Excerpt from "Horizon Dawn" book

“Sheriff,” he allowed with a surreptitious glance toward the lawman, adding his nugget of suspicion in a clandestine whisper, “that stranger was lean of body and mean of looks. I shook his hand---Soft! Not like no cowhand I ever saw before.” He spat, yet again.

“And,” he added, looking around to be sure no one was listening although nobody else, save a couple of stalled horses, was present, “he carried some kind-a long, narrow, black leather case with brass hinges and two silver clasps; it had a wrapped leather handle, too. Real fancy-like.”

Horsehide leaned close to the lawman and lowered his voice beyond a whisper, “My guess would be that boy is some kind-a gun hand and that case held a long-barreled rifle with one of them there fancy telescope things for real long-range shooting. Saw one of ’em like it afore.

“And, that ain’t all of it, yet.” He surveyed the stable once more. Satisfied they were still alone, he continued, conspiratorially, “he had a ‘short’ sword of some kind belted around his waist; kind-a looked like a cavalry blade that had been cut down to about eighteen inches. The scabbard that held it tight had once been long but had been chopped off and the hole left in the bottom of that there leather had been stitched up with a length of rawhide.” He nodded his head in proof. He added, “Strange thing. He smeared a glob of axel grease on a paper and folded it up, real careful-like. Stored it, again, real careful, in his saddle bags.” Horsehide shrugged.

Spitting into the dirt, once more, added an exclamation point to his assessment; he squinted, and nodded his head, again, as though he had uncovered some secret meaning. Adrian absorbed the words and their possible import; Horseshoe might be right; all this seemed strange.

“So?” The sheriff inquired. “Where is this ‘short-sword’-stranger with soft hands, now?” He laughed, then, adding, “Maybe he uses that axel grease to keep his ‘soft’ hands---Pretty-like?”

“Don’t know,” Horsehide answered. “He paid and loaded up those sacks of grain, thanked me, real polite-like, mounted up and rode on down toward the river, heading south.”

He frowned. “I watched him for a bit; he never looked back; crossed the river yonder, at the south-end crossing.” He eyed the lawman, the lines at the corners of his eyes tightening.

Then, “I looked down there a bit later, after he was already on the other side. Couldn’t swear to it, my old eyes are plenty tired and not seeing too good, no more, and it being some distance looking into the morning sun glaring after the rain storm, but, I could-a swore another rider met up with him right as they dropped off into a swale, still headed east and a might to the south. Just a guess---I mean, on that there second rider, and all. I could be mistaken, about that. Like I said.

“Uh! One other thing, Sheriff. Probably don’t mean nothing at all, but, that stranger had a peculiar habit. I mean, the way he sat in the saddle; not exactly ‘off-balance’, more like a little bit of a lean with his body. Don’t see how a gent can rightly ride comfortable, like that.”

 He concluded the narration with a disgusting tobacco-chaw spit into the dirt floor.

“Yeah! I think I just might know what you mean by that” He recalled his earlier observation of that peculiar habit when he had first noticed the stranger as he had ridden past in the pre-dawn morning cool before the storm. Suddenly, he remembered, also, where he had previously seen the unusual profile of that riding habit before: the Curly and Bow-leg Rob Pelham brothers!

Understanding of a good many questions hit him like the strike of a lightning bolt. Still, it was highly unlikely that he, Adrian was the probable target; old Ezra better fit that bill!.

Adrian rubbed his chin. “How long do you think he spent here? Before he rode on?”

“Oh,” Horsehide considered, pulling absently at his scraggly grey beard, “half-hour, or so.”

“Hmm!” Sheriff Adrian nodded his head. He was probably on his third helping of Deputy Jasper’s fine culinary fare about that time; now, he wished he had settled for two and watched that there stranger a lot more carefully. Still, none of the tale had anything to do with Adrian that he could figure out. “Hell!” He chastised himself. “Just getting too damn old and worrisome.”

Still, it always paid to be careful; Adrian was a careful man; that penchant had managed to keep him alive and in one piece for a good many years. He trusted his perceptive instincts.

“Horsehide,” he ordered the hostler, “fetch Ole Bruely for me. Curry him real good. Oh! And, check his left rear shoe, last time I rode him, I thought I heard it ‘click’ a couple-a times, might be getting loose; check the other three for me, too. Don’t want to get caught out on the lonesome prairie with a lame horse. Might turn out I’ll be out there for a spell? Never know, for sure.”

