A Tale Out of Luck Read online

  Hank had a bad feeling about scaring the boys off. His eyes caught sight of the door he had kicked in, and he felt foolishly ashamed of himself. “Well . . . tell Beto to whip us up some breakfast, then we’ll follow her tracks. And, for heaven’s sake, get Long Tom to fire up the smithy and forge some hinges and a latch for that bunkhouse door.”

  7

  JAY BLUE looked back over his shoulder again, scared half to death he’d see his daddy galloping up behind him at any moment, building a loop with which to lasso him right out of his saddle. He and Skeeter had let their mounts slow to a walk, but the horses were still prancing on account of the cool morning and the exciting start to the day.

  “I can’t leave you to do one simple thing,” Jay Blue said, a scathing accusation in his tone.

  Skeeter was just now getting a good, long look at Jay Blue’s new facial features. “Looks like one simple thing busted you upside your head—about seventeen simple times.”

  “I ought to bust you upside your simple head for sleeping through your guard duty.”

  “Your guard duty. Anyway, it’s a good thing I went to sleep.”

  “What? Why?”

  “If I had been out there with that mare, those Indians would have scalped me.”

  “What Indians?”

  “The ones who stole the mare.”

  “Tonk said just one horse circled the pen.”

  “Okay, one Indian. It only takes one to scalp a man.”

  “Well, you chickenshit, you should have been awake and on guard, and maybe you wouldn’t have gotten scalped. Maybe you would have saved the mare.”

  “No, you should have been awake and on guard. It was your night.”

  Jay Blue glanced over his shoulder again. “I had things to do.”

  Skeeter rolled his eyes. “What the hell happened to you, really?”

  “I was taking up for Jane. One of the Double Horn boys made ungentlemanly overtures toward her.”

  “Overtures?”

  “He grabbed her ass, so I kicked his ass.”

  Skeeter laughed. “It looks like you got your ass kicked.”

  “There were seven of them. Maybe eight. I got in my licks.”

  “No shit? Eight of ’em?”

  “Yeah, and that ain’t all. Jane let me walk her home.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m not kiddin’.”

  “Did you get inside?”

  Jay Blue glanced at the road behind them. “She ain’t that kind of gal.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “Shut up, Skeeter. I mean it.”

  “Okay, hermano. Damn. You’re cranky this morning.”

  Jay Blue could only glower through his one unswollen eye. “I’ll tell you who’s cranky. The old man. I’ve never seen Daddy that mad.”

  “Hey, don’t complain.”

  Silently, Jay Blue mouthed Skeeter’s oft-spoken words along with him.

  “At least you’ve got a daddy.” Skeeter sighed, like he always did after the lamentation, and slumped in the saddle in abject sorrow.

  “Oh, come on, Skeeter.” He slapped his adoptive brother on the shoulder. “Don’t get all blue on me. I need you to help me get that mare back, or I won’t have a daddy who will claim me, either. Let’s trot on into town and get some supplies for the trail.”

  They spurred up to a trot as Jay Blue told Skeeter all the heroic details of his eventful night. By the time he had told the whole glorious tale, the town of Luck was in sight, so the boys let their mounts finish the last leg at a walk.

  The road led right past the walkway to Jane’s door, where Jay Blue suddenly pulled rein. “Wait here,” he said to Skeeter. “I’ve got to tell my sweetheart I’ll be out trailin’ that mare, and she may not get to see me for a while.”

  He ignored Skeeter’s disapproving groan, dismounted, and strutted up to the door. He looked back at Skeeter with a confident smirk, then knocked. He waited. He heard Skeeter choke back a chuckle behind him. Jay Blue knocked harder. His embarrassment was about to set in, when he heard the latch rattle. The huge plank door opened slightly and he saw Jane’s sleepy face looking cautiously outside, squinting at the early-morning light.

  “Mornin’, Janie.” He dragged his hat from his head. “I mean, Jane.”

  Her voice croaked. “What in the devil’s name are you doing here?”

