Learn more about Rio Pecos Compound: Book Six of The Clint Mason Series
Copyright William F. Martin. All Rights Reserved.
Chapter 18.
Clint caught up with the Rio Pecos herd just as they were coming out of the Raton Pass onto the designated plateau. The combined herds of Ortega and Rio Pecos were stretched out for almost a mile. Sr. Bond’s herd could be seen merging from the west on to the grassy plateau. The big east/west wagon trail was covered with sheep almost as far as you could see.
The first task was getting the Navajos started on their way back to their homeland. It had been negotiated over the last few days that the Navajos would take cash now for their sheep. Clint could then take all the sheep to Kansas to sell. The Navajos would travel with wagons only to their stone cliff valley which some of the wagon train guides were beginning to call monument valley. A west-bound large wagon train was on the plateau trail when the sheep herds arrived, so Clint made arrangements for the Navajo wagons and carts to travel with the Durango-bound caravan. The Navajos had more than enough money to buy more sheep when they got back to their native land.
The word from these westbound wagon trains that the Navajos had joined told of the railroad operating from Abilene eastward.
The stockyards were being built when the Durango-bound wagon train left Abilene almost three weeks ago. It was agreed among all the interest groups that a team would ride ahead to make necessary arrangements at the Abilene railhead. A few extra riders would go along to serve as messengers between the advance team and the herd.
While the advance team had representatives from all the herds with authority to negotiate a sales price, the Bond ranch foreman would be the key negotiator. He had handled the sales of Sr. Bond’s sheep over many years.
The railroad tracks had extended almost two days’ ride west of Abilene. Hundreds of workmen, wagons, and stacks of railroad ties were strung out off to one side of the old wagon trail. The finished line looked like a giant, lazy snake stretching out across the Kansas plains. The curves were long and gradual as compared to the wagon trail with its sharp curves and many direction changes. In many places a new supply road for the railroad had replaced the old wagon trail.
They arrived at the railhead midday. The loading ramps were still being built, but many had been completed. A train was being loaded with sheep, cattle and wool when Clint and his group pulled into the stockyards. A few inquiries led them to the main purchasing offices. Only a few small herds had been brought into Abilene so far, but the east was waiting for wool, beef and mutton, and they were willing to pay for early deliveries.
An agreement was reached for the entire herd before late afternoon. Clint was impressed with the bargaining skills of the Bond ranch foreman and the stockyard purchasing agent. Both of these men had successfully completed negotiations like this before and they seemed to enjoy the process. A price of 30 cents per head was agreed upon and it included the 2,000 head that the Basques would be allowed to shear and sell the wool. The wool price was going as high as eight cents per pound and some of the Merino sheep produced two to four pounds per head. The Basques could select the 2,000 head to shear. There was a shearing barn available at the far end of the stockyards. The wool exchange would be completed in the same warehouse.
The two messenger riders were sent back to the herd with the news. They also took some supplies such as sugar, coffee and spices that would be getting low due to the long trail drive. The purchasing agent set up bank drafts for a portion of the estimated head count. The group could then draw on their individual accounts until the final tally for the whole herd was completed. There were seven separate owner groups for the purchasing agent to set up accounts for, with the Rio Pecos herds being only one.
Sr. Bond’s foreman led the way to the Abilene bank for everyone to make the first draw, and then immediately to the Longhorn Café for a real beef steak. Everyone in the group had had enough mutton over the last two months. The Bond ranch paid the entire café bill in appreciation for the good drive and the great price the sheep had brought, though it would be almost a week before the final count would be completed and the final bank draws authorized.
In the meantime, everyone would go their separate ways. For his part, Clint had run across an interesting ad in the Abilene newspaper. The U.S. Government was looking for experienced land surveyors or people that would be willing to take training to become surveyors. An exam was being offered for those with experience. Anyone making adequate scores could qualify for various levels of surveyor certification and the job offers. All interested parties should contact the U.S. Army Field Office at 330 Main Street, Abilene, Kansas, and come prepared for a six-hour written exam and a five-hour field survey.
Clint made easy work of the survey exams. Some six to seven years ago when he was working for that lazy surveyor ramrod, Clint had actually assumed most of the work. During this time, Clint was a little resentful when the chief surveyor took all the credit and, of course, the high pay while Clint did all the work. Those two years of surveying experience had taught him everything that was on the exam and a lot more. Clint’s scores were so high that the Army Colonel wanted to put him to work training other surveyors. Clint declined and looked at the newly registered surveyor’s license in his hand. The wax seal was still a little wet and shiny. The Army had eventually provided him with his master surveyor’s stamp and an offer to report to either the Durango or Santa Fe offices for survey assignments.
