Seneca Book 4: De Dos Del Nortes
Copyright© 2026 by Zanski
Chapter 4. 1875: The Eye, El Paso, Texas
To my disappointment, Bailey Mountain was not wearing a business suit. In fact, he was dressed much as he always had been: unbleached linen work shirt sans collar, long canvas coat, dungaree pants tucked into high, laced-up boots, and topped by a Confederate forage cap. He carried a large knife in a belt sheath on his right hip, under the coat.
On that day, I wore my Colt Army in a covered military holster, my intent to be ready for what employment would follow.
Mountain spotted me as soon as he walked into the hotel’s barroom. He headed straight for me with a wide grin and an outstretched hand. Grabbing my hand, he said, “Seneca, I heard you put in your papers an’ I been wonderin’ where you’d head.” He looked around the room, his eyes passing over Dugan, who was standing next to me. “But I can’t talk now. I’m here t’ meet some Pinkerton cop.” He looked back at me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe I can buy y’all a beer later.”
“Bailey, it’s good to see you.” I indicated Dugan with gesture of my hand. “This here’s Ray Dugan. He’s the man you’re looking for, from Pinkerton. I’m helpin’ him out.”
Bailey gave me a wide-eyed look, then turned to Dugan, who reached out his own hand. “Mister Mountain, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Shall we talk here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?”
The small saloon catered mostly to hotel guests. It had no games of chance nor a piano player. The only men present were two drummers at a table near the bar, the bar-keep, who was washing glasses, and a porter, mopping the floor.
Mountain pointed. “Over in d’ corner should do.”
As they were seating themselves, I asked. “You boys want some coffee or a beer?”
“Coffee for me,” Mountain said.
“Same for me,” Dugan added.
“I’ll be right back.”
The bartender had overheard us and he had three mugs on the bar which he was filling as I approached. I put a dime on the bar and told him to keep the change. Then I picked up the mugs and carried them to the table.
“Seneca, I heard ‘bout your wife.” He looked at me with a solemn expression and reached out to gently squeeze my shoulder. “I can’t ‘magine how dat must hurt. Janie be a fine lady.”
“Thanks, Bailey. I appreciate the sentiment.”
He squeezed my shoulder once more and held on, as he looked at Dugan and said, “I was leery ‘bout comin’ t’ talk to a Pinkerton, but the boss said to, so here I be. But d’ for-sure reason I’ll stay is dis boy righ’chere.” Now he patted my shoulder, then drew his hand back, and smiled at Dugan. “I knowed Seneca for maybe seven, eight years. If he’s workin’ wit’ ya’, I’ll work wit’ ya’.”
Dugan patted my forearm, where it rested on the table, replying to Mountain, “He’s exactly the kind of man the Pinkerton Agency likes to hire.”
To ease my embarrassment, I pushed ahead, though I felt I might be stepping on Dugan’s toes. “So what kind a’ problem are you having, Bailey?”
The smile left Mountain’s face. “Somebody’s tryin’ to put us out a’ d’ business ‘long River Road, Sarge. An’ they’s hurtin’ our animals t’ do it.”
Bailey Mountain had been as much a herdsman as he’d been a drover. He knew that the oxen were the key component to their dray business and he made sure that the animals were well cared for. It was easier to replace wagons and drovers than it was to raise and train a strong, healthy, dependable bullock to harness.
“What do you mean? What’s goin’ on?”
He sighed heavily. “‘Bout t’ree months ago, bad things start t’ happen. Our waterin’ holes — Dem places we dug out ourse’ves? — dey bein’ poisoned wit’ alkali. Other places, water be channeled from cricks to wash out d’ ‘proaches to fords or muddy ‘em up so they’s slick an’ slippy, or axle deep in mud. Some a’ ‘r grazin’ spots was poisoned by scattered dry jimson weed. Other places they scattered those spiky things, ah, y’ know, what’s made to poke horse’s hooves, I can’t ‘member what they’s called.”
“You mean caltrops?” I guessed.
