Little Stone Mountain

By Denzel Holmes

LITTLE STONE MOUNTAIN
Betrayed in love twenty-seven years earlier Hailey (Hail) Stone is satisfied to indulge his hobbies, live the good life and enjoy the company of his current friend Mattie. At age forty-eight his life is set, his retirement vested, and his comfort complete. No other soul of the old Stone family still lives. When he goes, it’s the end of the line.
As Hail reminisces about a family story of pre-civil war gold coins hidden on the old ranch south of Uvalde, Texas, a job-related event brings him information that makes the old tale undeniable. Not one for chasing dreams he bites. He must have the help of four trusted friends: Mattie; his mother Betsy; and two high school buddies Tom Hayes an attorney in Laredo, and Mortimer Magillicuthy, a shiftless fun lover from Del Rio.
Hail would never have climbed that mean little mountain if he had known the forces against him: nature; the supernatural; evil people; and his health. Mystery and adventure drive him. Gunplay and deaths will slow him.
Renowned coin dealer Abe Cohen pressures him to gather in the coins. Job demands at the U.S. Border Patrol refuse him time. He has a terminal illness. Any wealth gained will be lost to the dying Stone clan.
Can Hail salvage a life of indulgence to make finding a fortune worthwhile?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denzel Holmes
• Release date: Feb 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370226245

Denzel Holmes

Denzel Holmes is the author of eight Western novels, set in Texas and true to the times and places. He grew up in the ranch country of Pecos County, Married his sweetheart Margie when she was 16 and he was 20. Going on 60 years now. They live in Belton and sell their books there and at Canton, Kerrville, Waxahachie, Dripping Springs, Wichita Falls, Madisonville, San Angelo, Georgetown, Round Rock, Nacogdoches, Killeen, Temple, and many other local venues. He speaks to civic, social and library groups where asked.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Hailey Stone stepped outside onto his redwood deck and watched the spring rain whip left and right, occasionally spinning its flow toward him. Blinding lightning flashes and crashing thunder always pleased him. A product of dry Southwest Texas he swore many years ago that he would never complain when the sky delivered its bounty. Although potential hail and tornadoes accompanied the forecast he still smiled. Let ‘em come. We need the rain.

Slowly his right hand lifted to the level of his spectacles. His face tilted back slightly to get a clear focus on the tiny coin held firmly between thumb and forefinger. He studied the image of Lady Liberty whose appearance differed from modern coins. Cousin Pearl, who gave him the coin said it probably was a carnival token or the like. Neither she nor he had ever heard of a one-dollar gold coin.

It had been thirty years since his visit with Pearl Winters at her San Antonio home, the day she gave him the coin and several notebooks of jottings she had made over the years. For a while Hailey, called Hail by his mother, had studied Pearl’s notes and mused at how her story of one South Texas family could be made into an engaging book, maybe two volumes. She even intimated that she’d like to see Hail write the book, considering that she was too old at seventy-five for such an undertaking. Hail felt a wave of guilt sweep up his stomach and lodged in his throat as he recalled that he hinted, maybe promised that he would. Eleven years later Pearl was dead leaving no heir. He was glad he retrieved her papers and even took pride in the little gold colored coin.

But, hell, Hail thought, I’m no writer. I’m a dreamer. That’s more fun. He grinned, flipped the coin into his palm and gripped it tightly. And right now, I’m going to Houston and get an answer on this little fellow’s worth. Pearl’s story on the coin – and she had written it somewhere in her notebooks – was that it belonged to her uncle, Mitt Stone, who was Hail’s great grandfather. He and his friends came by the ranch on their way to Mexico to hide out from the Confederate draft, probably 1863. Mitt had given the coin to Pearl’s future father, Abe Stone, and he had passed it on to her. But the larger story told to her by Abe was that Mitt left a tube of gold coins, believed to be ten-dollar gold pieces, to be hidden as a hedge against the hard war times to come.

