Pipe Springs

"If y'all won't respect your elders y'all will damn well respect your betters," Sam said with laughter. "That's me, Sam Bettors."

He quickly and forcefully pulled his arms together in front of him and knocked the men's heads together. They fell unconscious to the floor. Sam bent over and picked up the man that he'd been holding down with his foot. Grabbing the man by the shirt collar with one hand and his belt with the other Sam marched him to the door.

Throwing the man out the door Sam yelled, "Y'all don't come back until you know your place and learned some manners." Sam walked back to Riley to see how badly he was hurt.

The man returned from outside holding a pistol. "I'm gonna kill you old man," he yelled at Sam as he pointed his weapon.

A shot echoed in the room and the man fell to the floor. Clay hadn't hesitated when he saw his new friend in danger. He quickly drew and fired his pistol. The man was dead before he fell.

Sam looked over his shoulder in surprise. He hadn't had time to respond to the man's yell. "Damn boy, I didn't know you was a gun hand. Reckon it's a good thing for me that you know how to use that Remington," Sam said with a grin on his face.

"Mr. Johnson okay?" Clay asked as he came on into the room.

"I'm okay," Riley replied. "That one there," he said pointing to one of the men on the floor, "Hit me in the nose and I tripped over my own feet. Hit my head on the counter when I fell."

"Where'd you learn to handle a pistol like that," Riley asked.

"I worked for a couple of years for Creed Taylor down in Dewitt County Texas. He and his brother had a feud goin with a family named Sutton. Creed taught me how to use a gun so's I could protect myself. But when the shootin got real serious Creed ran me off. Said I wasn't part of it and made me leave."

"Well I'm real glad he did." Sam patted Clay's shoulder in thanks.

"What started the ruckus?" Clay asked.

"That one there," Sam said pointing to the dead man, "got all riled up. Said Riley was tryin to cheat them and started stealin things. That one," he said pointing to one of the unconscious men on the floor hit Riley." Sam paused for a moment and said, "That's when I jumped in."

"What'll we do with these fellars?" Clay said.

"Slit their throats and throw them into one of the canyons around here," Riley said. "Serves' em right."

"We can't just kill them," Clay objected.

"You squeamish boy?" Riley asked.

"No sir, I can stand up to killin in a fair fight if I have to but I can't shoot a helpless man. Maybe I could borrow a horse and go for the law," Clay suggested.

"Nearest law is over to St. George. That's better'n 60 miles just to get there," Riley explained. "Best to just dump em in a canyon."

"Tell you what Riley. Let's wake em up and scare the hell out of them. Then send em on their way," Sam suggested motioning toward Clay. He could see that Riley's idea bothered Clay.

"They'll just come back on us," Riley protested. "Better to do it now." He saw Sam's motion toward Clay and added, "But you took em down Sam so if that's what you want to do, we'll do er."

They drug the two unconscious men outside along with the dead man. Sam threw a bucket of water in their faces and they begin to sputter and wake up. When they sat up and looked around they saw their companion lying next to them with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

"That'll be you two, if we ever see you again," Sam told them pointing to the dead man. "Toss your guns away and stand up." Once the men complied with his orders Sam continued, "Now get on a horse and head out."

They walked to where their horses were tied and started to mount up.

"I said one horse. Y'all get one horse between you. You can take turns ridin or carry the horse on your backs but move on," Sam ordered.

"Those are our horses Mister," one of the men complained. "How do you expect us to make it out of here on one horse?"

Riley was standing in the doorway with a Winchester held in his arms. He raised the rifle and set the butt stock on his hip. "Were I you, I'd be glad for the one horse. If it was up to me you would never have got up off the floor. You can thank the youngster there that you're not buzzard bait. Now get before I decided to do things my way."

The two men left riding double.

"Hey Riley what should we do with this one?" Sam asked pushing at the dead man with the toe of his boot.

"There's a deep ravine about a hundred yards yonder," Riley replied. "Dump him off into that hole. Buzzards and varmints got to eat too you know."

"Okay. Give us a hand will ya." Sam said.

Riley shook his head and looked at Clay. "You kilt him, you bury him," he said and returned into the trading post.

