Range Of Golden Hoofs Read online

  “It’s an old Spanish grant?” Dan asked.

  “Older ’n the hills. The Alarids have had it ever since the year one.”

  “It takes in lots of country?”

  “From Point of Rocks on south to the Pope’s Nose.” Again the driver pointed with his whip. “I don’t know how many acres. Neither does anybody else.” The driver paused a moment and spat, then continued: “It used to take in more country, but O’Connor sold the north end to the YH outfit. They run cattle. Louder an’ O’Connor been fightin’ ever since Louder bought the land.”

  “So?” Dan pried for more information.

  “Yeah. Nobody gets along with O’Connor except the paisanos that work for him. He’s meaner ’n a damned snake.”

  There was a contemplative pause, and then the driver spoke again. “I got to hand it to him, though: he’s kept El Puerto del Sol together. The Alarids was about to lose it. O’Connor got the place on its feet when he made that sale.”

  For a little time the wagon rolled along in silence. Dan Shea was thinking about the information he had received. O’Connor, from all that Dan had heard, bore a bad reputation. Perhaps Dan had been wiser to attempt his purchase at some other source. As though sensing the thought, the driver said: “He’ll treat you all right. The ol’ man’s a gentleman. He’s just tough to do business with.”

  “What time will we get in?” Shea asked after a time.

  “Along sometime this evenin’. I lay over at El Puerto tonight an’ come back tomorrow. There’s another driver takes the mail on East. Hot today, ain’t it?”

  Dan nodded his agreement, and the driver lapsed into silence. The wagon rolled steadily ahead toward the hills that the driver had called the “Alforjas.” As though reading Dan’s thoughts the driver said: “Some call ’em the Packsaddle Mountains.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Dan Shea.

  Again the silence possessed them. The horses finished a climb, paused at the top to breathe and then began a descent. Below them a creek stretched away to north and south, curving, at the south, toward the Rio Grande.

  “Alamo Creek,” the driver announced needlessly. The tall cottonwoods along the creek had disclosed its identity.

  They finished the descent, gravity striving against the dragging brake and the weight of the horses against the neckyoke. In the stream the team stood and drank, and Dan Shea, climbing down, refreshed himself upstream from the animals. When man and horses had finished the journey resumed.

  “Grant land now,” the driver informed.

  The country seemed lifeless. Now and again a lizard ran scurrying across the road. Once a chaparral cock, el paisano to the natives, appeared, his wings half spread as he ran along ahead of the team.

  “They always want a race,” the driver drawled. “Them road runners can cover country fast as a horse.”

  Dan nodded and watched the bird until it darted from the road into mesquite. “Kill snakes too,” the driver said, speaking of the road runner.

  Behind them the sun lowered toward the west. Their shadows marched before them, growing longer and more gaunt. The driver took a fresh chew and proffered Dan the plug. “Some folks,” he drawled, still speaking of the bird, “say that they’ll locate a snake an’ pile cactus around it an’ make a corral so the rattler can’t git out. I’ve never seen it myself.”

  “What’s that?” Dan Shea demanded suddenly.

  Off to the left there was motion. A mounted man appeared, small against the sky line, his horse running full out. As always, Dan Shea was impressed with distance. The mounted man was a bobbing doll, and the running horse seemed barely to move against the expanse of space, yet Dan Shea knew that the horse was swift and that it was the distance that lent the seeming slowness. The driver pulled his team to a halt.

  “That’s the duke,” he said. “We’ll wait a minute. He’s headed this way. Mebbe we’ll see somethin’.”

  “The duke?” Dan echoed.

  “Name’s Perrier. We call him the duke. He’s an Englishman.”

  “What…?” Dan began and stopped. Horse and rider were coming on, turned now so that their course would intersect the road. They grew in size rapidly. Before the team, two hundred yards away, a running wolf broke into the road, body low, tail carried between flying legs. The wolf disappeared and, almost instantly, his place was filled. There were four dogs that followed the wolf, great shaggy creatures running silently as the wolf had run, their heads flung forward, so intent on their quarry that they did not see the horses or the wagon. The dogs, too, disappeared into the brush, crowned out of it over a ridge in the sand and were gone.

  “Here he comes!” There was excitement in the driver’s voice.