For Clint, his next mission was the investigation of Atkinson and Johnson, as to where they got their funds, who was actually calling the shots, and what could be done about the false surveys and claims that Atkinson was filing against his ranch and others in Abilene. Word was circulating around town that a huge sheep herd was about to arrive in three or four days. It was the largest herd to-date to even come to this new railhead. The town buzzed with excitement and money, just the atmosphere for Clint to engage in his favorite pastime – gambling. The liquor was flowing, money was moving from hand to hand and conversation was lively and relaxed. Clint played his usual slow pace of winning small amounts from each table, listening to the stories, and then moving on to the next saloon. By the time the final tally had been made at the stockyard and the bank was ready to make the final payment, Clint had enough information for his next move… and a lot of extra cash.
The Basques set up a big camp outside of Abilene. They offered great food and celebration before heading back to Rio Pecos. To no one’s surprise, everyone that had participated in the drive agreed to attend. Clint instructed all of his people to meet at the bank to distribute the payment of gold coins according to the final count as previously agreed upon. The payments to Ortega, Bond and other ranches were handled by the Bond foreman. The Ortega shepherds took their pay from the Bond foreman and then joined the Basque clan for the planned return trip to Rio Pecos. Clint made arrangement for his large share of gold to be held by the Abilene bank, and then transferred bank to bank by the U.S. Army payroll run to the Santa Fe bank.
The Basques’ feast was certainly an excellent way to celebrate their successful drive and the great sale. It had been a long drive, but it was completed with no major injuries or any loss of animals, and the final price was much more than anyone had counted on or expected. Everyone was ready to head home, so Clint purchased three new wagons that the Basques were to drive back to Rio Pecos fully loaded for the trading post.
St. Louis was Clint’s next stop. All the gossip he had heard led through St. Louis, then back east to New York City or Washington, D.C. The finances were coming out of New York City, but the political and lobbying work was apparently being done in the nation’s capital. Clint decided to follow the money trail. To grease the wheels in St. Louis, he requested the Abilene bank transfer a sizable amount to a St. Louis bank under the name of the newly licensed surveyor, Clifton M. Martinez. Clint would carry this draft and his personal identification from the Abilene bank for this withdrawal. This Abilene bank did a lot of business with the real estate agency that Atkinson was associated with in St. Louis. The St. Louis Citizens Bank was chosen because it had been used by the Atkinson group. So, Clint had the Abilene Bank set up his new accounts with that particular bank.
The train ride into St. Louis sure was an easy way to travel. The railroad executives had added a dining car, gaming and lounge car for those that would pay a little extra. The money men in the gaming car would more than make up the cost of the trip. It was during some of these games that Clint learned which hotel and the office location Atkinson used in his St. Louis trips.
Clint’s visit to the bank in St. Louis to withdraw a rather handsome sum of $20 gold pieces was a little unusual. The teller asked a lot more questions than he had expected, but Clint had all the identification necessary for the withdrawal. After the teller completed the transaction, he insisted on the name of a hotel or some location where the bank could contact him if necessary. Clint decided to provide this information to the teller, but he had rented two rooms when he first arrived in St. Louis. The first was in the Grand Hotel and was suitable for the master surveyor, Clifton M. Martinez. The second was in a rather rundown, old back-street hotel that would serve as a good place for the Mexican hide-trader with his smelly clothes and shy manners.
The teller accepted the Grand Hotel address without further questions. It seemed to Clint that once he had Clint’s room location, the teller had completed his task. Clint then made a hurried trip to his Grand Hotel room to remove any monies, papers and other critical information that he had left there. Then he rearranged the room with great care so he would be able to tell if anyone visited him while he was enjoying the poker games around town.
The next two days were very rewarding as far as the poker playing and finding new information. The days also revealed two or three shadows that seemed to be following Clint from saloon to café to hotel. Also during the second day, in one of the very crowded saloons, Clint felt at least two pickpocket attempts on him. He had not acted like he knew what was happening, but had just moved enough to make the attempts miss.
Gradually Clint learned that there were three men that were trailing him on nearly every move. By the third day this cat-and-mouse routine was getting old and tiresome, until Clint learned that Atkinson was due to arrive at the hotel in the next day or two. Clint decided that those games would continue until Atkinson arrived. A pattern was being created day after day that would keep Clint close enough to the Grand Hotel, but that would be boring for his followers. By the time Atkinson arrived, Clint’s shadowers were already slacking off on their close surveillance, but they felt they knew his patterns and could check on him occasionally.