Sam and Clay threw a rope around the man's feet and used his horse to drag him to the ravine. Once they got there Sam knelt and searched the man. He unfastened the gun belt and handed it to Clay. Continuing to search, Sam fished two Double Eagle gold coins out of the man's pocket and a tobacco pouch off his belt. Then he pushed the body over the edge and listened to it fall for over seventy feet.

Clay took the pistol from the holster and examined the weapon, cocking and releasing the hammer several times. "Whatever he was he wasn't just a cowboy," Clay remarked holding up the gun. "This is an almost new Colt Peacemaker in .44-40," he told Sam. Most cow hands can't afford a weapon like this."

"Most cowboys don't carry $40 in gold coins either," Sam agreed. Opening the tobacco pouch he took a sniff. "Most can't afford this good a tobacco."

Sam handed Clay the gold coins. "Reckon the Colt and those coins rightfully belong to you," he said and with a smile added, "His horse too; but I'll hold on to the tobacco. And it's a favor I'm doin you; y'all too young for that vice."

Clay shook his head and in spite of the circumstances, laughed at Sam. He tossed one of the coins back to his friend. "Reckon I should share this with you since you were his target but I'll keep the Colt."

Sam nodded and smiled. "Tomorrow mornin early Riley will ride over to the ranch and see about a job for you. If they don't have a place for you I'll take you on to St. George with me."

"Mr. Winsor, can I talk with you?" Riley asked.

Anson Winsor was a small man, especially compared to Riley, but tough looking. His face and hands were like tanned leather from working outdoors for most of his life. Windsor stood straight and was whipcord lean. The way he moved and talked was a challenge to life and its troubles. I won't be beaten his actions seemed to say.

"What can I do for you Mr. Johnson?" Winsor replied.

"Like to introduce you to Clay Boudreau here. He's my friend and he's lookin for a job," Riley said. "I'd appreciate it if you'd talk to him."

"What type of work are you looking for Mr. Boudreau?" Winsor asked as he turned and shook hands with Clay.

"Ranch work mostly," Clay replied. "I can work stock pretty good, cattle and such. Know my way around horses too. Can do a little blacksmithing if push comes to shove. Worked for the Bar S up to Santa Fe for three years. Before that I worked for Creed Taylor down in Texas for two years."

"Why'd you leave those places young man? Is there trouble on your trail?" Winsor watched Clay's eyes as he answered.

"No sir, not that I know of. Left Creed's place because of the feud between his family and the Suttons. Creed didn't want me gettin involved he said and sent me on my way. The Bar S was sold to a company back east. The company sent out a ranch manager and he didn't have any use for a drifter. That's what he called me, a drifter; even though I'd been at the ranch for three years."

Winsor examined Clay and liked what he saw. The young man stood tall, faced you head on and looks you in the eye, Winsor thought.

"Had some trouble the last few days you might need to know about Mr. Winsor," Clay admitted. At Winsor's nod he told the ranch boss about the trouble with the Indians and meeting Sam Bettors. He continued with the story of the three hard cases at the trading post. "I didn't want to kill that man but he was gonna shoot Sam in the back. Couldn't let that happen."

"That cuss would have probably done me in too Mr. Winsor," Riley offered. "Sides if I'd a been able I would have shot that skunk myself."

"Come along Clay; I'll give you a tour of the grounds and we'll talk. Afterwards we can both decide if you should join us."

Winsor led Clay around the grounds close to the ranch house, or in this case Winsor Castle. After looking at the corrals, barns and other outbuildings, Winsor showed Clay the fort. Clay was impressed with the building. It wasn't really a Castle but could pass for one on this high plateau, in this part of the West.

The fort had a courtyard that was framed by two buildings with gated walls at each end. The northern building had walls close to thirty feet tall, as they backed into a hill; the southern building was shorter at 20 feet. The walls were of quarried red sandstone from a nearby bluff to the west of the fort. Clay could see the markings where the stone had been cut out of the bluff. Mortar was used to fit the stones together and hold them in place.

Each wall was 70 to 80 feet long and about two feet thick. The entrance was through two huge doors on each end of the square. The doors were made from thick tongue and grooved wooden planks. The gates swung open from the middle and were 10 feet wide by 12 tall. That masonry work looks like some of the brick buildings back in Louisiana, Clay thought. Only bigger.

