“You haven’t even asked me for particulars.”
“Boss . . . Jack, I’m an old Army sergeant. I don’t ask questions when the general talks. I just do.”
“Well, I’m not your general. But I did get your general’s approval.”
Tige smiled knowingly. “I ain’t surprised. You don’t want to cross Juana. I can be spared, but she can’t, if you was to tell the truth.”
“I would be lost without either of you, and you should know it by now. Here’s the story quick-like. I had a gal show up, who claims to be my granddaughter. I am convinced she is. Comancheros stole over fifty horses from her place, and she wants me to get them back. I said I would do it. They are likely at a place called Lookout Canyon out in desert country.”
“I’ve heard of the place,” Tige said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Recruit three of your buffalo soldiers who aren’t out on a wagon run.”
Tige said, “That would be Roper Hawley, Abel Burke, and Nick Iverson. Good men, and I can’t think of much any one of them wouldn’t do for a hundred dollars. Consider it done.”
“I want to take two of the big Studebaker wagons, including the one with the false bottom. Attach the bows and put the canvas bonnets on. I want an assortment of guns and ammunition in the false bottom. Do you still have Miss Molly?”
“Yessir.”
“Invite her along, too.”
“I wouldn’t leave without her.”
Jack said, “We’re going to be traders. I want the wagons filled with trade goods. Canned foods, blankets, bottles of liquor, anything that you think such folks as Comancheros might buy or trade for.”
“Maybe some things women might take a liking to. They will have women there.”
“Good idea. I’ll leave that to you. Take what you can from our warehouse. Get the rest from the general store or wherever you can find it. Juana will pay the bills.”
“She will damn well want a list of everything that’s coming out of the warehouse,” Tige said.
“Whatever keeps her happy. Rudy will be bringing the ranch chuckwagon. I think some mules from here should be traded for the ranch critters. A single team would probably work, but I will leave that to you. The Studebakers may need three teams, but, again, that’s your decision.”
“You didn’t say how many days we have to get ready.”
“We’re pulling out tomorrow. Noon at the latest.”
“Somehow, I figured as much.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was nearing five o’clock when Jack reined the bay gelding that he called “Pokey” into Tess’s yard. He dismounted and led the horse to the little stable. The mount was the same age as Thor and had earned its name for lack of speed. Jack had raced him twice at a Fort Concho fair, earning last place each time before retiring as a racehorse. But Pokey was gentle as a lamb and durable as a camel in the heat. Besides, he thought of the horse as a friend, and at Jack’s age he did not need a bucking bronc anymore. His back and butt were aching from what little riding he had done today.
Tess entered the stable while Jack was pitching some hay from the stack at the far end of the stable into the bay’s stall. “Appears that you’ve got him brushed down and ready for the night,” she said.
“Yep. Brushed down and an extra bucket of water in the stall.”
“You’re riding Pokey on your trip into the Chihuahuan?”
“He’ll do fine. He’s got a good ride or two left in him. He’s barely middle-aged for a horse . . . unlike his rider.”
“I’ve got a tub of water in the washroom. I was checking to see if you’re ready for a bath. I will pour some hot water in to warm it up."
Jack said, “Smells good out there. You must be cooking outside tonight.”
“It’s hot enough in the house. I don’t need the woodstove going. Besides, cobbler works best in a Dutch oven with coals on the lid and under the bottom.”
“I’ll be right in.”
When he left the stable carrying his possible bag, Jack walked around to the back of the house. He paused a moment to inspect Tess’s stone fire ring. The wood had burned down to a bed of coals, but the Dutch oven sat on a broad flat rock outside with a sprinkling of coals scooped between its stubby legs and twice as many on top. Tess’s forked supports for the pointed iron spit that rested against the stone rim rose from the crackling coals. There would be beef roasting as soon as he took his bath. That was all the incentive he needed to get the bath out of the way.
He opened the back door and stepped into the enclosed porch or “mudroom,” as Tess called it. A blue-painted tin tub sat in the middle of the room that was just off the kitchen. A wood stove for winter warming sat in one corner and most of one wall was blocked by two rustic cedar tripods with ropes strung between them for hanging clothes. The tub also doubled for laundry duty and was an oval-shaped convenience that always made Jack think of a coffin, although he was not able to stretch out in the thing.
Scrawny Tess could about swim in it. Well, maybe not. He smiled, remembering the time they tried to share the tub a few years back. He had settled in the tub and Tess had climbed in and awkwardly, back to him, sat down between his legs to allow Jack to scrub her back. Jack had leaned over to reach a scrub brush on the floor outside the tub, and his weight shift toppled the tub, dumping the occupants and a tubful of water on the floor.
Jack and Tess still laughed about their bath sharing attempt, but neither had ever proposed another such frolic. The effort was not without its rewards, though, as Jack recalled that
