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Other than Hart Livery and Blacksmith Shop being much larger than Sanchez Livery in Amarillo—the barn itself was half again wider—otherwise it looked like every livery stable in every town that had one. It was basically a barn, part of which was dedicated to stalls and much of which held bales of hay, barrels of oats, and a small tack room where the owner kept spare reins, bits, farrier tools and other tack.
As Wes took in the whole façade, he realized why the barn was so wide. Toward the east end there was a second, considerably smaller set of bay doors. Over that set, a separate row of letters read Buggies for Rent or Sale.
Taking his lead from the governor, Wes reined-in Charley in front of the original wide set of bay doors. As the two men dismounted, the governor emitted a shrill whistle, they yelled, “Galen, are you home?”
The heavy, clomping sound of boots on stairs was followed by the appearance of a tall, stout black man with a full head of white, curly hair and a broad smile. But he didn’t simply appear. He practically exploded into the light through the right side of the bay doors.
Galen Hart towered over both the governor and Wes at 6’3” or 6’4” and he looked as if he weighed around 300 pounds. He wore heavy lace-up boots, dark grey trousers with dusty palm prints on them, and a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The shirt hung open from his throat almost to his abdomen. The muscles on his bare forearms and chest were so taut they looked as if you could strike a match on them.
His voice, a booming baritone, might have announced their arrival to the rest of Santa Fe. “Governor Lew Wallace, my friend! Welcome back to you, sir!” He glanced at Wes, then back to the governor as he reached with a huge left hand to clap Wes on the shoulder. “And is this the young Texas Ranger you rode all that way to press into service?” Galen glanced at Wes again, then looked at the governor and shook his head. “And just as if the man didn’t have enough to do over there, fighting that Four Crows and his Comanches and fending off those comanchero gnats.”
Wes felt his own eyebrows arch. “You’ve heard of Four Crows?”
“Oh yes. I spent some time in Texas myself a few years ago. Just about the time that one was coming up from his mentor.” He paused, snapped his fingers a few times, then said, “Iron Bear. Is that right?”
“Yes sir, that’s right.”
“But you weren’t in on that Boquillas Draw thing were you?” He paused, then wagged one hand. “Naw, never mind. You couldn’a been. That was way before your time.”
“Actually, my buddy Mac and I were lazin’ around on the front porch of the general store up in Watson when Corporal Connolly and his troop rode in and negotiated for some fresh horses from Mr. Billings over at Billings Livery and Feed. Most impressive thing we ever saw, and we decided right then to ride down to Amarillo and join the Rangers. Later we found out those same horses were carrying the corporal and his troop to catch Iron Bear and his bunch in Boquillas Draw. That’s where Four Crows was born as a war chief.”
“Fascinating! You’ll have to tell me more stories like that some time. But about those comancheros, they are like gnats over there, aren’t they? The Comanches are at least fightin’ for somethin’. But the comancheros, seems to me they’re just flittin’ around annoyin’ people.”
Wes nodded. “That’s about the size of it.”
“Well listen, since the governor brought you all this way, if you ever need anything, anything at all, you come see old Galen, all right?” Again he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “I’ll take good care of you.” He glanced at Charley. “And your horse, of course.”
The governor laughed. “To make the introduction official, Galen, yes, this is Ranger Wes Crowley. I predict he will take us a long way toward statehood.”
Galen pumped Wes’ hand. “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t do quite that much damage.” Galen laughed. His deep baritone made his laughter seem a cousin to thunder.
Wes might never have heard such a full, joyful sound. He grinned. “Thanks, Mr. Hart. Very good to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, likewise.” Still grinning broadly, he finally released Wes’ hand. The man’s handshake alone would almost take your arm off. But that booming baritone and wide smile was all but infectious. “You ever need anything, Ranger, you only have to let me know.”
“Well, thanks again, but for now, could I ask you to be sure ol’ Charley here gets a good brush down tonight and a face bag full of oats?”
“Trust me, Ranger Crowley, that horse is gonna eat better than he’s ever eat in his life. I’ll take good care of him, so don’t you worry about that. And you do me a favor and call me Galen, would you? Mr. Hart is my daddy, and he’s been gone these past thirty years.”
