Chapter 7

The next morning, as we hitched up the mules, Tye and Cal approached us. “Mr. Jeffers said you wanted to talk to us.” Cal said.

“Yep,” I responded. “He said several things, that you boys wanted to move on, that you were good men to have at my back, and that he could manage without you. How about it, you boys want to sign on with us?”

The brothers looked at each other, then both nodded. “We’d be proud to,” said Cal.

“Don’t get us wrong,” Tye interjected, “the Jeffers” are great folks, but we got no real future here, just punchin cows till we are old and broke down. We want more than that.”

With that said, they went to get their gear. We said our goodbyes and moved out when the brothers joined us.

At noon we made out usual rest stop. After the animals were put on long lines to graze, and we settled down in the shade, I looked the boys over. “Boys, you signed on with us, but we didn’t settle on the details. I know Jeffers was paying twenty and found, how about we up that to thirty and found?” Both of them nodded with big grins.

“That’s just fine Mr. Olsen,” said Cal.

“Another thing,” I said, “there aint gonna be no Mr. Olsen, its Jim or, if you have to, just boss. Now, this is hard country with hard people, and we may run into trouble on the trail. I notice that you both carry pistols in a cross draw holster. How are you boys armed?”

Cal, who seemed to do most of the talking for the two, said, “Well, anyone who spent time in the cavalry learns that a cross draw is best on horse back. I have a Colt Navy and Tye has an old Colt Dragoon. For long guns, we both have Merrill carbines we got offen Yankee horse soldiers in 64.”

“Hell boys, that won’t fill the bill if we run into heavy trouble,” I said as I reached behind me. “Take these and consider them a sign up bonus,” I said as I handed each of them two converted Remingtons that I had replicated over the past week. “When we get a chance we’ll see about getting you a couple of Henrys as well. I want my hands to be better armed than anyone who may try to cause a dust up.”

For the next hour the brothers and everyone else practiced with their revolvers. I figured we had plenty of ammo (thanks to the replicator) and a gun is of little value if you can’t shoot straight. So I made sure we all practiced on a regular bases. After our noon rest, we hit the trail.

As the sun got low in the west, we arrived at the small settlement of Marana. We saw an abandoned overland stage depot that had not been used since the war started, a few adobe huts, a more substantial two story house, a mercantile, a blacksmith, and a big barn with an attached corral containing some horses and a lot of mules.

When we pulled up in front of the mercantile, a man and woman walked out to greet us. It turned out that they owned everything in sight, and were glad to have company. It was ok with them if we camped for the night, so Rory and the brothers dealt with our animals while I talked with our hosts, the Carters.

It seemed that Mr. Carter had made a good living with small wagon trains, hauling goods from Tucson, through the small farming community of Phoenix, and on to Yuma. In Yuma he would sell everything, load up with return goods from California and make the reverse trip. Recently, however, the trips had gotten much more dangerous, and his wife convinced him that their operation in Marana, providing goods and services to the local ranchers and miners, now made enough to support them in comfort. He decided to shut down his freight operation and sell off his wagons and mules. Miners had purchased some of his stock but he still had two freight wagons and a dozen and a half mules that were, both literally and figuratively, eating into his profit. I smelled an opportunity. Twenty-four pack mule loads of gold would need more than one wagon to get it all out of the Superstitions. I wanted Mr. Carter’s wagons and mules, I wanted them a lot.