Uncle Mitt was insistent, Pearl had said, that the money was to be put in a cedar box and hidden by only one person. That person would be the only one to know the whereabouts. Outlaws, Indians, Bandits from Mexico, couldn’t torture a family member and steal the wealth if that person didn’t know the location. I think Uncle Mitt intended that his father George would hide the money, but George gave the chore to Uncle Will O’Donnell. Hail pictured Pearl dobbing her nose. And as you know, Uncle Will went off and got himself killed in the war. She glanced up, blinking as if it had happened last week. Then nobody knew where the money was stashed. They never found it.

Hail, a nineteen-year-old youth at the time, asked, How much money was it, Cousin Pearl?

Referring to her father Abe, she said, Papa said that Mitt and his two partners in the mule business had eight thousand dollars with them, so he recalled. And Papa believed that Mitt left a fourth of it.

Trying to disguise the skepticism in his voice Hail said, Eight thousand dollars was an awful lot of money in 1863. You reckon he really had that much?

Papa believed he did, and kept on believing that for the next sixty-five years, all those times he visited with Uncle Mitt out at Sheffield. Pearl’s fingers stabbed the air. Papa said his brother Mitt was probably never richer than that for the rest of his life, but the war was working against him. He was less that seventeen years old but the army thought he was grown and they were determined to draft him. He and Bob Guthrie and M.L. Carter had bought mules cheap from the Mexican breeders way down in the brush, and sold them to the freight and stage lines at great profits. They made money because they worked harder than anyone on earth. Pearl’s tears spilled over. She sniffed without shame. And before they got to the border a crooked army officer robbed them of the rest of their gold. And then the sorry son…skunk shot Uncle Jake and almost killed him.

Hail had heard that long story and hoped to divert Pearl from telling it again. He asked, Why didn’t the family ever go back down to the ranch and look for the money that Uncle Will hid?

Papa said they did, but finally gave up. The Stone family didn’t own the land anymore. After the war when Uncle Mitt finally made some more money and got into livestock, he told Papa, ‘Nowadays, I sell a bunch of calves or lambs for over two thousand dollars. That’s more than the money hid down at the old ranch. Not worth chasin’ after.’

As Hail’s day dream trailed off he noticed blue sky between clouds. The rain had quit.

***

The next morning, Hail pulled on his Border Patrol uniform, brushed his black hair into place before his vanity mirror. He had to squat slightly to get his six foot three frame low enough to see the top of his head. He adjusted his metal framed bifocal glasses. Without them he could pass the driving test but up-close work was a blur. Besides, his friend Mattie liked him to wear them. She said glasses made him less attractive to other women. He smiled and reached for his utility belt, including his .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson Model 66 revolver and holster. Most agents carried the Customs and Border Protection standard issue H&K P2000 .40 caliber semiautomatic. Hail bought his own Smith and Wesson revolver so that he could load every other cylinder with rat shot for protection from rattlesnakes. In over twenty years of border work only once had he fired at a threatening suspect, but each year he experienced close encounters with snakes in the brush and tall grass.

His mother’s voice sounded from the hall. Hail, are you getting dressed for work? You said you had taken a week off. His mother, Betsy, sounded youthful through the door.

He swung the door back. Her salt and pepper thick hair looked younger than her seventy-two years. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and took pride in the way he had cared for her since his father died twenty-eight years earlier. He squeezed. I’m off from work, but I want to run by the station and the checkpoints and make sure the staff’s workin’. As a BP Supervisory Agent, I carry a little more responsibility than the new guys.

His mother gazed up and felt his face. You look so much like your daddy. She smiled. Aren’t you glad he made you go to college? That’s why you’re a supervisor now, and not still out there chasing the aliens through the thorns. She pinched his cheek.

You’re right about that. I was gonna turn in my badge back in two thousand and old Patrol-Agent-in-Charge George Leonard told me he was puttin’ me in for supervisor. Hail glanced over her head. Do you need anything done around the house before I leave? Light bulb changed? Commode overflowing? The house was Hail’s greatest accomplishment. With no wife and kids to support he had built the thirty-four hundred square foot rambling ranch house and moved his mother from the two bedroom, one bath frame home where he grew up in a modest housing district of Uvalde.

She pulled away, Well, you’ll be back for supper, won’t you?

Oh, did I mention that I’m gonna drive down to Houston?

No, you didn’t mention. Are you going to pick up Mattie in San Antonio? Betsy liked Hail’s companion Mattie, maybe more than Hail liked her.