“Yeah, yeah, cal-trops whats those Army boys calls ‘em”
Caltrops were a defensive weapon not seen much since The War. The simplest type was a metal device with four projecting sharpened nails or points that were arranged in such a manner that, when any three of the spikes are against the ground, the fourth pointed upward, so as to pierce the hooves of horses. At the very least this lames the animal and can cause greater harm if the horse breaks a leg trying to escape, or if the wound becomes infected.
Dugan asked, “Your drovers couldn’t see the caltrops on the road?”
“Dey be half-buried in sandy or muddy spots. D’ ox pick it up an’ when they step on solid ground, it pushed inta de’ foot den. Dose bastards puts ‘em next to d’ trail, too. It was god-awful. Y’ ever try ‘n hold back near a ton a’ hurtin’ bullock?” Mountain shrugged. “Usually be only d’ first yoke what get spiked, but a scared screamin’ bullock can spook t’ others.”
Dugan had brought a leather portfolio. Now he opened it and removed one of the Pinkerton forms. I saw that it was the Property of Interest sheet. He started asking questions and I got us more coffee.
According to Mountain, the first incident had occurred early in May, when sick oxen at the company base at Rio Grande City had been seen by a veterinarian and found to be suffering from jimson weed poisoning. Two yearling bullocks had died. Mountain himself discovered the dried jimson weed leaves that had been scattered in the pasture.
Next in the campaign were the flooded grade approaches to creek fords. This was done by constructing rough diversion dams and digging a few feet of trench to carry the water onto the road. At best it mired the approach in mud, but it could also turn heavy clay soils into slicks, or totally wash out an approach by undercutting the bank, the damage depending on the lay of the land, its composition, and the amount of water that was diverted. For most traffic, it presented an inconvenience. For heavily-loaded freight wagons, it was a barrier until the road surface could be dried out and the approaches repaired. Those attacks had occurred in late May and early June in four different crossings between Fort McIntosh and Fort Duncan — or between Laredo and Eagle Pass, as Dugan amended the references.
Then, in late June, someone had soured three of the company’s dug-out watering holes by dumping barrels of alkali along the shore, where it would dissolve slowly into the gently-flowing water. This had been between Fort Duncan and Camp Smith, where water began to grow scarce and the Road moved away from the Rio.
Finally, three weeks before, two trains had encountered the caltrops in two different locations on the River Road between Camp Smith and Fort Davis.
Dugan brought out a Person Of Interest form and he asked, “Who do you reckon is behind it?”
Mountain shook his head and shrugged. “We know that both Lone Star Freighting and the West Texas Mail would like to take over the contract, but...,” he resumed shaking his head, “This just don’t seem their way a’ doin’ things. We work wit’ bot’ dose outfits wit’ special cargo.”
Lone Star Freighting had the Army contract for the north Texas forts and along the eastern portion of the San Antonio-El Paso Road. The company Bailey Mountain worked for, Waters and Peterman Cartage and Freight, had the contract for the River Road and the western end of the San Antonio-El Paso Road, meaning Waters and Peterman covered the entire seven hundred miles of the Military Road, from the head of navigation at Rio Grande City, all the way to El Paso and Fort Bliss. The West Texas Mail, besides running stage-coaches, carried only civilian freight and packages. It also had the federal mail contract for most of west Texas.
Mountain excused himself to use the privy.
Dugan asked me, “How would you go about this?”
“Well, I reckon I’d want to talk to whichever drovers first happened on the problems, find out more detail of what and when.” I shrugged. “Then I’d see where that took me.” I shook my head, saying, “I haven’t had much time to think about it.”
Mountain came back in and went to the bar, then turned to us. “I’m havin’ a beer. Dey keep it cool in d’ cellar. Y’all want a beer? It’s on me.”
It was almost eleven, and the mid-August day was already hot, so a cold beer sounded good to me. Dugan went for one, too.