  “Well, I’ve got to go after a horse thief and I just wanted to tell you I probably won’t be able to stop by and see you for a while. I’ll be out there on the trail of a dangerous—”

  The door slammed abruptly in his face. Slowly, he replaced his hat. He dreaded turning around. Instead, he spoke as if Jane could hear him through the door. “Okay, darlin’, I’ll miss you, too.” He tried to put on a grin when he turned, but he knew he had to look as ridiculous as he felt. He avoided Skeeter’s eyes and got back on his horse.

  Skeeter could no longer keep his mouth shut. “She sure seemed tore up about it.” He broke into a fit of laughter.

  “Shut up, Skeeter. She’s just shy, that’s all. She would’ve been all over me if you hadn’t been there.”

  “Does she sleep all day?” Skeeter asked, a note of disapproval in his voice.

  “I told you she was up late with me last night, didn’t I?”

  “She seems kinda lazy, that’s all.”

  “She’s not lazy. Why do you always have to bad-mouth everybody? Anyway, you don’t even have a girlfriend.”

  “Oh, and you do?”

  They argued their way on into town and looped their reins on the hitching rail in front of Collins General Store. Sam Collins, the store owner, was also Luck’s justice of the peace, the postmaster, the coroner, and—because he stocked buckets in his store—the chief of the local fire brigade. He was just unlocking his door from the inside as the boys stepped onto the boardwalk.

  “Good morning, boys,” he said. “Ouch, Jay Blue, you look worse than I heard.”

  “You’ve heard?” He looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s not even eight.”

  “I just had coffee with Gotch at Ma Hatchet’s Café. What brings you boys here so early?”

  “Indians stole the captain’s mare,” Skeeter announced.

  “Skeeter,” Jay Blue groaned, “we don’t know it was Indians. Somebody on a horse that wasn’t shod.”

  “Sounds like Indians,” Sam said. “So, what did the captain send you to pick up?”

  “He didn’t,” Jay Blue said, hitching his gun belt a little higher over his hip. “I told Daddy I’d handle this one myself.”

  Sam looked at Jay Blue over the lenses of his glasses. “That so?”

  “It was Jay Blue’s night to stand guard,” Skeeter added.

  “Skeeter!” said Jay Blue through gritted teeth.

  Sam took his spectacles off to polish them, all the while shaking his head and making tsk-tsk sounds with his mouth. “Oh, Jay Blue, tell me you didn’t . . .”

  “There were circumstances, Mr. Collins.”

  Collins nodded. “Yeah, Gotch told me about her, too.”

  Jay Blue decided to redirect the conversation. “We’re gonna need some grub for the trail, Mr. Collins.”

  “On the Broken Arrow tab?”

  “I’ll need to start my own account, Mr. Collins. I’m not sure I work on the Broken Arrow anymore.”

  Sam Collins sighed. “Looks like you really got your ass in a crack this time, Jay Blue.”

  Jay Blue nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Well, everybody deserves a second chance. I’ll start you your own account.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Collins.” Jay Blue roamed the store and grabbed as much as he thought his and Skeeter’s saddlebags would hold. Salt pork, beans, flour, salt, coffee, a small iron pot, and two canteens.

  “And some saltwater taffy,” Skeeter said.

  “Not on my tab,” Jay Blue argued.

  “It’s okay,” Sam said. “I’ll throw in the taffy.”

  As Collins figured up the
charges, Skeeter gnawed on his taffy and watched the town wake up through the window. “Hey, Jay Blue,” he said, “look just down the street. Mr. Brennan and the Double Horn boys are crawling out of the saloon.”

  Jay Blue stepped to the window. “Didn’t figure that bunch of drunks would be up this early.”

  Skeeter turned to reexamine Jay Blue’s black eye and swollen lip, then jutted his face back toward the window as if to get a closer look at the Double Horn crew. “I don’t see one of them boys that looks anywhere near as busted-up as you.”

  “I got my licks in. You just can’t tell from this far away.”

  “So, by ‘licks’ you mean you actually licked ’em with your tongue while they were beating the ever-lovin’ shit out of you?”

  Over at the sales counter, Sam Collins laughed out loud.

  “I’ll show you what I mean if you don’t shut up,” Jay Blue warned.

  “No, you just keep your tongue off of me, thank you very much.”

  Sam Collins burst into guffaws.

  Skeeter continued: “And you said there were eight of them.”