Hail turned his face away. Uh, another thing I didn’t tell you. I’ve dumped Mattie and found me a sure ‘nuff purty girl down at Houston. She’s Puerto Rican, or Pilipino, I think.

She slapped his chest firmly. You have not. But Mattie will be hurt if you drive through San Antonio and don’t invite her. What are you doing in Houston?

Thought I’d get an expert to look at that little fake gold coin I’ve got. Might be worth a little money.

Why don’t you just look it up on the computer?

Hail had not wanted to tell his mother just yet, but she asked. I have but there must be sump’m wrong with the computer. Says it’s worth a hundred and four thousand dollars.

CHAPTER 2

Hail wheeled his 1969 black Classic Corvette toward the automatic opening gate to his ten-acre estate. He reached for the billed brown BP baseball style cap on the passenger seat and positioned it on his head. Two white tailed does glanced up and moved casually from the grassy center between the gravel road ruts. No wonder they chose that center strip of grass. It needed mowed. His gaze scanned the entire pasture. He loved the live oak canopies to the west and perfectly aligned pecan rows to the east. Which reminded him, the pecans needed sprayed with a solution of zinc and insecticide to knock back those destructive case bearers that would occupy every nut and hollow out the meats before fall, leaving none for the humans, or squirrels. Mowing and spraying! He’d get to it maybe day after tomorrow.

Hail had learned to act quickly, else something unexpected would interfere. That’s why he wanted to travel to Houston at the beginning of his one-week vacation, not at the end. Also it figured into his selection of the Corvette instead of his new Ford F-150 truck for the trip. If he went by his place of work in the extended cab pickup, he would, likely as not, get stuck with a hauling job, or even transporting some undocumented aliens to the holding facility in San Antonio.

Instead of bearing south for the Uvalde station two miles away, Hail turned right and accelerated westward along U.S. Highway 90. A permanent Border Patrol Checkpoint would appear in about nine miles, stopping all traffic moving east. It was a routine on all roads near the Mexican border and had been for years. Travelers expected it. Still the novice smuggler occasionally forgot or didn’t know, and got nailed at these stops. More often, teens returning from Mexico with drugs took it for granted that they’d have clear sailing to their destinations. Hail sighed in relief that the penalties for lesser quantities of marijuana or even crack cocaine were not as stiff as they once were.

The checkpoint loomed on his left. Hail passed it while slowing, made a U-turn and approached the canopy and awaiting agent and canine who watched the sleek Corvette. He spotted young, sandy-haired Calvin Estes as the attending agent, pushed in the clutch and raced the engine, invoking a loud pop from the exploding fuel as he rolled to a stop. Calvin’s grin broke wide. He unsnapped the leash on the German shepherd who quickly circled and sniffed the sports car as Calvin approached.

We got a live one this time, Tugger, Calvin said to the dog. For Hail’s benefit, he added, Just as well you hold him down while I frisk him.

Before Calvin could reach to shake Hail’s hand, the dog, Tugger, was back and stuck his muzzle through the window and licked the steering wheel, recognizing Hail as one of his boss/trainers.

Yeah, that’s a real killer you got there, Cal. May lick me to death. What’s your head count this morning?

Calvin thumbed over his shoulder toward the approaching Hispanic agent, Rafael Gomez. Just the one. You wanna take him to the border? Or loan me your Corvette and I’ll do it.

Lemme get out of the way. Hail pulled the car under the overhead and out of the line of traffic, although no other vehicle had yet approached. He stepped out and shook hands with Calvin and Rafael and petted Tugger. Technically, Hail had charge of the checkpoint and was boss of the two men as well as the dog. Generally, all personnel enjoyed pleasant relations both on and off duty. The exception seemed to be when a new hire turned out to be unfit for law enforcement due to high anxiety when an arrest or a major raid was to be made. Hail was more patient than most superiors and counseled the new people both before and after the stressful encounters. Those who could not make the transition, and thus become good agents, either quit or became trouble makers.

You been by the station this morning? Rafael opened. The black-haired Hispanic held a law enforcement degree from the same university as Hail – Texas State in San Marcos. His voice showed no trace of accent. They got kind of a war going on down in the northeast corner of Zavala County. Rafael showed a hint of humor in his handsome face, suggesting he’d like to join in the fun.