He laughed. “I’ll be back in a half hour, or so. Got to locate Jasper and tell him to keep an eye on things while I’m gone. After you check those shoes and curry my mount, saddle him up. I think I’ll take me a little ride down toward the river crossing and see what kind-a tale those fresh tracks might tell me. Should be easy enough for an old Indian like me to follow, after that rain.”

Following the fresh tracks left by the mysterious stranger was easy as falling off a log; a blind man could have accomplished the feat; no challenge at all for a keen-eyed Otoe Indian-scout. He had found Deputy Jasper loafing around the General Mercantile, playing checkers by the wood stove with the merchant. Adrian had gone there to gather up some necessary supplies should his venture keep him on the prairie overnight, or even longer. Never could tell.

Adrian returned to the livery to collect his mount; Horseshoe had him tied to the hitching rail out front of the building looking well-curried; his shoes looked good and tight.

The sheriff swing the now-filled with provisions from the mercantile leather saddle bags up behind the cantle threading the thin, but tough, strings through the eyelets in the container body; on top of that, he laid his bed roll and tied both items fast together with the long rawhide latigos.

As he untied the reins from the hitch rail, old Horsehide came out of the barn to join him; Adrian swung up into the comfort of the saddle seat gathering the leather straps.

“I found that left rear loose, sure enough,” the hostler began as the lawman reined the animal around. “Had a flat, smooth, thin river stone caught under the edge of the shoe; it had worked it loose causing it to rock back and forth. Pretty soon, it would have come off and lamed the horse. No damage to the frog or the soul; them black-walled hooves are plenty tough; it’s the white-hoof cayuse that’ll give you lots of trouble.

“I hammered the other three shoes good and tight, then, re-crimped the nails and filed ’em smooth so’s you wouldn’t cut your shooting finger on ’em.” He laughed, teasing the sheriff.

Adrian touched the tip of his hat with his finger in a saluted “Thanks!”

“Obliged! Horsehide.” he said, spurring Ole Bruely into a lope toward the river crossing.

Once across the river, now running a swift and muddy two feet above its normal level due to the earlier thunderstorm, Adrian stayed on the tracks. Sure enough, old Horsehide had been right. About a half mile southeast of the crossing another rider had joined the stranger; the trail led off across the down-swale of a deep, wide coulee turning more to the south as it neared the bottom.

Two and a half hours later, Adrian rode up to the top of a ridge where he paused, letting Ole Bruely have a blow after the exertion of the steepness and length of the slope. As his mount recovered from the effort, Adrian scoured the land before him with a careful visual search of the wide vista; the panorama revealed no sign of human-type inhabitants.

Nothing! Save a few score head of beef stock well spread out grazing across the plains and a herd of antelope about a mile in the distance, also foraging grass. He didn’t really expect to catch sight of the pair he pursued; only a greenhorn would casually ride the ridges to be easily highlighted against the sky and only an un-savvy tenderfoot would build a fire leaving a smoke-trail like a written map to be followed; anyway, it was too early in the day for a campfire. And, these boys were neither green, nor, he feared, tender.

Adrian moved cautiously forward, following the tracks which meandered onward, generally east but turning, ever-slowly, a mite toward the south.

“Where ever they had gone and whoever they were,” Adrian, wondering aloud, shared with Ole Bruely, who seemed totally uninterested in his master’s musings by virtue of the old gelding’s continued leisurely munching on the sweet grass growing thick lushness on the “flat-water” prairie, “they sure enough managed to evaporate into thin air like a ghost in a graveyard at the midnight hour.” He laughed, “Just like those prairie-wraiths yonder; the antelope.”

And, like those “wraiths” of the lonesome prairie which had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from plain sight, seemingly, right before his very eyes, they had evaporated like a morning mist, his man-quarry, too, had managed to be swallowed up by the unending  prairie. No point in chasing ghosts. Adrian drained half the contents of his canteen taking one final sweep of the entire prairie vista-scene stretched before him; came up empty, once more. Then, conceding failure, he retrieved a length of beef jerky from his saddle bags; Adrian gnawed at the tough, hard treat until he managed to soften it enough to tear off a chewable piece.

Worrying at the hardtack, he worked the dried meat around in his mouth until he could bite the morsel, somewhat. While he chewed the “leather” bite, he considered what to do.