  “Seven or eight.”

  “There’s only Mr. Brennan and five cowhands.” Skeeter grabbed his chin studiously. “Still, that’s a lot of lickin’, I reckon.”

  Jay Blue lunged, but Skeeter was quick, and managed to stay on the other side of a hogshead full of sugar as Jay Blue took jabs at him with his fists.

  “Here, now, boys!” Sam Collins shouted. “Jay Blue, come sign for this merchandise.”

  Back outside, while packing their goods in their saddlebags, Skeeter asked, “Well, do you have some kind of a plan or something?”

  “Of course,” Jay Blue said. “Don’t I always have a plan?”

  8

  LO QUE HACE DE NOCHE, aparece de día,” Policarpo Losoya said, gesturing toward the mare’s pen.

  Hank understood: What is done in the night, shows up in the day. He had cooled off, settled down, and eaten a good breakfast. Now Long Tom Merrick was saddling three horses while Hank, Poli, and Tonk took another look at the evidence around the bronco pen.

  “The gate was never opened, Capitán.”

  “How do you know, Poli?”

  “I was the one who put the mare in there, like you told me. I always latch that gate chain the same way, like a snake around those rails, and I always put the fifth link on the nail.”

  “And Tonk’s sure she jumped over that rail? That high?”

  “Bigger than shit, Capitán. Look at the tracks where she landed.”

  With Poli, Hank walked around the outside of the pen to where Tonk was crouching, his fingers touching the place where the full weight of the mare had come down on her front feet, gouging fresh soil up from the earth.

  Hank had been too damn mad to read sign earlier, but now he let his trained senses go to work. All the old tracks around the pen seemed to fade from view and the fresh hoof marks, the ones on top with keen edges not yet smoothed by wind and gravity, rose to meet his eyes. A lone horse had come from the west, shoeless. It had circled the pen, making the mare frantic enough to actually jump over the rails. As Hank’s eyes took in the marks left on the hard-packed dirt, he began to picture the strange horse. He could see the animal making its sharp cuts; he could judge its size and weight and strength.

  “Hell of a ride,” he said, trying to imagine who could have stayed on a horse making such starts, stops, and lunges.

  Tonk looked up at him and smiled. “We go see,” he suggested, shifting his gaze down the trail the mare and the horse thief had left toward the west.

  Long Tom led three horses out of the barn for them, and the trio of men mounted. The captain and Tonk rode on either side of the trail, both reading the sign. The trail showed the strange horse chasing the mare at top speed, cutting off every attempt she made to return to the ranch.

  Now Hank pulled leather as he spotted a long black horsehair snagged on an agarita thorn near his stirrup. A few feet farther downwind was another. “Son of a bitch bit her tail,” he said. “What do we have here, Tonk?”

  “You tell me,” Tonk said.

  “¿Que es?” Poli asked. But neither tracker answered.

  They continued to follow the trail until, a mile from ranch headquarters, even Poli noticed the marks of many more horses—a whole herd of unshod ponies.

  Hank gawked at his old Tonkawa scout. “Do you mean to tell me?”

  “Yup,” Tonk said.

  “Incredible.”

  Tonk nodded. “Uh-huh. Beats all.”

  “¿Que pasa?” Poli demanded. “Help a blind man see!”

  “That mustang stallion,” Hank said. “The one we’ve heard about . . .”

  “El Grullo?”

  “Yep. The Steel Dust Gray. He drove his mares to this point right here, and made them wait. He smelled that Thoroughbred in heat. He charged her pen, alone, and impressed upon her the virtues of freedom. After that, he was on her ass like a duck on a June bug, driving her into his herd, and back out yonder.”

  Poli shifted in his saddle. “A horse took your horse?”

  Hank smiled. “Took her breath away and stole her heart.”

  “Increíble.”

  “Beats all,” Tonk repeated.

  Hank turned toward Poli. “Who had guard duty last night?” he said.

  Poli frowned. He disliked informing on the men, but knew there was no choice. “Izquierdo went out at dusk. But he was covering for Jay Blue.”

  “And Jay Blue?”

  Poli smiled; he shrugged. “Muchachos will be muchachos.”

  “He went to town.”