Zipping through Hail’s mind was relief that he hadn’t driven his pickup. It was exactly the sort of thing that would trap him into helping. I guess the sheriff and the rangers have it under control. He glanced away. Surely it don’t involve BP business. Of course it did.

Oh, hell yes, it does, Hail. Either dope smugglers trying to hold off the law or coyotes not wanting to surrender. The coyotes, pronounced coyoties, were the human smugglers. The BP wanted them more than the simple peasants seeking a better life. Only Watch Commander Henry is left at the station. Everybody else is down there, but we’re short on all-terrain vehicles. Rafael grinned. Reckon your Corvette could take them rocks?

No, it could not, and besides I’m off duty in case you forgot, Hail said curtly. If ya’ll are all right here, I’ll run into the station and express my regrets to Commander Henry. Then I’m off to San Antonio. Damn. Hail hated to lie but he hadn’t wanted even his mother to know he was going to Houston or why.

Oh, yeah. Can’t say as I blame you, Calvin said. That sweet thing Madelyn’ll be waitin’ for you. Good thing she likes older men. Calvin’s thumbs were hooked in his belt as he watched Hail retreat for his car.

Name’s Mattie, Hail said without looking back. I may be old I but got lots o’ spunk. Before Calvin or Rafael could form a comeback, Hail added. Tugger, keep these two away from the fire plugs. That’s your territory. The noisy Corvette roared to life with a puff of smoke.

At the Uvalde station Commander Weldon Henry glanced up from his desk. He rushed through his office door and took Hail’s hand. I guess you heard we’re shorthanded. I shore appreciate you coming in, Hail. The sixty-year-old chief was five feet, seven, stocky in build and showing some gut over his belt. He sported a gorgeous mane of white hair and a tanned face that made him look every bit the dignified law enforcement officer.

Hail knew the charm this man could exude. And he knew that Weldon Henry was using it now. He didn’t bite but he might have to give in. How many’s down there now, Weldon?

All six of our men from here. I’d like to close your permanent checkpoint to the west and your technical checkpoint down south and send those four men. We could use your canines too. But we need more than just those four. Of course, adding you will count for three good men, Hail. You don’t know how good it is to see you.

Hail scratched his hairline. Six of our guys already there, but the sheriff must have another ten, and then the Texas Rangers and the state troopers. I’ll bet there’s more people down there than there are shoppers in Uvalde right now.

Henry shook his head. I don’t think so. I can’t get any word from those other outfits. Each one wants to be in charge. Henry took Hail’s arm. You know damn well we know how to corner the smugglers and the coyotes. Somebody will get killed if we leave it to them. He tugged Hail’s sleeve. Here, let me show you what we’ve got. He led Hail into their conference room where large scale county maps adorned the four walls around a conference table with swivel chairs.

Too vain to wear glasses Henry strained to study the Zavala County map. Each county had its own map, but geographically, Zavala sat just south of Uvalde County. Let’s see, it’s right… here. He stabbed a finger down. I think the smugglers are holed up in that dry creek and there’s lots of caves along the walls. They could stay there for a week if they’ve got water, and a month if they got food. He studied Hail for a moment. Isn’t that about where your ancestors once ranched?"

Yeah, it’s close to that area. Hail leaned in without touching the map. You know, Weldon, if we get our helicopter down there ahead of the sheriff or the others that would just about put us in charge. You do have one on the way, don’t you?

Weldon Henry’s mouth dropped open. He stared. I, uh, I’ll call Laredo right now. He stepped lively for his desk and telephone. Damn, I’m glad I got you, Hail. Damn glad, damn glad. Now when the chopper gets there, he pointed with his left hand while pushing numbers with his right, I want you to fly it.

When a voice on the line distracted Henry, Hail returned to the map. Close to the area, nothing. The scene of the standoff is right on top of the old Stone ranch headquarters. He recognized the creek just south of the Uvalde County line, some of the most remote land in either county. Remnants of the adobe ranch house walls were still intact fifteen years ago when Hail visited. And, since the coin discovery, he had been craving to go back. Ah, hell, that little sawed off commander is gonna end up talking me into this. I just as well milk it for all it’s worth.

