Ryder

By Grey Stone

In the spring of 1865, while serving as a Union Army scout, William Will F. Ryder had seen enough to turn his stomach! The abuse of the Navajo Indian nation made him cringe each time he heard a whip pop or saw a soldier strike an Indian brave with a rifle butt. Colonel Zachary Carlsons unit was sometimes brutal as they marched the Navajo Indians at gunpoint from their beloved sacred mountains near Canyon de Chelly, Arizona, to Bosque Redondo, New Mexico.

Thats when he determined enough is enough! He had no regrets as he saddled his paint stallion, Captain, and headed for Texas. He knew the risk involved as he traveled alone. Little did he know his life would be changed forever. A psycho killer was on the loose in Eastern New Mexico. By chance, Will Ryder would become involved as the killer terrorized the citizens of Hondo, along with ranchers throughout the area!

Ryder stood six foot three inches and covered all the ground he stood on. He was not afraid to take chances when necessary, sometimes depending on his .44 Henry rifle or his .44 Colt sidearm to settle life issues. These dangers included warring Indians, buffalo hunters, bullies, drunks, rattlesnakes, and a psycho, blood-thirsty killer! He would take on all comers, not necessarily in that order.

In the days, months, and years ahead, he sought only peace with all mankind. Along lifes trail, he encountered the beautiful Claudia Marie Watson, owner of the Silver Top Ranch. At first meeting, little did he know she would become a big part of his life. Let the story begin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546204411

Grey Stone

BURT NORTHCUTT, a.k.a., Grey Stone, was born in San Angelo, Texas and was taught the 'Cowboy Way' at a very early stage. Life along the Concho River in Tom Green, County, Texas left an indelible impression which would be everlasting. The West Texas plains, New Mexico, Arizona, and California forged a template which helped temper his life style through the years. In addtion, folks he met along the trails assisted in establishing memories of how it used to be! Hopefully, this fictional novel will help others in remembering the old west. SADDLE UP!

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RYDER

by

Grey Stone

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© 2017 Grey Stone. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/23/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-0440-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-0442-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-0441-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017912557

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Acknowledgment

Acknowledgments

Ack.jpg

Portrait Photographer

Fort Worth, TX 76109

Brock Stevens

Country Western Recording Artist

Fort Worth, TX 76123-1997

The Last Cowboy

Poem

By Morgan Marie Northcutt

Granbury, TX 76049

Dedication

This work is dedicated to my wife, Myra Lee Sowell of Johnson County, Texas. Since October 11, 1975, she has encouraged me to ‘set pen to paper’; which allowed the ‘Grey Stone’ stories to become a part of American literature.

Burt Northcutt, a.k.a., Grey Stone

Prologue

In the Spring of 1865 while serving as a Union Army Scout, William (Will) F. Ryder had seen enough to turn his stomach! The abuse of the Navajo Indian Nation made him cringe each time he heard a whip pop or saw a soldier strike an Indian Brave with a rifle butt. Colonel Zachary Carlson’s unit was sometimes brutal as they marched the Navajo Indians at gunpoint from their beloved sacred mountains near Canyon De Chelly, Arizona to Bosque Rendondo, New Mexico.

That’s when he determined enough is enough! He had no regrets as he saddled his paint stallion, Captain, and headed for Texas. He knew the risk involved as he traveled alone. Little did he know his life would be changed forever. A psycho killer was on the loose in Eastern New Mexico. By chance, Will Ryder would become involved as the killer terrorized the citizens of Hondo, along with ranchers throughout the area!

Ryder stood six foot three inches and covered all the ground he stood on. He was not afraid to take chances when necessary, sometimes depending on his .44 Henry Rifle or his .44 Colt side arm to settle life issues. These dangers included warring Indians, buffalo hunters, bullies, drunks, rattlesnakes and a psycho blood thirsty killer! He would take on all ‘comers’; not necessarily in that order.

In the days, months and years ahead he sought only peace with all mankind. Along life’s trail he encountered the beautiful, Claudia Marie Watson, owner of the Silver Top Ranch. At first meeting, little did he know she would become a big part of his life. Let the story begin.

Chapter One

It was near dark when Jake Clankston, ranch hand for the Union Ranch near Carrizozo, New Mexico, rode up on the campsite. As Clankston approached the campfire, it was glowing dim and the body underneath the poncho was not moving.

His quick observation of the area confirmed someone knew a lot about setting up a campsite which would provide both cover and concealment against all intruders. The stranger had built his camp on the west bank of the Rio Hondo river to afford himself the best protection possible. Most travelers knew the Mescalero Indians had been on rampage ever since the white man’s attack in Canyon De Chelly Valley. It was not safe to travel alone.