  Now on the road were the horse and rider. Dan had a glimpse, photographic in its clearness, of a small man, bolt upright in a saddle, of a magnificent horse that cleared the road at a leap, the rider seemingly a part of the mount. For an instant horse and man were framed in the road, and then they, too, were gone into the brush and over the ridge. The driver gathered up his lines. “He’ll get that wolf too,” the driver assured.

  “But what…?” Dan questioned.

  “That’s what he does,” the driver explained. “The duke ain’t got any particular place to stay. He’s got a wagon an’ a camp outfit an’ he moves around with his dogs. He’s got four of ’em, an’ some of the best horses in the world, I guess. He’s kind of crazy. The ranchmen pay him a bounty on the wolves he gets. Pretty near every time you see him he’s ridin’ with his dogs. Geddup! You, Buck, geddup!”

  “He just hunts wolves?” Dan asked.

  “Wolves an’ coyotes. Won’t shoot ’em. He hunts ’em horseback. Ever so often he comes into town. I guess he gets some money from the old country. Anyhow, that’s what folks say.”

  “Oh.” The situation was clear to Dan Shea now. Here and there in his travels he had met men who “got money from the old country.” Most of them were no good. Dan Shea, having met them, could readily understand why they had been sent away. Of course there were exceptions, but…

  Again the driver seemed to read Dan’s thoughts. “The duke’s all right,” he said. “He’s high an’ mighty an’ he don’t talk much, but he’s O.K.” Having made that statement, the driver again lapsed into taciturnity.

  The road went on. As it climbed toward the hills the country improved. The sand and rock, the desert growth, were left behind and grass supplanted them. Dan saw sheep, the herder sitting on a hillside, apparently asleep. The sheep were in good flesh and, to Dan Shea’s expert eyes, of good breeding as well. The mountains approached and the sun was lower in the sky. Then again the greening tops of trees came into view, the road mounted a rise, turned and began a descent, then before the wagon a settlement appeared.

  “El Puerto del Sol,” the driver announced. “That’s the big house up on the hill. That’s where you’ll go.”

  “Isn’t there a hotel?” Dan asked. “Can’t I get a place to stop?”

  “Everybody goes to Don Martin’s,” the driver answered. “There ain’t no hotel or nothin’ else. Don Martin owns it all. Whoa, Buck. Whoa!” The wagon drew to a halt.

  There were adobes clustered about, small houses that settled, familiar and friendly, against the earth from which they had been made. A bright-eyed boy came running from the nearest dwelling and a man, gray-grizzled, walked out from a door and approached the wagon. The driver greeted the oldster.

  “Buenas tardes, Jesus.”

  “Buenas tardes,” Jesus answered. Dan Shea climbed down from the wagon seat. The driver spoke fluently, explaining that Dan Shea had come from Bendición.

  “Eusabio,” Jesus called. “Ven acá.”

  The boy answered, joining the three men. To him Jesus spoke again, directing that Dan Shea be taken to the hacienda. Dan Shea lifted his grip and rifle from the back of the wagon. The boy took them from his hands, his eyes bright as he handled the rifle, and said: “Come, señor” and led the way toward an opening between the buildings.


  “You’ll be all right,” the driver assured. “Don Martin will look after you, Mr Shea. If you want to go back tomorrow I’ll be leavin’ about noon.”

  “Thanks,” Dan answered and followed his guide.

  Don Martin’s hacienda was on the low rise above the clustered adobes. It was built square, around a patio, and there was a low and long portal across its front. At the entrance the boy Eusabio set down Dan’s grip and lifted a heavy iron knocker, letting it fall to echo resoundingly. Within moments there was a shuffle of footsteps and an old man appeared. He smiled benignly at Dan, listened casually to Eusabio’s explanation and, picking up the grip and gun, led the way into the patio. Dan followed. Seemingly at random, his guide selected a door, opened it and gestured to Dan to enter. The guide placed the grip inside the door, leaned the rifle against the jamb, smiled again and announced that Don Martin was with the sheep and that el Señor had but to call if he wished anything for his comfort. With that the old man shuffled away and Dan Shea, taking off his coat, set about removing some of the stains of travel. When he had finished he resumed the coat and went out into the patio.

