Chapter 15

Monday-Friday, March 2 - 6, 1891

DeWitt:

We spent one full day in Yuma, reviewing records and, along with the Division Superintendent, just talking to our railroad workers there. The Patron also met with the manager of the Southern Pacific exchange yard, where we connected with their road.

I took Ma and Pa to lunch, but Ma must have sensed my interest, because, when I invited her and Pa to join me for dinner Tuesday evening, she told me that they’d already accepted an invitation to supper at Missus Dandridge’s house and that I was invited. I could feel my blush at the news. Ma patted my cheek like she used to do, when I was a kid, when she was pleased with something that involved me.

Be that as it may, I found myself seated next to Melissa that evening. She and I seemed to dominate the table conversation, though not through any intention on my part. Afterward, Melissa entertained Pa and I in the parlor, while Ma and Missus Dundridge seemed to take their time cleaning up the dishes. Later, we all sat at the dining table, again, for apple pie and coffee.

Just before we left, Melissa took me aside and said that, now with two railroad adventures between us, we should be careful not to lose touch, again. Then she handed me a folded slip of paper on which she had written her address. I quickly retrieved my wallet for the business cards I carried. I gave her one, then tucked her address in behind the several cards that remained.

My folks spent both nights aboard the Lincoln Falls Loop, in one of the two bedrooms that had double beds. I had been using one of the bunk rooms. We also had assistance providing security during the night from the branch’s police officers.

The folks had to be up early to catch the eastbound Southern Pacific passenger train on Wednesday, which allowed us an early start, as well, and we headed north. We spent the remainder of the week at various stations, yards, and camps as we worked our way north, Beyond that, the Patron had encouraged anyone that had something that required his attention to simply flag down his train; that didn’t happen.

The main topic among the employees was their concern about their division being sold. The Patron spent considerable effort reassuring people that no further sales were planned. I passed that same word to the Security Department officers. I told them that I had heard the big bosses’ plans while I traveled with them. And, while I couldn’t disclose any details, I could say that there were no more right-of-way sales being considered. I asked them to pass that along to other workers.

Back in Arenoso as scheduled, I learned, at Fort Birney, by way of a telegram from Bill McCroskey, that my assignment had been changed to remain with the Patron until he returned to Wichita. When we reached Waypoint, we were met by a youth whom the Patron called Nate, who had driven a buggy to the depot for us. The Patron introduced him to me as “Mister Natan Vargas, a business associate.” I shook his hand. He was tall, for a Mexican kid, but he was dressed neatly in dungarees, collared shirt, and riding boots. He had a friendly smile. My impression was of a pleasant but unusually serious young man. He even presented me with a business card:

Vargas, Palmer & Associates

Domestic and Commercial Services

2-B North Courthouse Avenue, Waypoint, Arenoso

Phone 197

Later, the Patron explained that Nate Vargas had been, essentially, a street urchin who’d turned his knowledge of the town into a quasi-formal business. They performed a myriad of services, from messengers to child-minders, horse groomers to product hawkers, all staffed by Nate and his friends. The receptionist at the Patron’s law offices received mail and took messages for them, in return for a-once-a-week office-cleaning service.

On Saturday, we went to Dorado Springs.

(DeWitt)

(Monday-Friday, March 2 - 6, 1891)

Saturday, March 7, 1891

Les Toomey and Sage Tsosie, from the Doña Anna, and Sargent Tsosie and his sixteen-year-old son, Martin, from the Tsosie ranch, had arrived in Dorado Springs late Friday afternoon, as all intended to be on hand for the weekly Saturday market. That meant attending as early as six in the morning, to find the largest variety of available goods.

Malik, in the Lincoln Falls Loop, arrived just past noon, attached to the daily southbound passenger train. Peng Yan had remained at Waypoint, but Wayne DeWitt was traveling with Malik, as security concerns remained at a heightened state due to the recent assault by the Texas Rangers. Nathan Ulney had assigned one of his deputies to assist, as well.

Toomey met with Malik before lunch. It was a brief meeting, covering routine matters. Then all four visitors from the Doña Anna and Tsosie ranches joined him for lunch, -- as prepared by Mister Wu. The Delvecchios were providing services at the Malik home.

Afterward, Malik and Sargent Tsosie met privately.

“The situation may have changed a bit since we last spoke, Uncle,” Malik began.

“How’s that, Shadow?”

“My wives placed Wren before me in enticing situations, emphasizing her femininity. It was effective, but it also made me uncomfortable, as it did not overcome my fraternal feelings for her. So, I demanded that they stop.

“Instead, I have begun a series of discussions with the three of them, to see if we can come to an understanding. Our talk has been honest and very open. I believe some progress has been made, but still not to a point that would please everyone. On the other hand, it would also be true to say that my opposition to a more intimate relationship with Wren has been reduced, to a small degree.”

“That’s very interesting, but not unexpected.”

“Why? What did Aunt Tilly have to say?”

