Trail Hand

“Don’t know about Isiquiel, here,” I said, tipping my coffee cup to an annoyed Sonora Mason, “but I won’t be staying long. Say, any chance we can clean up before seeing the major?” I asked hopefully.

Sergeant Freeman shook his head. “You kid-din’? Around here? Hell, Ah’ve been ten years in the Southwest division, and been stationed in over a half dozen forts. Ain’t seen a bathhouse yet. After a while ya just sort of forget your sense o’ smell. Unless o’ course you’re an officer, that is.”

“The bunks are ready, Sarge,” Carl Mathews said, sticking his head through the tent flap.

I looked over at Sonora. “If I have to bunk with him, I sure hope it doesn’t take too long to lose.” I winked over at the sergeant.

“Lose? Lose what?” asked Nate.

“My sense of smell.” Nate laughed and Sonora threw his empty coffee cup at my head as I quickly ducked out of the way.

Sergeant Freeman later accompanied us to the office of the fort’s commander where we found Major Jeffery Gilbert seated behind an old, chipped flat-top desk. The rest of the office was equally Spartan, with only one other chair, which was currently occupied by Colonel Grierson. There was a flagpole in each corner, one for the flag, and the other for the unit’s colors. A picture of President Lincoln hung on the wall behind the colonel, still draped, I noticed, with black ribbon.

Sergeant Freeman was the first to speak. “Beggin’ the colonel’s permission, sir. These men would like to ask the major a few questions. Ah can vouch for them if necessary, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant-Major, that won’t be necessary. What can we do for you gentlemen?”

There was a subtle but noticeable hesitation before the word “gentlemen”, due I’m sure to our raggedy appearance.

“Colonel, I’m trailing after a herd of stolen horses that I believe passed through here, and thought the major or his men might have some information that could help me. The horses might have been wearing a Four box or an EH brand.”

Major Gilbert nodded his head. “Yes, I remember the outfit. The herd didn’t actually pass through the fort, mind you, one of my patrols came across it a few miles north of here.” The major turned to the colonel. “Lieutenant Peters was leading at the time and brought their ramrod back here to the fort. Peters said the horses looked remarkably prime.”

“I know the lad,” commented the colonel. “He’s a good judge of horseflesh.”

“That sounds like them,” I said, encouraged.

“I’m empowered to do the purchasing for the Army in this whole area, but, try as I might, I couldn’t convince them to sell,” the major added. “That ramrod was a real hardcase. Said we couldn’t come close to the price he’d get elsewhere.” Major Gilbert turned back to the colonel. “We could have really used those horses. I even tried to, shall we say, convince him to sell. Let on he was risking confiscation of the herd for Army use, but he knew the law and basically called my bluff.”

“Sounds like whatever he knew of the law came from being on the wrong side of it, I’d say,” Colonel Grierson commented. He had an annoying habit of continually drumming his fingers on the table top.

“What did this cowboy look like, Major?” I asked.

“Oh, about your height and build. Moustache, cleft chin. Wore a brace of Remingtons cross-draw style.”

“Pierce,” I said, nodding to Sonora. “Did he happen to mention where he was headed?’

“Not precisely, but, from the reports my patrols gave me, I’d say they were being driven north into California.”

“That fits with what you figured,” Mason commented, pushing his hat up. “Maybe the Army can help, eh?”

I looked back at the officers. “That herd was stolen from a Senor Hernandez. I was scouting for him at the time, and have been trailing the herd ever since. Good men were killed and the future of two ranches depends on my catching those rustlers. And I might mention that one of the ranch owners is ex-regular Army. What do you say, could you spare some men to go after them with me?”

“That Pierce really rubbed me the wrong way,” the major said, looking to the colonel for support.

“Then you’ll help him?” asked Sonora.

“Wish we could,” answered the colonel.

“Unfortunately there are several overlapping jurisdictions in this territory, such as the Department of the Interior and the militia. Hell, when Indians are involved, even the Society of Friends gets involved. In this case the robbery’s a civil matter, and our federal troops have been prohibited from interfering in such things. You might try the territorial marshal,” he suggested.

“Right now he’s out in the field and, from what I hear, isn’t expected back for a month,” Major Gilbert informed us. “Maybe the Arizona Rangers could help?” he offered.

“No, they won’t cross over into California, and I don’t have time to wait for the marshal,” I answered unhappily.

“Sorry, wish we could be of more help,” the major said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Time to go, boys. These men got business, too.” It was the sergeant speaking this time. “With your permission, sir,” he added.

“You’re dismissed, Sergeant,” Colonel Grierson replied.

Nate Freeman held the door open for us, but, as Sonora started for it, I paused and turned back toward the major.

“You have been a help, Major, and I appreciate it, but I got just one last question. Have any of your patrols reported a large group of Mexican vaqueros in the area?”

“Vaqueros? No, they haven’t. Why? They part of the outfit that was hit?”

“That’s right.” I nodded.

“Friends of yours?” asked the colonel.

“I sure hope so,” I answered as the sergeant closed the door behind me.

Chapter Nineteen

Sonora and I parted company the next morning. I didn’t really expect him to get involved in my fight, but I did ask if he was going to stick around the fort.

“Any chance of you having a friendly chat with Chavez and his boys when they show up? You know, to help explain things.”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t mind doing it for you, you know that, but I probably won’t be here long enough to get the chance. Gonna be leavin’ in a day or so. After all, I don’t want to wear out my welcome. Besides, I’m supposed to hook up with some friends o’ mine just south o’ here. Sorry, but it’s not likely we’ll cross trails with them vaqueros.”

That ended that. While it was possible the vaqueros might enter the fort and ask the right people about me, it was equally possible they’d just stock up quickly at the sutler’s store and ride out so as not to waste any time. Furthermore, even if they did talk to Nate, or one of the other officers, they probably wouldn’t trust the word of another gringo. I knew if that were the case and nothing else happened to change their mind, I’d still be in for it.

Sonora wished me luck as I rode out. I had been convinced ever since arriving at the fort that I knew where the herd was headed. Don Enrique had intended to drive his horses to California because the price was especially high there. Rosa, also, had described in detail her uncle’s ranch in California, and how someone was trying to force him off his land.

Ordinary outlaws would have sold the horses the first chance they got. This bunch, however, had passed several towns and had turned down a generous and seemingly opportune offer by Major Gilbert. When combined with what Pete Evans had told me, things all began to make sense.

The whole scheme had been too elaborate for common bandits. It had been too well planned and funded from the start. The rustlers had followed us from the start without being detected. The raid had been carried out