Chapter 25

New Mexico Territory, July, 1899

I had reached the point where I was really sick of all this roaming. I was hurting for a place to settle down, and, if I couldn't find any thing else pretty soon, I was just going to set some place and bring the kids with me. This line of thought had run around in my head for a long time; I was just now starting to pay attention to it. I resolved to look closely at the next opportunity whenever it presented itself.

The trouble with the "farm" the kids now had was the scarcity of water. It would be a great place, but for that. I could see the water dwindle each year, even if they didn't notice. I could see that, one day soon, water was going to be the greatest problem NMT had to solve.

I was musing on this problem as I rode along until I heard the sound of shooting in the distance. I quickly became alert and hurried to find out what was going on. A wagon was stopped in the middle of the road and a group of six men were riding in a circle around it, shooting their pistols toward the wagon and laughing. Cowering in the wagon were a bearded man, a woman, and three children. The yahoos riding around the wagon did not appear to want to kill anyone, they were just out to frighten, which they were doing successfully.

Completely unnoticed, I rode up and fired my pistol in the air. This got their attention. The rowdies turned to me and one growled, "What the Hell do you want?"

"I heard the noise and wondered what was going on. I thought I might join the fun," I answered.

The spokesman for the group looked hard at me and said, "No, I don't think so. There's barely enough for us. You just mind your own business and get out!"

"I think that I'll make it my business. You and your friends put up your guns and ride quietly away from these nice people."

One of the riders pointed his gun at me and I shot him in the shoulder. It looked like the joint was destroyed and he would never use that arm again. I quickly transferred my gun to my left hand and drew my other one. The other five riders looked nonplussed, as if they couldn't believe that one of their friends was lying on the ground, seriously wounded. I ordered, "Get your friend back on his horse and to a doctor before he bleeds to death! Now, move!"

Two of the riders jumped to help their friend and they all rode off, giving me no end of dirty looks. I then turned to the people in the wagon and asked if they were hurt.

The eldest child, who looked to be about 14, said to me, "I'm Jimmy Polanski. I'll talk to you, 'cause Papa don't speak English. Nobody's hurt. Thanks for helping us. Those men just wouldn't leave us alone."

"Why were they harassing you?"

"Papa is a rabbi, and we were looking for kosher food in that last town. The men must of heard us and were razzing us for being Jews. We tried to leave before trouble started, but they followed us."

"There's a shady spot up the road a little way. I can see trees and there may be water. Let's go there out of the sun, and we'll talk some more."

Jimmy told his father what I said and they drove the wagon to a grove of cottonwoods. There was no water, but we stopped, anyway.