Finally, beginning to sweat from the unexpected heat so early in the spring and realizing, with the teasing delight of the jerky’s taste, that his bulbous belly needed feeding, he turned his trusty mount, Ole Bruely, around and headed back toward his town; it was getting close to lunch time.

Caleb and Bow-leg Rob hunkered down in the long prairie grass blowing cadenced waves like crests on some green ocean; they were only a bit more than a half mile from the pursuing lawman hot on their trail, but quite well-concealed from his purview and in a position obtuse of angle to him where he would not expect them to be.. Their mounts, munching fresh prairie grass, were securely tethered in the bottom of a deep coulee below and behind them; the incessant prairie wind, strong, as usual, quartered to their position and completely dispersed ground scents pretty much precluding that the horses might smell a near-by equine cousin causing a whinny.

The pair, ever-watchful of their back trail, had spotted the sheriff shortly after he had crossed the river and picked up Caleb’s trail following his progress to the point where Rob had joined his brother. Caleb had a sharp eye; it pointedly enhanced his shooting ability, and, wasn’t none too shabby in sighting far-off objects, either. Bow-leg Rob had seen nothing of pursuit, even when his brother pinpointed the follower, until the rider made a lateral move across their sight line; the lawman was a tiny dark dot in a sea of green when he errantly topped a rise to be sky-lined.

“Man!” Bow-leg Rob praised his half-brother, Caleb, his surrogate hero since Curly had gone and gotten himself killed. “You sure got eyes like an eagle, boy.” It made Rob feel superior to call the older man “boy” even though Caleb was Rob’s senior by several years. Still, his long, lanky frame, boyish features, good looks, piercing blue-white sparkling eyes and full head of curly blonde hair belied Rob’s wishful thinking; the gals sure enough preferred youthful Caleb.

Caleb smiled his easy grin. “Yeah, Rob. I was blessed with Pa’s keen eyesight, sure enough.” He allowed in a slow, soothing Texas drawl; seemed the gals liked that about him, too.

They had retreated to their mounts when it became obvious that the distant rider was on their trail. Not making any sudden changes in their direction, the cowboys kept to the lower elevations of the deep coulees staying far ahead of their pursuer; occasionally, Caleb chanced a quick-snap surveillance of the man’s progress; they maintained their sizable lead on him.

“I was afraid that he had recognized me this morning when I happened to run across him in front of the law office.” Caleb reflected as they rode. “Damn! The luck! He cursed.

“Well,” opined brother Rob, “weren’t no help for that; it was a good plan. We needed grain.”

They paused. Curly removed the cork from his canteen mouth taking a quick sip; Rob did the same; that he dearly admired the older man was obvious; he emulated Caleb’s every move.

“Who would-a ever expected that scalawag would be on the street at that time of the day?” Caleb groused. “He saw me, sure enough, but, that storm was flashing lightning like a blazing sunrise; I’m pretty sure he couldn’t-a got a very good look at me. Anyway, far as I know, he never laid eyes on me afore today, so he couldn’t-a had no inkling about us. Hell! He ain’t even seen hide nor hair of you for over a couple-a years. I don’t know why he’s a-follering us.”

He smiled at his kid brother, saying, “Rob, you had a good idea, there, staying south of the town, out of sight, while I circled well south and rode into the town from the west for feed for the mounts. If he’d a seen you? Well? There’s a slim chance he might have made out who you are.”

He thought, then, “But, I doubt it.” He concluded, shaking his head.

They rode on until they came to an intersecting coulee which slanted off more to the south; the pair took that detour hoping to slip around the lawman coming to his right where he would not be expecting them. It would take the sheriff another good hour to come to the point where they changed direction. Hell! He might even abandon the pursuit, by then. If not, when he did see that they had turned more south, he might conclude that they were leaving the country.

That latter conclusion, Caleb know, was only a slim chance; once a law dog got the scent…Well! Getting them off the trail was like taking red, raw meat from a hungry dog; good way to lose some fingers---or…a hand! Yes! Sir-ee!

“Caleb?” Bow-leg Rob opened, “we’re riding away from the Van Gangen ranch by heading this way.” He wrinkled his brow, expressing confusion; Caleb caught his subtle meaning, immediately. He smiled. Caleb loved Rob, but, the kid had an awful lot to learn.

“Patience! Kid!” Caleb advised, still smiling. “One thing at a time; we’ll get it all done.”

Satisfied with Caleb’s promise, Rob relaxed and let his older brother lead on.

