The Americans captured Santa Fe in 1845. Not a shot was fired. When the invading gringos reached the town, the Mexican Governor Armijo and his army had vanished, slipping stealthily south to Chihuahua. The governor's palace and the army garrison buildings sat empty. The American General Carleton declared all Nuevo Mejico to be the possession of the United States and immediately took up residence in the plush home of the Mexican governor. His soldiers moved into the deserted barracks and the capture of the land was complete.
The sun, not yet to its zenith, was already a fireball striking down with harsh brilliance to roast the long rimrocked mountain valley. The air lay completely still, filling the basin like shimmering liquid heat, distorting objects and space. No life stirred, all hidden away in shaded refuges, awaiting the coolness of the evening.
There was one exception to the absence of life. On the east side of the valley near its mid length, where a horse trail went up to the rimrock, a tall dun stallion stood motionless beneath the sun, his head drooping and body damp with sweat.
In the small shadow cast by the horse, Luke Coldiron squatted. He had been waiting thus for more than an hour.
Finally the patient dun tossed his head and sighted down at the man. Luke regarded the inquisitive black eyes of the animal. He knew the horse wanted to be moving, but they would wait some more, for Two Suns and Lightning Blanket might need help.
He shoved back his hat and with a curved finger scooped sweat from his forehead and held it out. The dun smelled at the liquid then licked the tasty brine with pleasure.
Luke chuckled. The big brute of a horse was the best mount he had ever owned. It was the select one from all the thousands of horses that had been raised on his rancho. When only a small colt, ten years before, the dun had shown his great potential and Coldiron had brought the small fellow and his dam into the ranch headquarters. His training had gone swiftly, for he was amazingly intelligent.
Something caught the horse's ear and he turned to look to the north. Luke also heard the sound of iron striking upon iron, like the ringing of several distant church bells, slightly dull and off key. There was not a church in two long days' ride. He stood up and, shading his eyes, spotted a column of tan dust a mile distant up the valley.
The earth cloud advanced at a steady pace and soon the tiny figures of a few score of horses could be seen framed against its outline. The half-musical clamor of the metal notes were persistent, growing stronger.
Coldiron mounted and rode to the top of a small hill nearby. One of two riders hazing the horses onward saw Luke and waved his big sombrero.
The herd of mustangs and their drovers, trailed by the slowly rising dust cloud, drew close, and Coldiron galloped down toward them. The ringing of iron was loud and it had a cadence that was in rhythm with the step of the trotting animals.
Suddenly the beat of the sound increased as the band of mustangs changed direction and whirled at a faster pace up the trail Luke had been guarding. He had expected them to break away along the well-used route and try to escape into the timber growing at the foot of the rock ledges rimming the valley.
The dun sprang off like a frightened deer, cut in ahead of the leaders and crowded them back in the direction they had been traveling. As Luke dropped back and followed behind, the Steel Trap Brand burned into the right hip of every animal was very visible. He always enjoyed seeing his brand.
The gait of the horses slowed immediately once they were headed south again. And for good reason, for around a front leg at the ankle of each animal was tied at least one horseshoe. The flare of the hoof prevented the encircling shoe from falling off. As the beast moved, the loop of iron bounced on the swell of the foot. A walk or trot created little pain. As the speed increased, the sharp metal edge of the heavy shoe struck harder and harder upon the tender flesh where the ankle met the hoof and the animal must slow to lessen the hurt. Some tough stallions could withstand the misery of one shoe and still run, so two would be put on, one above the other. The clanking of those two shoes, the top one driving the bottom into the flesh with agony, created the ringing sound.
Luke knew of other ways to control large groups of half-broken horses so they could be driver long distances through rough country. Some mustangers pierced the nostrils of the wild ones on each side and, stringing a length of rawhide through the wounds, tied the air passages almost completely shut. Only enough breath would be allowed to be drawn for the animal to go at a slow speed. Sometimes with this method a horse in a frenzy to escape would suffocate himself. Often the nostrils would tear open and leave a bad wound and scar. There were other practices that worked, all painful.
Coldiron rode in beside the nearest man, a Ute Indian in his early twenties, dressed in white man's clothing except for the moccasins he wore. “Two Suns, you're late.”
The Indian nodded agreement. “The gray stallion gave us trouble. He broke free with only one shoe on his leg and we had to run him down. We then put three on him, but now he has only two and that's keeping him slowed up. He kicked Lightning Blanket.”
“Bad?”
“He'll limp for a couple of days.”
“How many cayuses did you bring?”
“All sixty as we planned.”
As they finished talking, Lightning Blanket angled into Luke's other side. The two Indians were brothers and looked it. Both were medium height and well muscled, with dark bronze faces. Two Suns was the older.
“You okay?” asked Coldiron.
A little shamefaced, Lightning Blanket answered, “That's one damn fast mustang. Had me kicked before I knew he was thinking of it. But I can ride alright.”
“Good. Let's move them south to Santa Fe,” said Luke. “Two Suns, you stay on this side with me.”