  Poli nodded. “From the looks of his face this morning, he had a hell of a good time.”

  Hank looked east toward town, then back out to the west, whence the Thoroughbred had run away with the wild ones. “You’ve done some mustanging, right, Poli?”

  “Seguro que sí, Jefe. Plenty.”

  “What are the chances of us getting that mare back?”

  “From El Grullo?”

  “Yes, from El Grullo. The famous Steel Dust Gray. The mare stealer. The uncatchable ghost. What are the chances?”

  Poli narrowed his eyes and looked westward for quite a while, calculating odds. Finally, he set his jaw the way he always did when he knew he had to give the captain the cold, hard truth. “It would be easier—and probably cheaper—to go back to Kentucky and just buy another one.”

  9

  SKEETER HAD JAY BLUE’S plan figured out by the time they took the Fort Jennings trail off the Colorado River road. He was going to ask the U.S. Army for help in finding the stolen mare. Leaving the Pedernales River valley behind, they rode over high ground, through open grazing lands dotted with oak motts, the denser cedar brakes holding to the draws.

  The four-hour ride brought them to the cool, clear waters of Cypress Creek. Rounding a bend in the creek, they came within view of the Stars and Stripes flying high over the fort.

  They encountered a black soldier guarding the road, as they expected. The Ninth Cavalry garrisoned Fort Jennings. Except for the officers, all the soldiers in the Ninth were black—“buffalo soldiers,” as they were known. Skeeter had been told that the Indians likened the hair of the black recruits to the shag on the humps of the buffalo, hence the name.

  “What do you want?” the sentry demanded.

  “We want to talk to the post commander,” Jay Blue said.

  “You have an appointment?”

  Jay Blue shot a glance at Skeeter. “You don’t think we’d ride all this way without an appointment, do you?”

  The soldier laughed. “Just joshin’ you, son. You don’t need no appointment. What’s the password?”

  “Password?” Jay Blue said.

  “That’s it! How’d you know?”

  Skeeter slapped his knee and burst into laughter. “That’s a good one. He got your goat, Jay Blue.” He could tell Jay Blue did not see the humor in any of this.

  “Seriously, what’s your business
?” the soldier asked.

  “We had a mare stolen by Indians,” Skeeter answered.

  The soldier looked the two riders over for a few seconds, then spit on the ground. “I’m gonna take a chance and let you two desperados on in.” He gestured grandiloquently with his hat, showing them the way up the road.

  “Obliged,” Jay Blue said, trying to tip his hat with equal sarcasm.

  “The colonel’s campaigning up the Brazos,” the private shouted as they rode on. “Major Quitman is the acting post commander.”

  Skeeter waved a gesture of thanks for the information.

  Coming up to the brink of a slight elevation, Skeeter saw the grounds of the fort open up before him on a broad, level plain. A flagpole ascended from the center of a large, rectangular parade ground. The thirteen stripes and thirty-seven stars fluttered gracefully on the breeze. All around the edges of the parade ground stood lines of buildings constructed of sandstone. Some were barracks for the soldiers. The two grandest structures housed the post commander and the junior officers. The remaining buildings included the hospital, the chow hall, the armory, the stockade, the sutler’s store, and the quarters for the laundresses and other civilian employees.

  Suddenly, a cheer rose from their left, and the riders looked to see a number of soldiers bunched around the corrals at the stables. One of the soldiers clung to the back of a horse that was bucking furiously inside a corral while uniformed spectators looked on.

  “Damn,” Jay Blue said. “That son of a gun can sure ’nough ride a bronc! Let’s go watch!”

  Skeeter trotted over to the corrals with Jay Blue for a closer look. A soldier noticed them, and elbowed the man next to him, who in turn slapped the shoulder of the next man until each soldier, one by one, ceased his cheering and turned away from the exhibition of bronc busting to regard the cowboys with suspicion. When the crowd had grown quiet, even the horse quit bucking, and the rider himself looked at the young civilians as if he had never seen such a sorry sight in his life.

  “Hell of a ride!” Jay Blue said.

  One of the soldiers pointed across the parade grounds. “Headquarters is over yonder, cowboy.”

  “I’m aware of that, soldier. Just thought I’d watch the fun.”