After Mountain sat down, Dugan took a sip of the beer and said to him, “For us to take on the case, we’ll need a retainer of fifty dollars. If we produce evidence of who caused any of these incidents, there will be an additional hundred dollar fee. If we produce evidence of a separate party who caused any other incident, it will be an additional fifty dollars, unless you cancel the contract.”
“So, fifty bucks up front an’ a hunnert bucks for whoever’s behind any of these attacks. Then fifty bucks for each other one you might find?”
“That’s correct.”
“An’ y’all have Seneca working on it?”
“That would be my plan.”
But I knew the problem with that plan was that I didn’t actually work for Pinkerton yet. I figured we’d hash that out later.
Mountain nodded. “D’ boss lef’ it up to me, God bless his loss a’ wits, an’ I gots d’ hunnert dollars righ’chear.” Mountain untied some thongs from his belt and he produced a leather pouch from inside the waist of his trousers. He opened the pouch and used his sausage-sized fingers to extract three twenty-dollar gold pieces. He placed the double-eagle coins in a stack on the table in front of himself.
Dugan, in turn, brought out a ten dollar coin, then set about completing the contract forms.
That’s when Mountain displayed the business sense that earned him his company’s trust.
He took the stack of coins and turned it on its edges, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Mountain said, with a noticeable improvement in his manner of speech, “But, Mister Dugan, I would change the rest of the fee payments.” Dugan set down his pencil and we both gave our attention to Mountain, who went on, “Here’s what I’ll agree to: If y’all find these assholes within four weeks from today, we’ll pay another hunnert an’ fifty dollars. After that, the fee goes down by twenty-five dollars ever’ week, ‘til after ‘nother six weeks, meanin’ ten weeks from today, dat fee is played out and we get dis here fifty dollars back.” Mountain tapped the roll of coins against the table once, where it made a sharp thump.
Dugan continued to look at Mountain for a couple seconds, then his gaze turned to me. His eyes narrowed slightly and he seemed to search my eyes for a few moments. Then his face relaxed and he turned to Mountain and said, “Agreed.”
After the contract was signed, I’d asked Mountain if he and I could meet again, at which time I’d have more questions for him. He invited me out to the company’s bunkhouse and corrals southeast of town, along the Rio. He offered supper and promised it wouldn’t be beans or oxtail soup. I assured him of my attendance, then Dugan and I excused ourselves and all three of us left the bar-room. Outside, we shook hands with Mountain and he strode off toward the south while Dugan and I crossed the street and walked toward the center of town.
Along the way, we purchased some tacos and tamales, and a couple jars of lemonade from a street vendor. We brought it all up the stairs to the Pinkerton office. After we’d arranged ourselves and eaten the first and most satisfying bites of food, Dugan introduced the topic of wages.
“We’ll pay you thirty dollars a month, plus five percent of any fees you bring in. For instance, if you’d have brought in the contract with Waters and Peterman, you’d have earned a two dollar fifty cent commission — but you didn’t. However, if you bring in results for the recovery fee, you’ll get five percent of that — unless that fee drops below our standard fee of one hundred dollars. Then you get no commission. If you do well, the salary will go to thirty-five dollars in six months and forty dollars in a year.”
“Is that what they pay in Chicago? Thirty dollars a month?”
He was straightforward. “No. Rent and food are more expensive there. New men start at forty-five dollars. Our fees are higher there, too, requiring a seventy-five dollar retainer and a similar higher recovery fee.”
“But you took this reducing-fee contract with Bailey Mountain knowing that he signed because of me, and I haven’t even signed on.”
“He’d have signed up, anyway. There’s no one else to do it. The attacks are scattered over seven hundred miles and a half-dozen law enforcement jurisdictions. And I know you’ll take the job. You enjoy this type of work.”
“But I could hold you up for Chicago wages.”
“But you won’t. You’re not that kind of man. I figured that out from the way you dealt with Capitan Carranza and the other officers at that hearing.”
I smiled. “You’re only partially right. I won’t hold you up for higher pay — now. But I want the thirty-five dollar wage in three months and forty dollars in six. A year from now, I want forty-five dollars.”