The big paint stallion standing near the river’s edge began nickering and stomping his right front foot, truly an effort to tell his master he had company; still the body image underneath the poncho was not moving. Based on past experience, when Clankston rode up to a camp in daylight or in the light of a campfire he was normally greeted with some sign of welcome. Not this time.

The coffee pot and cooking utensils were scattered as though a fight had occurred. Suddenly, he heard the lever action of a rifle, probably a .44 Caliber Henry. With the poncho thrown back, he viewed a white man with angular features staring him down.

Friend, that’s far enough!

The voice was course, truly a mature male voice spoken with authority. One of Clankston’s guesses was correct. The rifle was a .44 Caliber Henry repeating rifle ready for business at a moments notice.

Easy there cowboy, Clankston said.

Mister dismount slowly, keep those hands high as you step on mother earth.

Cowboy, I’m not a trouble maker. I’m a ranch hand working the Union Ranch spread. You’ve camped on Union Ranch land.

When the Cowboy slowly lowered the rifle, a faint smile came across his face. Well, I have to be honest. I’m glad to see a friendly face. I’ve been playing hide-and-seek with five Mescaleros for the last three days. I hope they’re not friends of yours; I had to kill three of them two days up river.

As the man stood, he towered at six feet three inches and weighed at least two-hundred pounds.

He looked like a cowboy who could take care of himself in any situation no matter what the odds might be. He wore a large black mustache complimenting his long black hair. Holding the rifle now aimed at Clankston’s belly, Clankston noticed his left forearm was twice the size of his right forearm.

Cowboy, how’d you come by the large left forearm?

"Seems as though your Diamond Back rattlesnakes here on the Union Ranch are not too friendly.

As I was cutting cedar for the camp fire, I got careless and the big fellow over there decided to take me on. As you can see I won, but he put up one helluva fight."

Is that the reason all your cooking gear are scattered about?

You got it! It got a little busy around here for a few minutes.

Are you going to make it with the swollen arm?

Yeah, no problem. I’m right handed.

You proved your point when you pulled down on me with the Henry!

I’m sorry, with all the excitement I failed to introduce myself. I’m William F. Ryder. Those who know me call me, Will.

Good to meet you, Will. I’m Jake Clankston. I work for Mr. Eric McCord who owns the spread, all thirty thousand plus acres.

How many Mescaleros does McCord have on this spread?

Not any we know about. We’ve heard a little bit about some of the problems with the Navajos over in Arizona and the Northwest area, but no major problems around here. Did you come upon a hunting party and interfere with a buffalo hunt? I understand some of the Mescaleros are starving.

No, it was not a hunting party.

Where did you first meet up with the five of ’em?

They jumped me about five miles Southwest of Lincoln.

Clankston thought for a moment, Well they could have been on McCord’s land. In your travels have you seen any downed steers?"

No, I jumped two young deer about a mile back.

Being more inquisitive, Clankston asked, By the way, where did you come from and where are you heading?

For the last eighteen months I’ve been doing a little work for the Union Army over in Northeast Arizona, Canyon de Chelly, to be exact. I was heading for Texas when I met up with the rattlesnake. I have to admit the big fellow slowed me down a bit.

Are you a Scout?

Well, let’s put it this way, I’ve scouted for a few years.

Smiling, Clankston started helping Will rearrange the campsite by picking up the cooking gear and putting more wood on the campfire.

Tell you what, I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee. I’ve got some grub and smokes in my saddle bags.

Sounds good to me, Will replied.

Seemed as though Will was beginning to feel at ease and comfortable with Clankston’s presence. Will Ryder thought ‘There’s something about a fresh brewed cup of coffee made with river water that helps settle one’s nerves.’

Chapter Two

At first light of day, they broke camp and headed toward the Union Ranch headquarters. It would be a full two days ride to reach the ranch house; thereby giving Captain, Will’s paint stallion and Rowdy, Clankston’s horse ample opportunity to become acquainted. The long ride was not without incident since each horse was spirited. After a few bucks and nipping at each others neck, the two horses finally settled down. That’s about the time Will Ryder learned of the Drover Hotel in Hondo and Mabel, along with some of the other girls who were working hard to make a living. Clankston made sure Will understood they had to go directly through Hondo to reach the McCord place.

As the two men rode side by side, they continued with conversation and realized their backgrounds were somewhat similar. Each had kin in Kentucky who had been killed in the Civil War.

In turn, they both moved West before the war started, choosing not to be a part of the inner conflict between the states. Their discussion finally led to the Indian problems existing between the United States Government and the Navajo Nation.