  Sundown had come. There was a mockingbird in the cottonwood tree that grew in the center of the patio. Dan Shea, seating himself on a bench, looked up at the bird and listened. The patio was cool and calm, and the bird’s notes were liquid and softly sweet. When the mocker ceased his music Dan Shea pursed his lips and whistled, and in the tree the bird cocked his head to listen. From behind Dan a voice said: “He does not know that song. Listen.” The words were followed by the liquid whistle of a scaled quail. In the tree the mocker half spread his wings, lowered them and hopped along his branch.

  Again the quail whistled, and now the bird in the tree answered.

  Dan Shea turned. There was a girl standing just under the shadow of the gallery behind him. He could see her face in the dusk, could see her dark eyes, the wealth of red-gold hair that made a misty halo about her head. She was tall for a woman, with wide full lips and high cheekbones. Her skin was gold, whether from the sun or from the rich blood that coursed beneath it, Dan could not tell. Altogether beautiful, altogether desirable, she stood there in her young womanhood, and Dan Shea caught his breath and felt his heart pound.

  “You see?” the girl asked. “He knows that song.” Up in the tree the mocker whistled the quail call again.

  Dan got up from the bench. Turning, he bowed to the girl. “I am Dan Shea,” he said. “I’ve come to see Don Martin O’Connor.”

  The girl curtsied prettily. “I am Marillita O’Connor,” she answered. “I make you welcome, señor.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence. How, Dan wondered, does one address divinity? From the front of the house there came noises, the tramp of feet, the sounds of a gruff voice speaking in Spanish. The door to the patio opened, and a giant of a man stood framed in the opening. Marillita ran toward the giant, and his arms swept her from her feet. Dan Shea stood watching.

  The big man placed the girl on the ground and, holding her hand, came forward. Dan could see the resemblance now: the gray hair still tinged with its ruddy youth, the bold line of nose and face that in the girl was softened. He advanced a step. “Don Martin O’Connor?” he asked.

  “The same,” the giant rumbled.

  “I am Dan Shea.”

  A smile broke across the crags of the man’s face. “Shea, is it?” he demanded. “Irish by the look and name of you.”

  “My father came from Limerick,” Dan Shea said.

  Martin O’Connor’s great hand engulfed Dan’s, closing down until all the blood was drained from the fingers.

  “A Limerick man and named Shea! Mary, here’s a rare one. Come now, Mr Shea. This is my daughter Marillita, and what have you to say to that?”

  Dan bowed again. There was nothing that he could say. The girl’s laughter rippled, and Dan Shea flushed.

  “Hmmm,” Martin O’Connor said dryly. “Ye’ve met then. What good luck brings you to us, Mr Shea?”

  “I wanted to see you on a business matter.”

  O’Connor shook his head. “It’s always business,” he complained. “After supper we’ll attend to it. Mary, keep the young man company while I set myself to rights. We’re lambin’, Mr Shea, an’ it’s a tryin’, dirtyin’ job, it is.” With that he nodded to Dan and walked across the patio, entering a door on the farther side. Marillita O’Connor seated herself upon the bench and smiled up at Dan Shea.

  “How does a girl go about keeping a young man company?” she asked archly.

  Dan Shea sat down. “She sits and looks beautiful,” he answered, smiling.

  “Then I’m afraid I can’t obey my father. I can sit…”

  “And to look beautiful is something you can’t help,” Dan interrupted.

  “Is the Blarney stone in Limerick, Mr Shea?”

  “I’ve never seen the Blarney stone nor Limerick either. It’s just the truth I speak.”

  The girl’s laughter rilled like sparkling water. “Now I know you’ve seen them both,” she declared. “You’ve kissed the Blarney stone too.”

  “No Blarney’s needed here.” Dan’s eyes sparkled. “I’m as truthful as I would be on a witness stand.”

  When Don Martin returned he found his daughter and his guest sitting on either end of the bench, their eyes bright and laughter on their lips. Before he joined them Don Martin paused a moment on the gallery, smiling at the scene.

  Supper was a leisurely meal eaten overlooking the patio. There were servants, deft and soft footed, to attend them, and the talk was of Ireland. O’Connor harked back into his memories, and the girl and the young man listened. Then when the meal was done and a lamp had been brought and placed on the table, O’Connor leaned back in his big chair and stared shrewdly at Dan Shea.