He gave me the same narrow look he’d used at the saloon meeting with Mountain. Then he nodded and said, “I’ll agree to that or I’ll fire you in three months.”
“That’s not much of a threat. You can fire me any time it suits you.”
“It wasn’t a threat. I was reminding myself that I had a way out if I needed it.”
When I saw that the cook had steaks on the fire grate, I figured it was tough cuts from a “retired” oxen. Mountain reassured me. “We had a yearling break a leg, so you won’t be breakin’ any teeth.” Along with the beefsteaks we had roasted sweet potatoes with new-churned butter — I new it was fresh because I took a turn in churning it — along with sliced tomatoes, and berry cobbler for dessert.
After I told Mountain that I’d want to talk to the drovers who were involved with the attacks, he took me back to his tent, which was set up on a plank platform, like an army commander’s tent in winter camp. There was a table out front and a couple straight-back, kitchen chairs. He lit the lamp hanging from a pole next to the table and invited me to sit down. Both of us had carried partially-full coffee mugs from the mess tent and we both set them on the table. I sat down and he said, “I’ll be right back.” He returned in less than a minute, carrying a portfolio and an open-ended tin can with half a dozen pencils.
Looking over his camp set-up, I said, “I bet you actually do have a business suit.”
He grinned at me. “Navy blue with a very fine, light gray, window-pane plaid,” adding, “Window-pane plaid is all the rage in Saint Louis.”
“You’ve been to Saint Louis?”
He nodded. “Once. Went there by river boat. I was the featured slave on the auction block that afternoon.” He smirked.
I smiled and nodded. “Ah, the good ol’ days.”
“Carpet-bagger,” he accused me. Then he asked, “How do you like workin’ for Pinkerton?”
I shrugged. “I only hired on this afternoon. I helped Dugan out on a case the last couple days, but he just paid me outright for it.”
He nodded and smiled. “Then Dugan was out on a limb with our contract. Did you hold his feet to the fire?”
“No, not really. He promised raises in six months and a year. I reduced the time by half.”
“That seems fair. He’ll be happy with the bargain, I’m guessin’.”
I nodded, adding “And now it’s my turn to fleece Waters and Peterman. I want to talk to the men who encountered those hazards.”
He opened his portfolio. “All a’ ‘em?”
“Nah. Just the men who have the most first-hand knowledge, who saw and dealt with the problems. Did any of them hold on to any of those caltrops?”
“I got a couple here in the tent. Hold on.” He reached up for the lantern, “Gotta borrow this.”
I slumped in the straight-back chair and looked toward the west, where the sun still made an orange glow along the horizon.
I heard Mountain rummaging around in the tent. “Got ‘em,” he called.
He came back and hung the lantern on the pole. Then he set two, four-and-a-half-inch diameter, four-pronged caltrops on the table.
I picked one up and held it in front of me. “Did you really forget that these were called caltrops, or was that part of the ‘nigra’ act?”
“Come on, Seneca, ‘caltrop?’ I ain’t got room in my head to carry aroun’ a word that I never had a use for. I need the space for all the numbers I gots t’ juggle.”
I chuckled, then stood up to hold the wicked-looking device next to the lamp. I spotted a stamped letter.
“This was made for the Union Army, probably during The War. I think the manufactury was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. These came in two sizes. This one is stamped ‘H’ for horse. There was a smaller size, meant for Confederate infantry. It was stamped with an ‘M’.”
“Holy Lord, what men won’t do one t’ ‘nother, let alone poor, dumb animals.”
I said, “I’ve never seen caltrops on an Army commissary list since I came west. The Army doesn’t use these out here to fight bandits and Indians. They’d cause more harm than help.”
“So? What does that tell you?”
“That these came from some old Army depot or where they sell War Department surplus and scrap.”
“What difference does that make?”
“How many of these did your men find?”
He looked at a sheet of paper that was near full of writing. “About thirty at each site.”