After a half-hour from their southward turn under the ever-present obfuscation of the deep coulees, Caleb decided to take a surreptitious gander over the rim for their pursuer; he left Rob in the depression to hold their mounts while he slithered up the incline for a sneak-peek.

Peering through the thick, tall, waving grass, being careful not to sky line himself or make any sudden or lateral moves, Caleb eased to the ridge on his belly. Surprised, he found no trace of the sheriff; it was as though the grass had swallowed all sign of the pursuing lawman..

Chancing a better view by easing forward, he came dead still; the lawman was within a half-mile of his own position, paused, drinking from his canteen, perusing the area eastward; Caleb quickly scurried, backward crawling, deeper into the protection of the coulee. He waited.

Letting a minute pass, sweat trickled down his neck; for early spring, it was getting plenty warm; he sure wished that he had brought his canteen with him. After mopping his brow and regaining a controlled, rhythmic breathing regimen, he chanced a look. The sheriff retrieved food from his saddle bags; he began tearing at the stubborn sinew item, pulling it strenuously with his hands while biting furiously with his teeth, still scrutinizing the territory in front of him.

“If he rides another half mile, or so,” Caleb considered, “he’ll find where we doubled back.”

When, and, if, that happened, Caleb and Rob could ride on farther, or dare to cross the lawman’s trail, rejoin it, keeping up a rapid pace, then, just stay on their original course until they reached the intersection; there, with the lawman following their turn to the south, they could travel on more easterly. If they rode through most of the night, there was a good chance they could elude their nemesis-chaser. Either way, the decision should buy them some valuable time, get them closer to dark where they stood a very good chance of losing the sheriff, for good. Caleb got the surprise of his life as he watched the lawman fighting with his tough piece of hard nourishment: The sheriff reined his cayuse around, spurred him, and headed back toward town.

Bow-leg Rob and Caleb watched the sheriff retrace his tracks until the man finally disappeared over a distant rise. They patiently waited, but, at well over a mile from their location, it was obvious that the lawman had not laid a trap for them, he really was giving up the chase; they caught a final long-range glance of the rider a bit later, then, he disappeared for good.

A freak snowstorm, of sorts, not really much for these high plains in the early spring, dumping only four to five inches of heavy, wet snow across the territory, hit the pair of travelers that very night. They spent the freezing prairie squall sheltered under the overhang of a washed out swale in a deep gulley; it was plenty big enough to shelter both the men and their mounts; a cozy fire started with dry grass from the previous fall and fed with dried cow chips kept them warm; they laid in a generous horde of green grass for the horses.

A cold northwest wind out of the arctic howled through the night and into the following morning; such weather not unusual in the open grass country. The boys gathered fuel for the fire by scouring the slopes where the stiff winds uncovered the ground exposing cow chips; they laid in a goodly supply planning to stay through another frigid night. Food was somewhat scarce, but pemmican and beef jerky sufficed quite nicely; they melted snow for fresh water and hot coffee. Short of sugar, Rob’s vice, Caleb relented his share saying that he didn’t really like it; he lied.

Caleb had a dozen hard biscuits in his saddle bags; he retrieved two of them while the water heated in the pot for coffee. Removed his shorten sword from its scabbard, he skewered the hard bread onto the end of it; when the water came to a boil and began to emit a steady stream of steam, he held the biscuits over the hot vapor reviving their softness and warming them. They tasted mighty fine adding delight to the meager makings for their tidy breakfast-fare. Yum!

Through the day, the pair took turns climbing the ridge to scout the country for any company; they seemed to be the only humans, or cows, or antelope, or any other living beings around.

Old Man Winter threw a dandy temper tantrum refusing to go quietly from the grasslands and allow sweet Spring to have its appointed turn taking over custodial duties of the plains; the second night piled an additional six inches of heavy, wet white-freeze flakes on the territory. When the weather finally relented its winter-grip, four days had passed. The morning of the fifth day dawned bright blue with a blazing sun; temperatures rose into the low sixties. As is often the case on the northern plains, winter can very quickly give up the ghost; the snow disappeared.

Caleb managed to down an antelope from a small herd of about ten animals that wandered into range that same afternoon; Rob had spotted the ghosts as the brothers lounged around the fire in their makeshift dirt “cabin”. Though the antelope were well over two hundred and fifty yards distance, Caleb decided to chance a shot since the pair needed food. That someone might be near enough to hear the rifle report was very slim. The boys ate very well that evening; it was fine “table” fare, though they had no table, and the pleasant change in diet was welcome.

