime.”

“You can bet your ass I’ll take at least one of you with me before I go. Which one of you wants to be the lucky feller? Step on up and let’s get this over with.”

He might have been talkin’ to one but he was watching all of them. One got a mite brave and exposed himself. The rifle boomed, knocking him backwards. He didn’t get up.

“Now it’s down to fifty/fifty. Who’s next?”

There was a lot of cussin’ when they realized they were another man down. I looked at Zeke and grinned. That ol’ boy had sand. He went left while I went right. Zeke eased along and it took him half an hour to get behind his man. He rose up like a ghost and put the butt of his rifle to the back of his neck. He dropped like a rock and Zeke tied him up.

By now I was behind the leader, less than ten feet away. He flinched when he heard the hammer go back. “You got a choice here. You can turn around and take your chances or you can drop that rifle in the dirt. You decide, but I ain’t waitin’ long.”

He dropped the rifle and I made him toss his pistols beside of it. I raised up and hailed the wagon. “Hello the wagon! This is Brad Walters. My brother Zeke is out here too. It looks like you had a mite of trouble so we decided to step in. I’m comin’ out of the brush now. I got the feller who was shootin’ at you. Do not shoot!”

There was a minute of silence before he spoke. “Come out unarmed! Keep your hands where I can see them!”

“I’m comin’ out but I’ll be keepin’ my weapons. I give up my guns, what’s to keep this fool from runnin’?”

The man was hesitating, wondering if he could trust us, when Zeke spoke up. “You need to pay better attention mister. I walked right up behind you and you didn’t notice a thing. Now to make us all happy how about you prop that rifle up against that wagon wheel. I’m going to call out and my brother is comin’ in.”

The man didn’t look much older than Zeke but he was smart enough to know he’d been boxed. He sighed and slid the rifle against the wagon. Zeke hollered and I marched my captive out and tied him to a wagon wheel. Then we dragged the other feller Zeke had knocked out in and tied him to the same wheel.

Once he decided we weren’t going to rob or kill him he warned up pretty fast. “I can’t thank you enough. I was down to five shells and it was looking pretty bad. These boys came up on us at daylight, spooking our horses before we had them hitched up. It didn’t take long until we were trading shots.”

“Who’s we?”

His eyes grew dim. “Me and my partner. He died in the wagon. Even though he was gut shot he hung on long enough to send one more of them to hell.”

We helped him pull his partner out of the wagon. He didn’t say another word, just grabbed a shovel and started diggin’. When he started movin’ slow I took the shovel out of his hands and Zeke fed him coffee and got a plate of beans and biscuits into him.

It was about an hour before dark when we laid the man to rest. The man, Bob Cline, didn’t have any words so Zeke said a few things. He’d pretty much memorized the whole Bible and could pull a piece of scripture out for just about any occasion. Satisfied, we went back to the men tied to the wagon.

The man Zeke had knocked cold came around and asked what we were going to do with them. Zeke grunted.

“Let’s see, you attacked two innocent men and stole their horses, killed one and was workin’ pretty hard on killin’ the other when we showed up. Murderers and horse thieves, what usually happens to men who commit those crimes? You really have to ask?”

The leader went pale while I went to their horses and got their ropes. Only fitting I thought, as I fashioned the nooses, that they be hung from their own ropes. They started trying to bargain, promising anything to us if we’d let them go. He may as well have been talking to someone who didn’t speak the language.

I asked Bob if he had a problem with what we were about to do.

“I haven’t been out West long but I been here long enough. I don’t intend to backtrack and waste weeks while they have the trial. I’ll do it.”

Well, it was his right. We asked them if there was anyone they needed to write to or if they couldn’t write we’d do it for them. Neither said another thing so we carried them kicking and screaming to their horses.

“Any last words? No? Then I hope hell lives up to it’s reputation!” Bob slapped the horses with his hat and they jumped forward, trotting a few feet before stopping. The heavier man got the best of the deal because his neck snapped immediately. The other man was a lot lighter and his horse didn’t move as fast so he danced on air while he strangled.

We rolled into our blankets, taking turns at guard. We didn’t know if they had friends that would come lookin’.

Bob was up before us, mixing up dough. He tossed it into some bacon grease. Fried bread ain’t as good as biscuits, but it was mighty tasty right there on the trail. He’d bought a few dozen eggs back in town and he fried about a dozen up, then cooked up a pan of taters and onions. Mighty fine fare for the trail. We talked as we ate.

Bob and his partner were going to try looking for gold but were smart enough not to go into it blind. They’d bought the wagon and pooled their money, buying supplies the miners would need. Pickaxes, shovels, gold pans, that sort of thing. I looked in the wagon and it was only half full.

“Why didn’t you fill it up?”

“Ran out of money. It don’t go as far as you’d think out here. It was enough to give us a decent start and a cushion for supplies we might need later.”

I looked at Zeke and knew what he was thinkin’. We had plenty of money relatively speaking, but it might be a good idea to add to our pile. The thought of makin’ money before we panned our first dirt appealed to me.

First thing after breakfast we swept the area, dragging the dead in and laying them out under the men swinging on the ropes. There had been six of them but they didn’t have over ten dollars between them. Bob and his partner made a mighty temptin’ target. They did have six pretty decent horses and three mules, each with almost empty pack saddles. Most of the pistols were decent, and two had almost brand new Winchesters, the ‘73 model. The rest were Yellowboys and one old Henry.

“What are we gonna do with their stuff?”

Zeke just grinned. “It ain’t their stuff anymore, Bob. It’s ours. A man tries to rob and kill you and loses, you’re entitled to everything he leaves behind. I claim one of the newer Winchesters for my brother and if their weapons are better than yours you need to help yourself. I notice you ain’t got a belt gun and this is the best of the lot. Strap it on and get used to it. You’re probably going to need it.”

Two matching Smith & Wessons that looked almost brand new were soon settled on his hips. Bob didn’t argue and took the other ‘73 as well. “What do we do with the rest?”

“Sell it first chance we get. You might want to pick out the best horse and saddle. You won’t be on that wagon seat forever.”

There was a dun mare with good lines and a sweet disposition and on our advice he tied it to his wagon. He stood, not sure what to do next. Zeke grinned at him. “Bob, we don’t know each other but we got a proposition for you. Your wagon is half empty and we got three pack mules with empty packs. What say we partner up, mosey on back into town. We sell the horses and what guns we don’t want and split the money. You take yours and buy what you want. When you’re done we’ll finish loadin’ the wagon up and pay you to freight it for us. We’ll also load the pack mules down, but that will be all ours. We’ll travel together for safety and we’d have a vested interest in makin’ sure you get to where you’re going. Sound reasonable?”