There was a covered porch running along each of the buildings facing the courtyard. Back home we'd call them verandas, Clay thought. A wide catwalk joined the porches across the east end of the courtyard. The west end had stairs leading to each side of the second story. Clay was told later that the lumber for the gates the porches were from a Mormon sawmill located sixty miles south on Mount Trumbull.

There were five rooms in each building. A kitchen, meeting room and living quarters for some of the families Clay was told. Every room had a glass window that looked down into the center court between the buildings. Each room's exterior wall had openings cut through the stone to the outside.

Clay looked hard at these openings. "Are those are firing ports Mr. Winsor?" He asked. "Seen somethin like that in some of the homes in Texas and New Mexico. People used them when the Comanche or Apache made raids. "

"That's right Mr. Boudreau. If we're attacked we can mount a defense without exposing ourselves."

"Must get cold in the winter," Clay remarked.

Winsor stepped to one of the ports and swung a wooden shutter across the opening. "In the winter these shutters will stop the cold and wind from getting into the room." Clay nodded and Winsor led him back to the ground floor.

"Here's what makes our fort special," Winsor said as he led Clay through a door into one of the rooms built into the foundation.

Winsor called the room the parlor. He moved a rug out of the way and pulled up a four by two foot wooden section of the floor. Pipe Springs flowed up out of the ground and the rushing water flowed into a covered trough dug into the floor. Motioning Clay to follow him, Winsor showed him that the covered tunnel extended across the floor of the center court to the other side and into that building. They entered a room across the fort. In the center was a pool of clear, cold spring water about six feet across.

"We dug this room several feet lower than the others. The dirt surrounding the room and the cold water from the spring keep it much cooler," Winsor explained. "So we use it as a sort of cold room to store perishables." He waved Clay through the big gate and walked around the fort. He stopped at what was the outer wall of the cold room and pointed to the waterway which flowed from under the fort's foundation.

Clay saw two large fresh water ponds about 50 feet from the wall of the fort. Each pond was close to 30 by 30 feet and about 4 foot deep. At the end of each pond was a small door, or weir, that could be raised or lowered to regulate the amount of water held. The escaped water flowed into a stream bed at the bottom of the rise.

"The Indians or other raiders might get our cattle and livestock if they force us into the fort but they can't starve us out for lack of water," Winsor explained. "That's why the placement of our building is so special. Our springs are a stopping place for most of the travelers crossing the Arizona Strip. Pipe Springs is the only good water for a day's ride in any direction so we get a lot of travelers passing through."

"The Arizona Strip?" Clay questioned. "Haven't heard about that."

"It's the part of the Arizona Territory north of the Colorado River and south of the Utah Territory," Winsor replied. "It's an excellent place to raise cattle or most stock for that matter, but the Grand Canyon sort of makes this a hard area to get to. There are lots of grassy meadows in the valleys and the Kaibab Plateau here is good for summer grazing."

Clay nodded. "That's what I told Sam. He and Riley told me about the lack of good water in the area so I see why folks would stop here. " To himself Clay added, I can see why the Paiute and Navajo are on the warpath too.

As they started back to the front of the fort, they passed a corral that held an angry horse. Two men were trying hard to pull the animal up to a snubbing post so they could saddle him. The horse was trying just as hard to stay away from the post.

Clay stopped to watch for a few seconds. "Crossbreed," he mumbled.

"What's that?" Winsor asked.

"That horse is a cross breed, ain't he?" Clay asked. "Looks like a mustang and one of your stock horses got together and this colt was the result."

Winsor nodded. "Some Navajo ran off a string of horses about three years ago. We never did catch the animals and they ran wild for a time. Last week we rounded up some of the horses. We need good horses to run the ranch so we thought we'd break some of the mustangs for our use. This stallion was one of them."

Winsor shook his head and had a grimace on his face. "No one's been able to make much headway training him. Reckon he's just too wild and we'll have to let him go or shoot him. The others may be too wild also."

Clay watched as one of the men used a rawhide lariat to whip the horse. "Never get him trained that way," Clay said aloud.

"If you like, give it a try Mr. Boudreau," Winsor said and motioned toward the corral.

"Get those men out of there please," Clay requested.

Winsor called the men out of the corral. They dropped the rope around the horse's neck and the animal quickly rid himself of the lasso. The mustang watched them go, shook his head and pawed the ground with one hoof.

