I looked back at the officers. “That herd was stolen from a Señor 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 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 cañon, 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.