“So, five dozen. Now look at this thing.” I set the caltrop in front of him. “Any apprentice blacksmith could knock one together from a couple long spikes, take him maybe ten minutes. It’d be even faster, once he hit his stride and threw a dozen spikes at a time on the fire. Instead, somebody bought these back East and hauled them out here rather than have them knocked together by some blacksmith’s helper. Heck, with a little practice, I could make ‘em, myself.”
Mountain objected. “Maybe they was cheaper back East.”
I gestured acceptance with both hands open in front of me. “I’m sure they are cheaper back East.” Then I pointed my right forefinger at him. “Except for the cost of shipping.
“You’re in the business, Bailey. You know that it’s cheaper to ship metal stock than to ship manufactured metal items, simply because metal stock takes up less space than these things, and the stock is easier to handle as a bulk product.” I shook my head. “No, I don’t think it was because they were cheaper. What I think is that somebody saw these at an auction or scrap yard, and the idea came to him how they could be used to hurt your business. Seriously, it just doesn’t seem likely that somebody’d think of caltrops if they wanted to make trouble. And if they did think of them, then they’d think of making their own.”
“Okay, I’ll allow as that makes sense,” he admitted, though he added, “but I ain’t convinced.”
I said, “Yeah, I know. I’m a bit surprised when it came to me that way, but maybe it makes more sense to me. How long you been hauling freight out here?”
“Close to nine years.”
“You ever heard or seen caltrops before, out here?”
“Not in Texas or Alabamy. I ain’t even heard of ‘em before.”
“The only times I heard of ‘em was durin’ The War, but I ain’t thought of ‘em since. So I’ll offer another possibility. The man who did this had some experience of caltrops during The War. So he’d be about my age or older. An’ he’d’ve had to place an order for caltrops that were sent by steam boats and then maybe by freight wagon. Maybe your outfit carted ‘em out here.”
He looked at me one eye squinting, the other closed. “I’ll give you this much, Seneca, before now whoever did this just seemed like some sorta haunt or devil. Now I’m startin’ to see a flesh-and-bones man tossin’ these things on the trail.”
“Tell me this: did anyone else on the trail, other than your trains, encounter the caltrops?”
Mountain tapped the papers he had earlier consulted. “Not that any of the men heard of or seen.”
“And did they pick up all of the caltrops?”
“Best as they could figure. You recall we carry garden rakes on the wagons, along with the other tools.”
“I do. What it looks like, and you probably already realize, is that these spikes were scattered just before your trains arrived.”
“Yeah, we figgered that.”
“Did the men see anyone nearby, or see someone traveling in front of them?”
“Not that any of ‘em took note of.”
“Did they see any fresh tracks?”
He shrugged. “There’s almost always fresh tracks, from the stagecoaches, if nothing else. Then there’s farm wagons, an’ buckboards, an’ Army patrols. Our men aren’t trained for trackin’. An’ since the Army escorts were stopped...” He shrugged again.
The Army had discontinued providing escorts for the supply trains in ‘seventy-four, when the transfers of regiments to New Mexico and Arizona had begun.
I pulled my notebook from my waistcoat pocket and consulted it.
“What about the alkali? How did they spot that?”
He tool a quick glance at his notes. “All three of ‘em report that it was plain to see as the alkali stood out like a snowdrift on the pond bank.”
“It didn’t have dirt or sand mixed in?”
“Not to the way they tell it. It was all white and looked like it had been dumped from a barrel or heaped up with a shovel.”
“I remember you saying that before, but I pictured alkali that someone had collected from a playa, scraping up both dirt and alkali.”
A playa was a dry lake bed. Some had white alkali deposits that had leached from the soil. In some places alkali salts, such as borax, were harvested or mined.
He was shaking his head as he looked at his report. “Nope. One man said it stuck out like a sore thumb. Others said ‘white as snow.’” Then he looked up at me. “Problem was, that stuff settled along the bottom of our ponds. We could clean up the pile at the shoreline, but the ponds were near ruined. We dug new waterin’ holes where we could.”
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