Atkinson’s entrance to the hotel was showy and he was certainly catered to, as most big spenders were in this town. One man accompanying Atkinson was Clint’s biggest concern. He knew the type – slick, shrewd and vicious. He was apparently Atkinson’s personal bodyguard and maybe his hit man. It did not take Clint long to observe at least two knives, a hidden boot gun, a sleeve Dillinger and a Colt 44 in a fast-draw holster. By the way other men steered clear of this bodyguard, Clint knew that his reputation had been earned in a deadly way.
It wasn’t long before those following him reported one by one to either the guard or to Atkinson directly. His room was visited and thoroughly searched in a professional way. A normal lodger would never suspect that his room had been searched. Clint kept to his set pattern with regularity with the addition of one new stop. He found an excellent local café on a back street, a few blocks from his old hotel room. The alley from the main street back two blocks to the old café was clearly an ambush waiting to happen. It was Clint’s hope that the attack on him would be limited to this alley. It was narrow enough to force them to approach him no more than two at a time side-by-side, or from both ends of the alley. Either way, he would have a split-second to defend himself rather than being shot down from a distance. The alley was also close enough to Main Street that they would probably try to take him with clubs and knives and not bring unwanted attention with gun shots.
Although the fear and adrenaline were pumping through his veins and brain when he saw the ambush developing, there was a silent satisfaction that he had read them accurately and that they were following his plan as if they had read his script. Two men followed Clint into the alley, with a third coming toward him from the opposite direction. They were walking casually until they could get close enough to spring the trap.
The bodyguard, the most dangerous of the three, even spoke a friendly greeting as he neared. The guard was so quick that Clint felt the tremendous impact of a broad blade knife hitting his gut before he could spin around and break the attacker’s arm while his hand was still attached to the knife. The spin threw the first attacker into the two men coming from the rear. Clint reached around the screaming first attacker and grabbed the nearest second thug by his long hair. With a swift jerk Clint heard his neck snap. The third man then stabbed Clint in his shoulder before Clint could remove the knife from his gut and rip the throat of the original attacker. Clint could feel the blood running down his back from the fresh shoulder stab. Two men lay dead in the alley dirt and the third was backing away, wishing he had never joined this party. Then, Clint heard the voice of Atkinson. The third man hesitated only a second, but it gave Clint enough time to grab the man by the throat and drag him down to the ground on top of him. Clint now held the big knife at the belly of the only surviving ambusher. Clint whispered in his ear, “Tell Atkinson that you have the man – and if you don’t make it convincing, I will lay you open from top to bottom.” Clint released enough of the hold on the man’s windpipe for him to call out the message. He could then hear steps coming toward him down the alley. The street light behind the man allowed Clint to see that Atkinson himself had taken his bait. Clint slit the throat of the man lying on top of him then lay there as still as a dead man in an alley with the two other still corpses.
Suddenly, Clint was looking into the face of Atkinson not five feet away when his bullet hit Atkinson square between the eyes. Clint’s gun had been drawn quickly and stuck between the arm and body of the man lying on top of him.
Clint quickly escaped down the alley toward his old hidden room. He could hear a crowd gathering on Main Street in response to the shot. Clint needed to get to his room to stop his bleeding and to see how severe his gut stab was. His stomach ached, but did not hurt as much as his shoulder. He rolled around in the dirty alley just before emerging onto the back street. While the dirt might help stop the bleeding, he needed to mask the fine clothes he was wearing. Some blood running down your back, with a cover of alley dust, and no one would even suspect that you were wearing nice clothes.
Clint made it to his room up the back stairs without raising anyone’s attention. The shoulder knife cut was deep, but this type of cut would heal quickly if he could stop the bleeding. When Clint removed his jacket and shirt, to his surprise there was no blood on his stomach. His money belt that had been full of $20 coins was split and a nice imprint of a $20 golden eagle was on his stomach. The force of the knife must have driven a coin flat against his gut. It had hurt like the devil, but did not break the skin.
Clint washed out his shoulder wound with whiskey and tied a tight bandage around his chest and over his shoulder. He put on as much pressure as he could stand, then drinking as much water as he could force down, he lay down placing all his weight on the shoulder bandage. His rage and fear and the bleeding had taken all his strength. He was asleep in no time.