Hail paced around the room returning often to the Zavala map and the dry creek in the northeast corner. Henry stayed on the phone longer than Hail thought necessary. At last he hung up. Hail, he shouted. I got ‘em. Chopper’s on the way, Laredo’s boy will fly it out, and he understands that you’ll take over as soon as he touches the ground.

Weldon, I can’t take my Corvette down that god-forsaken road, and it’s not that I’m being stubborn. It’s four inches off the ground. You got another four-wheeler in the back?

Are you in that damned Corvette? When are you gonna grow up and get a real car? Ah, I guess the little lady in San Antone likes it. No, I meant for you to take your pickup. It’s four-wheel drive, isn’t it?

Yeah, it would have no problem, but, damn o Friday, Weldon, it’s brand new. I don’t want to come back with bullet holes and bent fenders. Can’t we rent a pickup?

Not time. Go to your house and get your pickup. You’ll get paid double mileage for hazardous duty, and I’ll personally guarantee that you don’t get a scratch. Well, the BP’ll personally guarantee it. They’re good about covering guys on things like that.

The BP was notoriously bad at reimbursing employees for damage to their own vehicles. Hail knew it; Henry knew it. But no time to argue. All right, Weldon, load out about six flats of water, some MRE rations, and some canned goods, and some canned soda’s from our supply room while I run get the truck. Unless you can tell me the boys took plenty of food and drink with them.

Not so much as a popsicle. Henry frowned. Aw, Hail, I appreciate you so much.

At the house he told Betsy that an agent needed help with his car out in the country and he had to change vehicles to help. She looked worried but didn’t ask more.

Back at the station, Henry had the water and food on the step ready to load. Hail backed up to the step and dropped the tailgate. While you’re loading the supplies, I’m going inside and get a few boxes of pistol ammo. And I’ll be praying that we don’t need it.

Right, Henry nodded. Now before I forget, the chopper will probably get there before you do, and he’ll look for you coming in on the dirt road. He will set down wherever he sees you driving rather than fly right into danger.

Weldon, that was some good plannin’. You’re right. It’s about thirty miles of rough road. A chopper can fly from Laredo quicker than I can drive it.

When Hail emerged with the ammunition Henry told him the incoming reports said eight to twelve hostiles were in, or near, the creek. They probably had some small off-road vehicles and they definitely had weapons. They had fired on BP personnel. The two shook hands. Hail gunned the accelerator and drew satisfaction as the V-8 power hurled him forward.

***

Hail had a free run getting through Uvalde proper because apparently every law enforcement officer in the county was down in Zavala County looking for a little action. The red pickup hit seventy MPH just past Highway 90, and when he cleared the south city limits the back wheels fishtailed as the speedometer topped 100. He hit the Traction Control button but surmised that slowing to 80 helped more as he took an S curve just out of town. My God, what the Stone family must have endured to come into town, what? Once a year?

He spun left off of State Highway 117, now on dirt and gravel, and splashed through a low water crossing of the Leona River, the canyon, the plain, the sotol, the brush. Maybe Mitt Stone and his papa were not real bright, or maybe this country looked more promising when they came here in about 1859.

Hail knew the road. At one stretch he hit no curves and no changes in elevation for fifteen miles. Adrenaline kept him alert, and the little war was too far away to promote fear. He glanced left and right, spotting an antelope here and there, and lots of Brahman cattle, but mainly he looked skyward for a white and green helicopter that, he hoped, would be looking for him.

When he entered the shallow canyons that foretold the creek that would curve east to north and encircle the old Stone place he slowed. The helicopter should be here by now. It had been forty minutes. He didn’t want to drive into the potential war theatre and draw the aircraft into it. When he felt his new Ford F-150 drop into a deep depression he sensed that he would soon be crossing the dry ditch of the creek, some three quarters of a mile before arriving at ground zero. He slid to a stop, threw the automatic transmission into reverse and spun the wheels to back up to high ground. He could only wait. Where’s that damned chopper?

Thinking he had a few minutes, come what may, he shifted his smart phone from its sturdy sheath and speed dialed Mattie’s number. No Service appeared on the screen. He studied the bars at the upper left. Instead of showing four, as he had thought, it showed none. He remembered. This was the deadest cell phone reception area in the United States. I hope CB Radio works.