“Rob,” Caleb allowed as they enjoyed pronghorn steak for an early morning breakfast on that same beautiful day, “it’s time we get down to the business at hand.” He paused his speech long enough to bite off another hunk of the tasty meat; he chewed deliberately before continuing.

Finally, he swallowed. Then, “We know that law-dog has some suspicions; probably doesn’t have any kind-a real clue as to who we are or what we might be doing in this area, but, it’s never a good idea to take too long in getting the job done.” Rob nodded agreement as he chewed.

“So,” brother Caleb droned on, “today, we’re going to drift over toward the main ranch house.

“We’ll take our time and keep to the low areas as much as possible.” He paused to be sure he held Rob’s attention. When Bow-leg locked his eyes on the older man, Caleb continued.

“We sure don’t want to accidentally run into any of the range hands out looking for cattle. They’ll search high and low, check out every hollow and draw, every thicket. We’ll need to real careful and quiet.” He smiled. “We don’t look much like antelope, but we better act like them.”

Rob gave a slight laugh at the thought; he nodded, again, acknowledging the importance.

By mid-afternoon, with the early spring temperature piercing the sixty degree threshold, Rob and Caleb belly-crawled through thick prairie grass to a thin line of brush about a quarter mile from the ranch house. They had circled until they had the lowering sun at their backs.

Peeking through the bare limbs of the brush heavy with green buds heading toward bloom, they observed the ranch yard nearly deserted: Spring round-up had begun! The hands were out.

A wrangler sweated at farrier chores in front of a large barn; he wiped his brow, continuously.

A trio of riders turned the corner of the corral fence where Rob and Jeb Frazier had laid Curly to rest a few years earlier; it was Rob’s first sighting of the grave site since leaving the territory that same, sad day; he prayed a silent prayer and, then, pointed out the grave to Caleb. The riders were soon sighted headed northeast about a half mile from the ranch, apparently headed out to join the cowboys on their collective quest to round up cattle meandering across the range.

A cook came out of the back door to the ranch house and walked over to the horse-shoer; they conversed, briefly. It looked like the shoer appreciated the welcome break; it was mighty hard work. Shortly, the cook retraced his steps to the house and disappeared, inside.

As the warm sun slid slowly toward the western horizon, the farrier, at long last, finished with a feisty buckskin which had tried, unsuccessfully, to bite the wrangler twice and  kicked at him, once. The man had lost patience with the obstinate cayuse, obvious to the onlookers as witness, as the horseman untied the stout lead rope tethering the animal to a sturdy hitch rail; he kept a wary eye on the potential ambusher as a hand with a broken leg or arm in a sling wasn’t much use on a working ranch, every one, man and animal, had to earn their keep; if one couldn’t work, and, hard, they hit the trail.

As the farrier walked past his horseshoeing toolbox, the spying-boys, in concealment at the brush line, noticed that the cowboy bent down and retrieved a long-handled nippers used to trim off excess hoof growth; when he reached the corral gate where he meant to turn the ill-tempered demon-devil loose, the man opened the gate and led the horse inside. He carefully slipped the rope halter from the mean animal’s head; the evil horse gave him a challenging look, almost a dare for the wrangler to turn his back. The cowboy stepped back quickly and swung the heavy nippers at the horses south end; the cayuse leaped forward and gave three wicked bucks, kicking his hind legs high, though harmlessly, into the air. The man “whooped” and waved his hat in victory as he hazed the tyrant-beast toward the water trough. Rob and Caleb chuckled.

Long about three o’clock, or so, Caleb told brother Rob to keep low but continue to watch the ranch for anything of interest; said he’d be back in an hour, or so. With that, he slipped away.

About an hour before dark captured the ranch yard, Caleb returned without explanation of where he had gone off to; they observed riders coming in across the swales from the north and east of the corrals; each group of several cowboys pushed small herds, twenty to thirty animals, ahead of them. By dark, they had over a hundred beef corralled.

Caleb nudged Bow-leg Rob in the side while he slowly back-crawled away from the scrub brush line which concealed them from the ranch; Rob carefully followed his older brother.

Retrieving their mounts, they backtracked further southeast, away from the ranch.

They found a deep ravine with steep walls just as the last light of dusk slipped away; it had a free flowing spring in the bottom which was hidden from above by an earthen overhang sprouted with tall, thick, lush-green prairie grass. A perfect place for an overnight camp sight.