“Not much. But she did say that, no matter your feelings, Wren is not your sister or any other blood relation.”

Malik chuckled, a bit ruefully. “So, I take it that Aunt Tilly would not be opposed should I decide to make Wren one of my unofficial spouses.”

“I think that’s safe to say, especially as she said to remind you that Thrush has not found a man, yet, either.”

DeWitt:

At Dorado Springs, I mostly provided outside security around the Patron’s coach, which had been set out near the end of a long wye, right on the edge of a large pecan grove. I was joined in the duty by a Sonora County Sheriff’s deputy named Red Salt, a Sonora Indian. Turns out he was also a special federal deputy marshal on the Sonora reservation lands. Red Salt, who wore a patch over his left eye socket, told me of the gun battle with the crazy Indian agent that had cost him his eye and that it had been the Patron, who he called ‘Shadow,’ who had helped save his life.

I asked about the name, Shadow. Red Salt said that, the way he heard it, the name had been given him by some Navajo who had a ranch over in the Flat Grass Valley. He waved his arm in a gesture that indicated that the Flat Grass Valley was some considerable distance to the west. Apparently, the Patron was known for his stealthy approach, both to game animals and to men. Red Salt told me the story of the time Shadow was actually riding right between two bandits before they even realized he’d been tracking them. Both men foolishly went for their guns. “Their bones are still scattered up on Shepherds Ridge,” Red Salt said. He added that, even the Apache called him Shadow.

Later that afternoon, the Patron visited the mission school and the local bank. While he was in the bank, I was watching from under the covered boardwalk of the mercantile next door. An attractive young woman, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, stepped out of the store holding a shotgun at the ready and asked me my business. I told her that I was accompanying a railroad executive and that I was a railroad policeman. She said, “I’ve heard that before. You just stand there.”

I said, “I have my badge and warrant card here in my pocket.”

She said, “I’ve seen those, too. Why don’t you just slowly set that shotgun down on the walk, then put your hands up on that fancy bowler you’re wearin’.”

Bemused, I complied, just as an older man in a storekeeper’s apron came out of the door.

“Rosario, what’s going on here?” the man asked.

“I saw this heavily armed man following Shadow, who went in the bank. Then this fella hid here in that dark corner, watching the bank doors.

The man looked at me, frowning. “What is your purpose here, Señor?”

“Like I told the girl. I’m a bodyguard for Emil Malik. I’m a railroad policeman, he’s my boss. I’ve got my badge and identity card right here in my pocket.”

“That’s not good enough, Señor.” Then he turned to the young woman. “Give me the shotgun, Rosario. Now, don’t walk between me and him, but go into the bank and get Shadow.”

She hurried in a wide half circle around us and into the bank. A minute or so later, the Patron, his revolver in hand, appeared suddenly in the alley behind the storekeeper. Upon seeing me, he gestured for me to stay there, and he returned to the alley, to appear a minute later coming out the door of the bank. He called out, “It’s okay, Señor Morales, he’s with me.”

Morales, lowering the shotgun, said to me, “Sorry, Señor. We have had some trouble in these parts with fake railroad police. My daughter owes a deep debt to Shadow, we all do, and we are watchful of him.”

I said, “I’m gratified to know that, Señor Morales. I know he appreciates good friends. My name is Wayne DeWitt. I’ve been assigned to travel with Mister Malik.”

Morales bobbed his head. “I am Roberto Morales. Rosario is my daughter. I am the proprietor of this store.”

“Mucho gusto, Señor Morales.”

At that point, the daughter, Rosario, walked back over to the store. She said, “Papa, Shadow thinks you might be interested in what he is talking about with Mister Clemmons. He invited you to join them.”

Morales nodded, then handed the shotgun back to the girl. He removed his apron, which he also handed to her. He said, “You should apologize to the policeman. He guards Shadow.”

“I will, Papa.”

As Morales walked over to the bank, Rosario bent down and retrieved my shotgun, which she handed to me. “I’m sorry, mister. But Shadow and his best friend rescued me and some other ladies from white slavers four years ago. His friend was killed, drawing fire away from us. I can’t do enough to square that debt.” She looked up at me, tears on her cheeks. “One of those kidnappers had a railroad police badge.”

I nodded at her, and said, “Then what you did was perfectly sensible, as well as very brave. I thank you, on his behalf.”

She gave an eloquent shrug and a sad smile, acknowledging the compliment, but expressing how little she thought of her act in light of what had spawned it. Then she walked back into the store.

Late that afternoon, the Patron asked, “Have you ever been to a hot springs, where you could soak in the water?”

“I’ve heard of such places, but never been to one. Is that what the spa here is all about?”

“That’s right. How would you like to try it out?”

“What do I need?”

“A towel.”

“A towel? That’s all?”

“Sure. We’ll go to the men’s pool. You don’t need a bathing costume.”

“Like skinny dipping?”

“Exactly like. Ever been?”

“When I was a kid, sure. Down along the Rio Santa Cruz, on the west edge of Tucson.”