  “You mentioned a matter of business,” he prompted.

  “I did, sir,” Dan answered. “I’ve come down from Colorado and I’ve a plan that will make some money.”

  “Get on with it.” O’Connor’s voice was gruff.

  “There are settlers coming into the San Luis Valley,” Dan Shea said. “All of southern Colorado is being settled. It’s a sheep country and they need sheep. I plan to supply them.”

  “So?” The don’s great bushy eyebrows lifted. “It’s a sheepman you are then?”

  “I know sheep,” Dan answered briefly. “I plan to get sheep in the New Mexico Territory and drive them north. The market’s good and there’s money in the scheme.”

  “And you want to buy sheep from me?”

  Dan moved his hands in a little negative gesture. “I’ve no money to buy sheep,” he said frankly. “The panic wiped me out. I want a partner in the business.”

  “Me, for instance?”

  “It looks foolish for me to talk this way, Don Martin.” Dan Shea was very earnest. “But I’ve friends in Denver, people that no doubt you know. You could write them concerning me.”

  Martin O’Connor shook his great white head. “I make up my own mind about a man,” he proclaimed. “I’ll not need to write or ask. I’ll need to see. The plan sounds fine, indeed it does.” He paused, and Dan’s hopes rose high. “Except that I’ve no need of money,” O’Connor concluded.

  “Then you aren’t interested?”

  A sly smile twitched at O’Connor’s lips beneath his mustache. “I didn’t say that,” he demurred. “You’ll stay a day or two, Mr Shea, an’ we’ll talk it over.”

  Dan nodded.

  Don Martin arose ponderously. “Come with me in the mornin’, Mr Shea,” he invited. “I’ll be busy, but we’ll have a chance to talk. You’ve been given a bed?”

  “Yes sir.” Dan, too, was on his feet.

  “The day starts early,” O’Connor warned. “I’m for bed. Come, Mary.”

  Marillita O’Connor flashed a smile at Dan Shea and then, tucking her hand beneath her father’s arm, accompanied him. Dan watched them go into the darkness out of the lamplight.

  CHAPTER FOUR:r />
  “LOUSY SHEEPMAN”

  In the morning, with all El Puerto del Sol stirring about him, Dan Shea joined Martin O’Connor at breakfast. Marillita did not appear, and the two men ate alone and in silence. After the meal they left the house. A buckboard was ready in front of the barn, and Dan climbed into the seat beside his host. Don Martin drove the buckboard toward the east, squarely into the rising sun. Within half an hour after leaving the hacienda they were among the sheep.

  The lambing grounds were long hill slopes, warm in the sun and with green grass filling the little draws between them. There were herders with the flocks, and the black coals of fires showed that men had been on duty through the night. Their camps were adjacent to the lambing grounds, and in those camps men slept.

  At each stopping place Don Martin was greeted. There was something of awe, something of respect and something more of love in the greetings. It was as though Don Martin O’Connor were a feudal lord, a great and well-beloved patrón, and these his serfs. The don asked questions and received answers. He gave directions and received cheerful assurances of obedience. Dan Shea listened. Once he asked a question of his own, and when the buckboard rolled on Don Martin looked at him and asked sharply: “You’ve the Spanish?”

  “I’ve learned it,” Dan Shea answered.

  At ten o’clock they were well north and east of the hacienda, and here they stopped. There was a large band of ewes, and with the sheep was but one man and a small boy. Don Martin alighted and went to the sheep. When he came back he was scowling. “Trouble here,” he said briefly. “A rascal of a herder ran away and another’s sick. I’ll have to help.” He reached into the bed of the buckboard as he spoke and pulled out a pair of heavy duck overalls.

  Dan Shea got down from the seat. “Have you another pair?” he asked.

  A flash of astonishment showed briefly on O’Connor’s face and then was gone. “I might find you a pair,” he answered and reached into the buckboard again. Dan Shea, going to the front of the buckboard, leaned forward and unhooked the tugs. When O’Connor came around the team, carrying another pair of overalls, Dan was freeing the neckyoke and lowering the tongue to the ground.