“Give it a name. But see here, Caney—this isn’t Dona Ana County, you know. You’re over the line.”
“I’m not doing this official,” said Caney. “Neither is Hales, here, though he is a deputy in Socorro County. We’re private cits in this man’s county—playin’ a hunch. Here’s the lay: There’s been a heap of stealing saddles for a business lately—saddles and other truck, but saddles, wholesale, most particular. Got so it wasn’t safe for a man to leave a saddle on a horse at night, down round Las Cruces.”
“They got Bill McCall’s saddle in Mesilla three months ago,” broke in Jody, laughing. “So Bill, he went and broke a bronc backward. Yes, sir! Broke him to be saddled and mounted from the wrong side. Only left-handed horse in the world, I reckon. Then Bill slips off down to Mesilla, ties his horse in front of Isham Holt’s house about dark, and filters inside to jolly Miss Valeria. Pretty soon Bill heard a tur’ble row outside, and when he went out he found a Mex boy rollin’ round in the street and a-holdin’ both hands to his belly. Claimed he had the cramps, he did—but that’s why we’re rather looking for Mexicans.”
“We figured they were a regular gang, scattered up and down, hurrying the stuff along by relays, and likely taking it down in old Mexico to dispose of,” said Caney. “Then we hear that saddles are being missed up in Socorro County too. So Hales and me gets our wise heads together. Here is our hugeous hunch: This is lonesome country here, the big roads dodge the river from San Marcial to Rincon, ’count of it being so rough, so thieves wouldn’t go by the Jornada nor yet take the big west-side roads through Palomas or Hillsboro. No, sir. They just about follow the other side of the river, where nobody lives, as far down as Engle Ferry. There or thereabouts they cross over, climb up Mescal Cañon and ooze out through the rough country east of Caballo Mountain. Then they either come through by MacCleod’s and cross the river here again, or they keep on down below Rincon to Barela Bosque. Maybe they save up till they get a wagonload of saddles, cover them up with a tarp or maybe some farm truck, and drive whistlin’ down the big road to El Paso.”
“Anyhow,” said Hales, “the Cattle Association has offered an even thousand for information leading to conviction, and we’re going to watch the passes and water holes—here and at Hadley Spring and Palomas Gap. If you help get the thousand, you help spend it. That’s right, ain’t it, boys?”
The others nodded.
“Go with you, you mean?”
“No. You stay here—so long as you’re here anyway—while we ride up the line. That way, one of us can go on and watch Mescal. We was one man shy before,” said Caney. “Does it go?”
“It goes.”