The sun was up the next morning before Clint’s eyes opened. At first he thought he was okay, but the first movement hurt both his shoulder and his stomach. After a close inspection of his bandages, he was relieved the wounds had bled very little through the night. The bandage and the pressure had done the trick. Now if he could just keep it from opening up again. He needed food, water and more rest.
Carefully, he began to put on the old clothes of the hide-trader, and then eased down the back stairs to the old café. He had rolled up the blood-soaked dress clothes from the night before and dropped them in a waste barrel down the street. It took three full days of eating, sleeping, and resting before Clint started to get his energy back. By the fourth day, Clint went and purchased some new dress clothes and returned to the Grand Hotel as the well-dressed master surveyor. Rumors were all over about poor Mr. Atkinson being killed in an alley not five blocks away from the Grand Hotel. Atkinson had killed two muggers, but had then lost his life. His bodyguard had also been killed in the fray. The killers must have been good because Atkinson’s bodyguard had been known in St. Louis to have killed at least 10 men himself over the past few years.
Clint also heard that the railroad detectives were being sent out from New York to help the local U.S. Marshal investigate the killings. Mr. Atkinson had a lot of political and financial connections back east.
Clint needed medical attention for his shoulder stab wound, but seeking it here in St. Louis was too risky. Another option would be to fake an accident and try to get a local doctor to sew up the wound. Clint did not think he could ride far without opening up the big cut. If only he could rest for a couple of weeks, the wound would heal okay, but any riding would start the bleeding again. So, he decided to put on his hide-trader look and seek out a small doctor’s office in a poor section of St. Louis. Shortly Clint found a small clinic that was taking walk-in workers, so he got in line.
The clinic’s procedure was almost like they were working on cattle. For $1, or whatever you could pay, they run you through a wash-up by an aid, and then the doctor came in and sewed up the cut without even asking how you got injured. The aid then cleaned up the wound and put a tight bandage on it. As soon as you could pay something, you were shown the door. There must have been 20 people waiting to see the doctor when Clint left the clinic. The doctor had been rather rough, but the stitches looked good. They should hold. Clint stopped at a nearby general store to get some wound ointment to protect against soreness.
The next thing was to get some rest. The trains were running from St. Louis to Chicago on a regular schedule and Clint decided to hide out in Chicago for a few weeks. He had plenty of cash and a big city was a good place to get lost. The trip to Chicago turned out to be a good choice. There were so many people aboard that a new face was not even noticed. The other item of interest was that both Colt and Winchester gun makers had manufacturing facilities in the industrial area of Chicago. Colt had just released a new .44 caliber handgun and rifle that used the same cartridge that could be reloaded as needed. Clint made arrangements to buy ten of each with two sets of reloading equipment and a lot of spare parts. They were to be shipped to Santa Fe in care of Mr. Jenson at the Santa Fe bank. Clint also purchased an extra set to carry himself.
After a few weeks of rest, Clint felt like a new man. He bought some very nice clothes and started circulating around the finest restaurants and lounges. It wasn’t long before he was invited to join one of the poker games for railroad and business executives. His two-week stay in Chicago gradually turned into a month. The rich businessmen had lots of money and they didn’t seem to care about losing it. They just enjoyed the competitive sport and a good challenger. Clint had no trouble in providing both a good line of conversation on western life and top competition. If he kept up this pace of winning, he would make more than his whole herd of sheep paid out.
The only really bad information was related to the railroad company’s push westward and the number of forced foreclosure of properties along the proposed railroad right-of-way. The railroad companies were taking a lot of legal actions to acquire the property along the rail lines. The railroad executives were rather open in their discussions around the poker table and at meals about their plans and methods. It seemed fairly common knowledge among these men that the property along the Santa Fe Trail from Raton Pass to Gloriata Pass was being acquired either by foreclosure or being purchased outright. Their primary land purchasing agency was headed by Claude Johnson and Charlie Atkinson out of Las Vegas and Española. Funding was being arranged through Claude Johnson’s wife’s family as major stockholders. To Clint’s surprise, this group of executives seemed to know nothing of Johnson’s problems in Española nor Atkinson’s recent death in St. Louis. Clint put his name in the mix for possible contacts if they ever needed a master surveyor. He could be located through the Santa Fe banker, Mr. Jenson. Clint let the group know that he was in contact with a lot of the property owners between Las Vegas, Raton Pass and on down to the Gloriata Pass region. If they ever needed a good contact in that area, they should send him a message. With that seed planted for them to ponder, Clint headed back to St. Louis.