“Good, then you won’t need any training. If you want, you could bring some soap and clean clothes, if you want to take a bath.”

It was a bit of a walk, from the wye on the east edge of town all the way to the Dorado Springs Hacienda and Spa on the west edge, at the far end of the plaza. As we cut across the plaza, he pointed out a large stall, set up with long tables and bench seats, but devoid of people. He said, “If you’re ever here during the day and need a breakfast or lunch, there’s not a better place to eat than right there. They serve a mix of Mexican, Sonora, Anglo, and even a little Apache food that is the best thing in the county.”

“What’s it called?”

“Doesn’t really have a name. These four Sonora sisters run it, so folks just call it ‘the three sisters’.”

“Three? Why not four?”

“‘Cause only three work at the stall while the fourth tends to home and children. They take turns.”

“If you say so.”

The Patron led me into an impressive, though rustic-looking, adobe building. We found ourselves in a broad lobby paved with large terra cotta tiles, polished and gleaming as they reflected the overhead electric chandeliers, made from wagon wheels. He called out a greeting to the woman behind the registration desk. “Evening, Mockingbird. This here’s Wayne Dewitt, a police inspector with the railroad. He works with me, out of Wichita.” Then he turned to me. “Wayne, this is Mockingbird Tsosie. She and her husband run this outfit.”

She said, “Good evening, Shadow. Welcome, Mister DeWitt. You look like you’re headed for the spa.”

“Few better ways to finish the day. Where’s Stands-To-Cougar?”

“Home, cooking. He caught some trout earlier today and he says that I am too heavy-handed with the spices. Had you heard that he is an occasional cook for the spa’s dining room? He specializes in wild game, fish, and fowl.”

“I had not heard that. Is it working out for you?”

“Oh. It’s hardly more than two or three times a month, once a week, at most. But he is very good, and we’ve begun to feature his meals as a ‘Sonora guest chef’.”

“A guest chef? Can we afford him?”

Mockingbird, coloring, said, “I’ve worked out satisfactory terms.”

The Patron laughed, then asked, “Is anyone in the men’s pool?”

She nodded. “Blue Maize and Long Hand went back there about ten minutes ago.”

“Ah, good,” he said.

She said, “I see you’re carrying towels, but just use ours. We’ve bought some extra long ones that those who are shy can wrap around themselves. And, if you’re bathing with soap, try these new bars we’re thinking of selling. The three daughters make them. They’re scented with prickly pear blossoms.” She handed us each a small bar wrapped in waxed paper.

“Three daughters?” I queried.

The Patron said, “They’re the four eldest daughters of the four sisters.”

Mockingbird said, “And, Shadow, we’re reminding everyone who takes a soap bath to do it in the lower end of the pool, by the outlet sluice.”

“Fine, fine, and thank you,” he said, holding up the soap. “Give my greeting to Stands-To-Cougar, please.”

“I will.”

The men’s hot spring pool was about twenty feet long and maybe ten feet wide. It was lined with blocks of cut stone and surrounded by a paved walk perhaps five feet wide. The walk, in turn, was enclosed by adobe walls ten feet high, with a ramada shade structures over the southern half. The hot water bubbled over some rocks at the west end and flowed into the pool. There was a mildly unpleasant smell, the so-called rotten egg odor that’s sometimes associated with well water, but not overpowering, by any means, and I found I soon didn’t notice it. The Patron told me the odor was from a gaseous vapor in the water called hydrogen sulfide which was among the minerals that provided the presumed therapeutic effect that many bathers sought.

The water was much warmer -- uncomfortably so, in my estimation -- at the head end of the pool, but cooled to a relaxing warmth about halfway to the outflow end. The outflow itself was a short stone structure that gathered the water in an open top, funnel-like arrangement that increased the flow speed of the water as it narrowed. This aided in the ejection of the soap lather that was readily generated by the cactus flower soap.

The Sonora chief, Blue Maize, was stretched out closer to the hot end of the pool, his head resting on the stone edging and the rest of his body submerged in the soothing water. Long Hand, another deputy sheriff and a special deputy federal marshal, was crouched down in the water and seemed to be slowly bouncing up and down from his knees. I settled near him, as I found the water temperature most pleasant, there. When he introduced us, the Patron noted that Long Hand had recently joined the clan’s elders council.

The Patron settled closer to Blue Maize. I saw him pointing to the ramada structure and soon I heard him and the chief laughing about some ramada that had collapsed on a fire-haired Indian agent.

I asked Long Hand how long he’d known the Patron -- except I referred to him as Mister Malik.

“Most of my life. My father sold horses to his father when my brother and I were still young children. We would visit their ranch and my father would help train their horses. That is our family’s trade, catching and training wild horses, and raising the best of their offspring for breeding. Shadow’s friend, Cowboy, was in the same business, but he mostly raised Appaloosas. When we were still boys, he and Shadow and my brother and I would play pirates at a reservoir lake on their ranch.” He shook his head, smiling at the memory.