Clankston asked, Will, what happened?

I saw too much!

I don’t understand what you’re talking about.

Are you familiar with Colonel Carlson’s company and what happened in Arizona?

No, now-a-days it’s hard to keep up with what’s going on. I receive a letter about every two months from relatives back East. Seldom do I encounter anybody coming from the Arizona territory. Tell me what happened.

"I was hired to scout certain sections of the sacred canyon De Chelly valley. I saw Chiefs, braves, squaws and children marched at gunpoint from their homes. They were peaceful people just trying to scratch out a living. Sometimes the braves and squaws were beaten if they failed to obey a soldiers order. As they were marched over six hundred miles to a parched desolate reservation they were abused. Our native Americans did not deserve broken treaties and abuse.

Let’s say it just didn’t work out. I didn’t agree with Colonel Carlson’s tactics. That’s when I decided to cut a trail for Texas!"

Okay, guess I was prying. We’ve got another three miles to go before we reach Hondo. We’ll stay at the Drover Hotel. If you like we’ll buy a shave, bath and spend the night. Haven’t been there in about six months, but the last time I was there I met Mabel. We had a few drinks and I lost my ass in a poker game. By the time Mabel finished with me and the poker dealer got through taking my money, I felt like I had been ridden hard and put up wet!

Clankston, you paint a vivid picture. I believe I understand what happened.

It was dusk when they tied their horses in front of the Hondo Livery Stables. The proprietor,

Harvey Fisher greeted them with a smile.

"You fellows come far today?

Yeah, far enough to get a sore butt. How much for feeding, currying and bedding the animals down for the night? Clankston asked.

Two bits each, that’ll include the hay. Do you fellows work for the McCord outfit?

Clankston smiling, I do. We’ll be riding out to the Union Ranch in the morning. I hope my friend here will sign on after he meets McCord.

Well, for sure you work for a good outfit. On occasion, I’m called on to do some shoe fitting for some of the McCord Mustangs, remarked Fisher."

After storing their saddle bags and blankets, it was time for a shave and a bath. All the while Clankston was talking about Mabel. With the personal hygiene issues resolved they moved down to the Drover Bar where they gulped down their first shot of red-eye whiskey. As usual the piano player was banging out loud music in a smoked fill room. While standing at the bar they could over hear the cowboys talking about the dance hall girls and some of their traits. Will Ryder recommended they move to a bar room table and relax. He didn’t have to make the recommendation twice. Seated they pushed back their hats and leaned back in their chairs while awaiting the ladies of the night.

Will, on our ride in I asked if you’d ever done ranch work. I really wanted to know if you ever did any bronc busting.

Yeah, I’m pretty good. I did a little ‘busting’ over near Socorro, New Mexico a couple years back . Why do you ask?

Smiling Clankston said, Oh, I just thought it would be good if you could set a bronc. McCord runs about fifteen hundred mustangs and about half of those critters ain’t broke! I’m a bronc buster, that’s part of what I do for a living.

By this time, Will Ryder was feeling the influence of the third round of whiskey. Hell, we haven’t got a problem with bronc busting if the pay is good. I can ride the best of ’em!

That’s good to know ‘cause McCord is always looking for a man who can handle a rope and set a horse, answered Clankston.

With a wide eyed look Will asked, Oh, are the mustangs wild? I thought you might be talking about tame mustangs. The two men shared a laugh.

The Drover Hotel was owned by Mickey McGilvary, a man of Irish decent. He was honest and was known for being fair and for keeping order in the Drover Hotel Bar. As McGilvary came down the stairs he spotted Clankston and headed for his table.

Smiling, McGilvary said, Welcome, my friend. Mabel will be down shortly. Who’s your friend?

McGilvary, meet my new friend, Will Ryder. Will is from the Arizona territory and I’m gon’na line him up a job with the McCord outfit.

It’s good to meet you Will Ryder. You say you’re from the Arizona territory. I’ve heard bad things are happening with the Navajos. Have you heard anything about what’s going on?

I believe what you have heard is probably true. It’s a bad situation, since the tribes are being moved to the Bosque Redondo area.

McGilvary pulled up a chair to the table. Damn, that’s not good! Tell me more.

With a stern look, Ryder continued. I won’t go into a lot of detail; however best said, the Indians are really suffering. A long story short, they are being forced by gunpoint and some of them are near starvation. I know that to be fact since I’ve seen it with my own eyes!.

McGilvary continued his questioning. You say the Union Army is making a forced march by gun point. Is that correct?

Mister McGilvary, you got it! Will Ryder nodded.

McGilvary asked, How many are they moving?

Pulling his hat forward on his