That horse has got a lot of spirit, Clay thought. It's like he's challenging those two to come back and fight some more.

Clay got the lariat from the cowboy that had been using it and sat down on the top rail of the corral. He watched the young horse for several minutes and then threw the coiled lariat onto the ground about ten feet from the mustang. After several seconds the young horse attacked the lariat with his front hoofs. He screamed his anger and a challenge at the ones that had hurt him.

Shaking his head in admiration, Clay began to talk to him in a low soothing tone. He talked for four or five minutes. The horse looked directly at Clay shook his head from side to side a few times and listened to the man's voice. Clay slowly climbed down from the top rail and went back to Winsor.

"Nothin wrong with that mustang that a little patience won't cure," Clay told the range boss. "Your men probably haven't worked with horses that got as much spirit as the mustangs. They take a little different style of breakin than regular horses."

"You've worked with mustangs before I take it," Winsor replied.

"Yes sir, down in Texas. Lots of mustangs down there; up near Santa Fe too." Clay looked at the mustang stallion again. "I admire them; they live wild and pretty much go where they want."

"I have a few more questions for you if you don't mind." Clay nodded his head and Winsor continued, "Would you have a problem working with people of our faith? The reason I ask is that some people don't approve and in fact hate us for our beliefs. What do you think of our faith Mr. Boudreau?"

"Don't know much about it Mr. Winsor. All I know, I learned from Sam and Riley."

"That'd be Mr. Bettors and Mr. Johnson?" Clay nodded. "And what did those gentlemen have to say about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints?"

"Latter Day Saints? Oh Mormons. Well...Sam says you take care of your own better than most folks he's seen. He said some of you are better off than others, just like any other folks, but that y'all make sure that every family has enough to eat and a way to make a livin. Sam admires that and I do too Mr. Winsor."

"And Mr. Johnson?"

"Riley said about the same thing." Clay hesitated and added, "Sam also told me that y'all believe in a man havin more than one wife. Said some of y'all have three or four wives."

"Yes, some do. Does that bother you Mr. Boudreau? Will it cause you a problem if you work for us?"

Clay looked at Winsor for several seconds and grinned. "Long as I can do my job and earn my wages I reckon what folks want to believe and do with their own lives is their business. Won't bother me none at all."

Winsor and Clay continued walking toward where Riley Johnson was waiting. "Mr. Boudreau I'd like to offer you a place with us at Pipe Springs," Winsor said. "Pays $50 a month and found. We'll give each other a try for a month and see how we fare. You can work with the mustangs and train them to be working stock if you like. I'll pay you $5 a head for every animal you train that we can use."

Clay didn't hesitate. "Believe I'd like to stay Mr. Winsor. I'll take the job."

"Good. Today's Saturday, you can gather your gear from Mr. Johnson's trading post and start on Monday."

"Thank you Mr. Winsor. I'll be here at first light tomorrow if you like," Clay replied.

"Tomorrow is the Sabbath Mr. Boudreau. People will be at worship most of the day. So Monday is soon enough."

Clay nodded, walked over and mounted the horse that until recently had belong to the dead gun hand.

"Get the job did ya?" Riley asked. Clay nodded. "And when do you start?"

"Monday morning. Got to find another horse between now and then if I can. I'll need at least two mounts to work cattle." Clay looked sideways at Riley and asked, "You got a horse I could owe you for until I get my wages Mr. Johnson."

"I do, but you don't need to owe me boy," Riley replied.

"But I got to have another horse to work cattle," Clay argued.

"You got another horse in my corral," Riley said. Clay gave the old mountain man a questioning look. "Those three hard cases came in on three horses," Riley explained. "Those men you and Sam let live took one. You already got the one horse; that leaves the other horse for you."

Clay started to protest but Riley continued. "Sam don't need no saddle broncs drivin his wagon and I got all I need with Ned here." He leaned over and patted his horse on the neck. "I'd have to feed and water the other until I could get free of him anyway. Be doing me a favor if you'd take em off my hands."

"You could sell that animal for good money Riley. Why would you just give them to me?

"If a buyer came through I might could sell it. Or I might could sell the beast to the folks over to Pipe Springs," Riley said. "But without you I would have lost my friend Sam. A good friend is hard to come by in this world and he's about the only one I have. So take the horse with my thanks. Okay boy?"