The three men separated, Lightning Blanket taking up station on the right flank just forward of the dust. Luke and Two Suns took up a similar position on the left.
An hour later Coldiron swerved away from the drove of horses and entered a clump of pine near their course. He emerged in a short moment, leading two packhorses, carrying light loads consisting of the men's food and bedrolls.
Just after noon, the men and horses left the valley. Where the stream had punched through the ledges of sandstone rimming the basin, a rock gap fence was thrown aside to allow passage along the creek. Luke remained behind to rebuild the fence.
As Luke lifted the slabs of sandstone back into place, he threw a short view across the land. Almost twenty years of his life, tough years of hard labor, had been spent building the ranch. From this spot in the extreme end of the valley, the ranch house and corrals could not be seen and the land looked the same as when he had first cast an eye on it. A beautiful land. All his.
He swung astride the dun and hurried to catch his men.
* * *
At the end of two days Coldiron and his Indian wranglers brought the band of horses into the outskirts of Santa Fe. A hot wind was gusting in from the west, whistling around the corners of the adobe houses, whipping up the dust from the streets and rolling it in great clouds over the small hills surrounding the town.
“Needs a rain to hold the dirt on the ground,” observed Luke.
Neither Indian responded. They were always morose and silent when in a town near strange white men.
“Two Suns, ride ahead and get the gate open to the big corral at the army post,” directed Coldiron.
“Right, Luke,” said Two Suns.
The Indian, circling wide so as not to turn the cavalcade, sped off toward a cluster of two and three-story buildings on the northeast side of town. By the time Lightning Blanket and Luke pushed close, several mounted soldiers had spread out in a large V from the wide gate and the horses were easily funneled into the large round enclosure.
Sergeant Stover, one of those helping with guiding the herd, galloped in as the gate was closed. Above the sound of the wind he barked out an order to a young private. “Anderson, go tell Major Whittiker the Steel Trap horses are here.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” answered the soldier and dashed off toward the major's residence at the far end of the compound.
The sergeant yelled at a group of uniformed men watching from the far end of the corral. “Hey, you troopers, get in there and help the Indians take those anklets off the horses. Take some liniment to doctor any sores.”
The cavalrymen swarmed up and over the poles of the corral and hurried out toward the mounted Indians.
Two Suns tossed a long loop around the neck of the nearest horse. Immediately Lightning Blanket roped a rear leg and they stretched the mustang, toppling it to the earth. Three soldiers scurried up. One fell upon the thrashing head and pinned it to the ground. The other two grabbed and held still the leg encumbered with the horseshoe, cut the thong and jerked off the girdling iron ring. Liniment was dabbed on a raw wound. The Indians shook their loops free. The horse lunged to its feet and raced off to join its mates at the farthest extremity of the corral. It ran awkwardly, unused to being free from the pain and weight of the horseshoe.
Two Suns aimed his mount at a second mustang and began to swing his lasso.
The sergeant climbed up to the top rail of the corral near Luke. “Good-looking mounts you got there, Mr. Coldiron.”
“Thanks, Stover. The Steel Trap brand has always meant the best and I intend to keep it that way,” responded Luke.
“No question in this part of the country about that,” said the sergeant.
Major Whittiker strode up and looked into the corral. “Hello, Luke, I see you have made delivery before the due date. How many animals did you bring?”
“Howdy, Tom. Sixty head, just as our contract specified.”
“And the other conditions?”
“They are all guaranteed sound and are broke to saddle and ride. They're not trained to ground rein, nor to stand at gunfire.”
“We can teach them that,” said the major. He closely examined the horse herd, noting the uniform size and excellent conformation of the muscular bodies. Without doubt each animal would make an excellent mount for a trooper.
Whittiker glanced sideways at the tall black-headed man, whose enemies called him “Horse Killer.” In his late thirties, he was lanky with rope-like muscles. Sun squints crinkled the corners of his eyes. His hands were square and heavily calloused.
Local gossip said that as a young beaver trapper Luke had lost his love in a remote mountain valley. He had returned there, walled up the exits of the valley and proceeded to slaughter almost every wild mustang that grazed in it. The story went that more than fifteen hundred horses had been slain that first year. With the remaining select herd, the present Steel Trap Brand began. Additional horses—throwbacks, mutants or those undesirable for any reason—were destroyed each year to continually improve the herd. More than horses had been shot. Some people guessed Coldiron had killed more than twenty men, anyone who dared to steal even one of his horses.
Thinking Coldiron would make an excellent officer and a very terrible enemy, Whittiker turned back to view the horses.
The major spoke past Luke to the sergeant. “Stover, saddle and ride six of those horses. Select them at random. Report to me within an hour your findings of their condition and training.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant and jumped down to call out an order to his men. “Andrews, Templeton, and you, Jewett, on the double, saddle and bridles. We're going to test some of those Steel Trap nags.” He looked back to grin at Luke.
Coldiron moved his hand in acknowledgement of the joke about his famous steeds being mere nags.
The major said, “Come up to the office with me, Luke, and let's get out of the dust and have a sip of something while we wait.”
