with military precision, and the thieves could apparently afford to risk holding out for a higher sale price. If Davies was powerful enough to try large-scale land grabbing, he could also fund a scheme such as this one. That’s why I now rode as fast as I could straight toward our original destination, San Gabriel, right for Rosa’s uncle’s ranch in California.
Fortunately the vet had been right about those shoes, and the roan was acting as spry as ever. I was fairly certain the herd wouldn’t be driven directly to Davies’s own ranch; he would be too careful to allow that. But they wouldn’t be very far away. I felt my best chance to find the herd would be to head directly to town and stake out Davies’s outfit from there. Sooner or later someone would lead me to the horses, and, in the event the herd had already been broken up or sold intact, I’d at least be close to the culprits and their money.
Once into California the temperature cooled off some, as the hot dry sands began gradually changing to black soil, green grass, and rolling wooded hills. Game was more plentiful, too, and I was able to supplement the meager supplies I’d carried from the fort with an occasional rabbit, squirrel, or deer.
The roan responded well to the colder weather, and we started to make better time. That horse had served me well and I’d regret having to return him, but among other things I was still as determined as ever to recover my Morgan bay stallion.
I rode into San Gabriel around midday. Before leaving the roan at the livery, I asked the blacksmith, a big bearded Mormon named Jacob Browne, if he recognized the EH brand. He couldn’t recall ever having seen it before, meaning the herd hadn’t passed through town. I knew there hadn’t been enough time to change the brands on that many horses, not at the pace they’d been moving.
Since Davies couldn’t risk having stolen horses found on his property, he would have to corral the herd somewhere nearby. But where? The location would have to be close enough to his ranch to allow him to keep track of the herd, and to supply his men. There had to be an abandoned ranch, blind canon, or enclosed pasture nearby, large enough to hide over 1,000 horses. To find it I would need a little more information. For a while I considered heading straight for the local saloon.
If anyone knows a town’s goings-on, it’s usually the barkeep and his local band of barflies, but by the same token it was likely some of the same men I was trailing would be there and they might get suspicious if too many questions were asked.
At this point I knew I was getting close and didn’t want accidentally to tip my hand to any of the gang. Not only that, but I couldn’t be sure whether or not Pierce would recognize me if we were to meet. I didn’t know how close a look at me he’d taken while I was lying in that ravine. That’s when the town’s bank caught my eye. Reconsidering my options, and thinking it was as good a place as any to start, I opened the door and went in.
When you look like an old side of beef even the flies won’t touch, it’s hard to convince anyone to take you seriously. Whoever said— “It’s difficult to believe what you say when your appearance speaks so loudly.”—knew what he was talking about. Here I was in the San Gabriel Mortgage & Trust Bank, a total stranger, looking like something the cat dragged in and expecting the bank manager to answer delicate questions.
I’d learned enough about bluffing at poker to know that sometimes the more ludicrous something appears, or the more outrageous it seems, the quicker some folks are to believe it. Con artists often take advantage of the same principle.
Like the time Loco Larry Peters used a fake money-making machine as a bribe to get out of jail. It had lots of knobs and cranks on it, and turned out shiny new greenbacks every hour. The kicker was the chump who fell for it was the very same town sheriff who’d already arrested Loco for running still another scam.
That sheriff of all people should have known how crooked Peters was, but, strange as it may seem, he refused to believe a jailbird like Larry would ever be brazen enough to sell a lawman something so obviously fake. Since nobody could be that foolish, he rationalized, the machine must therefore be real. Curiously the idea of a machine falling into his hands that made real money was so ludicrous and Larry’s pitch so smooth, the sheriff was forced to believe it. He bought Loco’s sales pitch, hook, line, and sawbuck. Of course the marshal’s greed was also a contributing factor, one the con artist was glad to take advantage of.
They never did catch Loco Larry, but eventually the sheriff ended up in his own jail after trying to spend those machine-made greenbacks. Seems the first couple of bills cranked out of the box, the ones the sheriff saw Larry Peters make, were real enough, but the rest, not surprisingly, turned out to be counterfeit.
As far-fetched as it seems, when suddenly forced to deal with something incredible, or something outrageous, many people, like the sheriff, simply can’t handle it. Looking as misbegotten as I did, the last thing I would ever be mistaken for was a wealthy cattle baron, so that’s exactly what I decided to play.
“Yes, sir,” I said, sweeping the dust off my chaps with my hat as if I owned the place. “Just got into town and decided to cut right to the quick. As my old uncle Zeke always says, the best businessmen are the ones who get a jump on the competition.”
The bank manager, Mr. Alfonse Norwell, a rather timid pencil pusher, was the epitome of the company man. With his pair of wire spectacles, thinning hair, shiny brown vest, and gold watch chain he might have stepped right out of one of those new dime novels.
The man was small-framed, he couldn’t have stood more than five foot three and had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. Loud, boisterous speech apparently was not the norm in this rather sedate establishment, and he actually shuddered when I spoke. I was counting on that effect as well as the fact that I’d caught him off guard by brushing right past his secretary and straight up to his desk. I guess you could say I gave him the old bum’s rush.
“Yep, sold my herd in Colorado for a pretty penny and came straight on here to Californy to buy land and stock it. Rode right through without a stop and that’s a fact. Just got in…didn’t even have a chance to change. Already got my eye on a nice little ranch right near here, next to the McFarlen place I think it is. Come to think of it, maybe I’ll offer to buy him out, too.” I wasn’t giving Alfonse any time to stop and think. “Uncle Zeke always said not to fiddle-faddle around. Go right to the town banker, he’d say. They’ll have all the low-down, if anyone will. So, now, Mister Nor-well, you tell me how to go about buying this little parcel.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that won’t do,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. “But our bank does have some holdings in the next county you might be interested in. Can I have my secretary bring you some coffee?”
The act was working; he already smelled money to be had.
“Nope, don’t think so. You know, once I got my mind set on something, I usually see it through,” I bellowed. “And I already took a fancy to that ranch.”
“Well, you see, sir, the property I believe you are talking about is already owned by a Mister Brett Davies.”
“So tell me…what’s his price? Everyone’s got one,” I said brashly, purposely brushing more dust off my shirt and onto his desk.
Norwell shook his head emphatically.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“Well, to be perfectly frank, I believe you will be disappointed. Of course, I can’t go into all the financial specifics, but I believe Mister Davies is currently trying to expand. In fact, I understand he is in the process of obtaining the McFarlen property next to his for himself. You see, he is a rather influential man around these parts and would be more interested in purchasing than selling.”
For the right amount of money most bankers would sell their own mothers, yet it sounded to me like Mr. Norwell was more interested in furthering Mr. Brett Davies’s goals than in listening to any counter offers.
“Well, you don’t get to be influential without considering all your options, right, Mister Nor-well?” I said, slapping him on the shoulder for added effect. “Now, if you’ll just direct me to the Davies ranch, I believe it’s the Four Box spread, right?” I asked.
“Yes, that is correct,” he answered, adjusting his glasses. He seemed unusually agitated.
“Good, as I was saying, if you’ll just point me in the right direction, I think I’ll have a chat with this Mister Brett Davies. After I brush off some of this trail dust, that is. By the way, mind if I use your name by way of introduction?”
“Uh, certainly,” he replied nervously. “Here let me draw you a map.”
“Mister Norwell, I certainly am obliged.” I shook his hand a little too firmly and turned to leave. “Oh, by the way,” I added with a wink, “if I close this deal, there will be something in it for you, rest assured. But in case you meet up with this Mister Davies before I get a chance to talk to him, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention our little conversation.”