“All right. I appreciate it, Galen.”
“You’re the governor’s friend. That’s good enough for me. I’ll even sign on as a deputy if you ever need one.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The governor said, “Galen, I hate to interrupt a budding friendship, but we have to go. I’m gonna borrow a buggy for the night if that’s all right. I’ll have it back in the morning.”
Galen gestured broadly. “My buggies are your buggies, governor. In fact, I’ve got one all hitched up for you.”
The governor frowned. “How’d you know we’d be in today?”
“A little bird mentioned the contents of a telegram to me. Puttin’ that together with my knowledge of you, I expected you either today or tonight.” He spread his arms again and beamed that smile. “And here you are, fulfillin’ my prophecy. Just look at what you’re doin’ for my reputation.” He laughed again.
The governor laughed too, then raised one hand. “See you in the morning, Galen.” He glanced at Wes. “This way.” He turned away to the south, and Wes followed him toward the smaller set of bay doors.
Wes glanced after him, but said, “Excuse me,” and stepped past Galen. He patted Charley on the neck. “You get some rest and I should see you again in the mornin’, pard. All right?”
Charley nuzzled against Wes’ left shoulder, almost knocking the Ranger off balance.
Galen grinned. “He’ll be all right with me, Wes. I promise.”
“Oh, I know that. I just like to say goodnight when I have the chance.” He reached over the saddle and pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot.
Galen said, “Now you can leave that too if you want.”
“No, I guess not. I appreciate it, but I’d feel naked.” He chuckled, then looked at Charley. “See you in the mornin’, Charley.” He glanced up at the still-grinning Galen. “I believe you are the happiest man I know, Galen.”
“Don’t take no effort to be happy. Bein’ angry is what takes up all the energy.”
Wes grinned and shook his head. “See you in the mornin’, Galen.”
As Wes walked away, Galen nodded after him. “‘Night, Ranger. Rest well.”
*
As Wes approached the buggy, the governor grinned. “You could have left your carbine. Galen has a—”
“Naw. He invited me to leave it, but it’s been goin’ where I go all these years. I wouldn’t feel right without it.”
The governor nodded, flicked the reins, and drove the buggy out of the yard. At the road, he turned left. “Coming into town, this is the Pecos Trail. Starting about here, it’s State Street. At the moment it’s the main street in the town.”
“I’d heard of the Santa Fe Trail, but not the Pecos Trail.”
“Everything you need to know about Santa Fe, at least initially, is on this street. We’ll encounter the marshal’s office soon, and not much farther on, the Palace of the Governors.” He paused. “We’ve actually already set aside some land for the new state capitol building, not a half-mile south of the Palace of the Governors.” He pointed. “But a little farther up, the Santa Fe Trail comes in from the southeast. Anyway, you’ll learn any routes you need as you become accustomed to the area. Like you did in Amarillo.”
Wes nodded, but in Amarillo, almost everything was due east or due west and angled north or south. But then, they didn’t have all those pesky mountains and foothills to contend with. He looked around. Four Crows could hide half the Comanche nation within a pistol shot of where they were right now.
And it wouldn’t surprise Wes if he did just that.
He adjusted his Winchester, holding it with his left hand, the fore stock laying across the crook of his left elbow.
*
Many of the buildings in the town—most of them, in fact—seemed to be of whitewashed adobe. From the top of any of the nearby peaks, the governor had said, the town probably looked like a diamond nestled among the foothills.
Wes only nodded. Maybe that’s what being a writer gets you. Maybe you get all romantic and look at something the color of sun-faded bird droppings and see a diamond. He chuckled.
The governor looked at him. “What?”
“Oh, nothin’. Just a thought popped into my head. I’ll keep it to myself for now.”
The governor said nothing, but faced front and flicked the reins.
The horses, pacing with a steady rhythm, neither slowed down, sped up, or changed direction. They knew a nervous tick when they felt one.
Finally, several minutes after they’d left the livery stable, the governor said, “Here we are. I think you’ll like Micah.”
Wes tossed his head a little.
“Micah Tanner, the marshal of Santa Fe.”
“Ah. Yes sir. I remember now.”
With Wes in tow, the governor crossed the boardwalk, turned the doorknob, and opened the door.