“Sounds like a fine suggestion,” said Luke. Lightning Blanket and Two Suns had come up to lean against the logs of the corral near the white men. Now Luke spoke to them. “You two go on into town. Take the dun and have that left front shoe reset. Give Dunstock at the General Store that list of supplies and tell him to have it all packed and ready by two days from now, early in the morning. Two Suns, leave your horse here for me to ride.”
“Sure thing,” Two Suns said.
Both Indians unbuckled their six-guns, wrapped the belts about the holsters and put them in the saddlebags of the horse left for Luke. They stepped astride their mounts and loped off.
“Aren't you afraid they will get into trouble?” asked Whittiker. “The recent Navajo raids on some of the outlying ranches have got the citizens angry and they can't distinguish one Indian from another.”
“That's one reason they don't wear guns in town, to keep down trouble. Still, most everybody in Santa Fe knows Two Suns and Lightning Blanket are friendly and work for me,” said Luke.
“The town is growing fast and there's a lot of newcomers. Lot of hard cases. Population is over eight thousand people. Things are changing in other ways, too. With the big war back East and my command reduced by nearly two thirds, the Indians are getting more bold. Besides the Navajo attacks, the Comanche have been raiding up from the southeast. There have been reports some Ute have been seen with war paint on. As I recall, that's the tribe your Indian riders are from.”
“I will go into town soon as you pay me for the horses,” said Luke, knowing the truth of Whittiker's statement.
They walked to the major's office near the center of the army compound. Relaxed in their long friendship, the two sat quietly in soft leather chairs, left by the Mexican governor eighteen years before, and pulled at their drinks.
“Luke, when the war back East is over, the Army will be ordered to go full force to bring these Indians under control. I would surmise they will all be put on reservations. Very likely my troops will be strengthened in number and I will he told to take to the field. This country is rough, with great distances to travel, and I want my men to have the best mounts. Think over what price you must have for an additional hundred head of your horses, delivered next spring. Before you leave Santa Fe, let's talk and see if we can reach an agreement.”
“All right, Tom. I'd hate to see you and Emily leave.”
Whittiker went to his desk and from a bottom drawer extracted a box of cigars. Luke accepted one of the offered tobaccos, ran it past his nose to savor the pungent aroma and struck a match to it. There was something to be said for living in town where the trade wagons came regularly.
“Emily instructed me to bring you out to dinner the very first night you arrived,” said Whittiker.
“That's nice of her,” laughed Luke. “How many unmarried females will be there?” Whittiker's wife was a delightful person and was constantly trying to marry him off.
The major grinned back. “She has never had more than three for you to select from at any one time. I believe she spends all the time between your visits arranging for these evenings.”
“Some of the women have been very beautiful.”
“Yes, I know. And she is mystified why you haven't taken one seriously.”
“Too busy building a ranch,” volunteered Luke.
“You already have one of the biggest ranchos in all New Mexico. And without doubt, the best horses, even including northern Mexico. I heard rumors you found a gold mine out there in your valley.”
“Just rumors, that's all there is to it.”
“Three miners left here a month ago to check out the story. Did you see anything of them?” asked the Major.
Coldiron's eyes, guileless, emotionless like deep frozen water, rested upon his friend. The major and his troopers were the only law in the territory outside Santa Fe and this was not an idle question. “Everyone knows I don't allow trespassing on my land. So those three probably went some other direction.”
The major's face was clouded and serious. “Luke, that's open government land. I hope you are doing something to get proper title.”
“I have that land grant from the Mexican Government.”
“Yes, I know. You rushed to Santa Fe one day ahead of the American Army and bought it from the Mexican governor for a thousand dollars in gold. Then that stout-hearted hombre put his tail between his legs and dashed to the safety of Mexico. You know the Mexican Government has never ratified the sale of lands he made those last few days. Your title with his signature is more than likely not valid.”
“It's better than anyone else has.”
“Maybe so. But you should try and legalize your ownership under American law.”
“I'm working on it. Something called a Homestead Law has been recently passed by Congress. I've got a lawyer looking into what's needed to get ownership. He says considerable time will be needed to get title to thirty miles of creek and seven springs. But once I get the water tied up, the whole valley will be mine permanently. In the meantime, I have nine points of the law on my side.”
“What do you mean?” asked the major.
“Meaning I have possession of the land and I'll hold it until someone strong enough to take it away from me comes along. That may take a day or two.” He laughed coldly.
A knock sounded on the frame of the open door.
“Yes, Sergeant, come in,” said Whittiker. “Did Mr. Coldiron live up to the terms of the contract?”
“Yes, sir. They are very fine horses. Several of the troopers wanted to try one so we actually rode fifteen of them.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Stand by for a moment.” The major turned to Coldiron. “How do you want your pay?”
“I need about $1,000 in cash. A draft will be alright for the balance.”
Whittiker spoke to the trooper. “Sergeant, have the quartermaster bring $1,000 in gold and a bank draft for $11,000 as Mr. Coldiron requested.”
“Yes, Sir,” said the sergeant and about-faced and left.