From where he sat in the pickup a limestone mesa loomed to some three hundred feet in height. Below, the dry creek, filled with abundant gravel, suggested that in a flash flood this little unproductive tributary to the Frio River could become a monster. He glanced at his watch. Where the hell… The drone of an unnatural sound cancelled his thoughts. He was in a tight spot. No chopper could land here. He cranked the truck and wheeled it left to make a U-turn for higher ground, and possibly a landing place. The right front tire dropped into a hollow and a dull moan of a crumpling aluminum fender abused his ears. He would have to get creative on his travel voucher.

Above the canyon of the creek, indeed flat land existed. It was covered with greasewood, prickly pear, and ocotillo. He surveyed the terrain. The incoming chopper could set down on the road itself, just behind Hail’s position. He stepped out and began waving, double-handed, feeling the rush of air on his face. The co-pilot gave a thumbs-up. He motioned for them to land on the road. It was wide enough that even if the outer blade width hit a few greasewoods, no harm would be done. Again the co-pilot signaled. The aircraft moved quickly to Hail’s right and descended to the roadway, at last settling on the uneven surface. The blades slowed.

The two pilots, themselves BP agents, shook Hail’s hand. Alex Turner wore blackout shades and a pilot’s helmet. His broad shoulders said he had been an athlete in school. His partner, Bill Papas, wore the same glasses and had an AR-15 assault rifle slung across his back. Both seemed to admire Hail as an ace pilot, veteran of many combat actions. He said, It’s not that, boys. It’s just that my boss in Uvalde insisted that I fly the chopper into the zone, but I’m not so hung up on that as I am on getting’ this job done right. First thing is, I don’t want a chopper at all. I want two of us to go in as close as possible in my truck. I’ve got food for the troops, so to speak. They’ve been out here all day with nothing. Alex, you stay with the chopper. Take off if anything in the world spooks…

Pow!

A bullet ripped through the safety glass cockpit globe inches behind the standing pilots. Shall I crank up, Cpt. Stone? Alex asked.

No, you’d sure enough be a sitting duck. Hail ripped out his revolver as he spoke. Head for that bank. He pointed to a bluff alongside the road that would offer protection from a shooter on the mountain. Spread out. Fire up the mountainside to keep them down. His companions lost no time. Alex Turner came up double-handed with his H&K P2000 handgun. Pop – pop – pop – pop. Semiautomatic .40 caliber rounds burst from his side arm as he ran. Bill Papas whipped the AR-15 from his shoulder. He fired, ran, fired again in quick bursts.

It worked but the chopper sat vulnerable. Leaned against the bluff Hail panted. I don’t think there’s that many of ‘em. They’d have riddled the chopper by now. I’ll go left, you two go right. Let’s rush him, or them. Go up screaming.

It was an awful order to men he didn’t know. Desperation. Make decisions even if you’re wrong, some idiot had said years ago, and now it was the only advice Hail could remember.

Hail had a commanding voice. He turned from his bluff sanctuary, screaming, You son’s o’ bitches. You’re done for. You’re gonna die. Here’s one for you, Pancho Villa! He fired into a vertical crevice near the crest. A scream came forth. The semi-automatic weapons drowned his sound. And here’s another."

Spat! That second shot was Hail’s rat shot round. Cripes! He gripped the weapon in both hands to fire again.

Three suspects, seventy yards away and on high ground, fled to Hail’s left. A blood-soaked sleeve adorned the right arm of one. Hail motioned for the other agents to hold their fire.

The smugglers trended back toward the old Stone family headquarters. Hail straightened. Now why in the world would those three come back this way and climb that mountain? He drew a long breath. Bill, you and I will get in the air and watch ‘em. I think they’ll head back to the creek with their comrades. Alex, here’s my keys. Drive slow and watch the chopper. Also watch ahead. If you see any BP vehicles, or other law enforcement, stop. It’s not far to the standoff. They’ll recognize my red pickup and come to you. I’m counting on the smugglers being beyond our guys.

Following Commander Henry’s orders, Hail flew. Maybe