Dobe’s Ride
©2014-Thomas C. Dugas (e m a i l)
The bacon started to sizzle in the pan as the smoke
curled towards the ceiling. Dobe bent over
the heavy wood table and sliced a few more strips off the side of cured pork
belly. Plenty enough for him and Manny
for their simple breakfast he thought.
He moved the slab of meat off to the side and made a mental note to
return it to the smokehouse after breakfast.
Dobe’s eyes were focused on the wall
behind the old woodstove as he waited for the meal to finish cooking. A long ride ahead was what he was
thinking.
Hoof steps outside the door announced
the arrival of Manny with their two saddled horses. Dobe slid the bacon and fried eggs into the
scarred blue plates and set them on the table.
He returned to the woodstove for the coffee pot and then sat at the
table, filling both tin cups to the brim with steaming liquid. Manny walked in and sat across from
Dobe. He bowed his head for a few
moments, crossed himself and looked Dobe in the eye and said “Gracias Senor
Grant.” Dobe returned the look with a slight nod.
With no further words, both men began to
eat. In minutes both were finished. Dobe and Manny transferred their dishware to
the nearby sink and Dobe said “Manny, let’s go.” Both men turned and walked out the small
adobe ranch house silently. Dobe looked
at the breaking dawn, still another hour away.
Without any further hesitation, Dobe swung up into his saddle and turned
the frisky roan towards the trail that led South off the Pea Patch…the shortest
route into Mexico. Dobe didn’t bother
looking back, he knew the chances of his safe return were fairly low and his
mind was set on the serious business that lay ahead.
His mind returned to the previous night
as he stood before the old suitcase he had dragged in from the hiding place on
the ranch. Inside were a collection of handguns that Dobe thought of as his
working pistols. A hard rubber gripped
Colt 1873 Peacemaker in 45 Colt was the first pistol he removed from the
case. The bluing was still strong along
the 5 ½” barrel, but the high points showed honest wear in the 18 years since
Dobe had acquired it. He opened the
gate, checked the action, gently lowered the hammer and then placed it on a
nearby table. Rolled up in the case was
an old leather gun belt. The loops were
empty, but the belt was clean and the leather well cared for. Dobe placed it next to the Colt on the
table. He stopped for a moment and
stared into the case and then abruptly removed a cloth wrapped bundle. Opening it revealed another Colt Single
Action, also in 45 Colt, but with a slightly shorter barrel. He placed it next to the first Colt. Closing the case he turned to the bench and
began cleaning both pistols. After
quickly disassembling them, he cleaned each carefully before putting them back
together. A quick function check revealed
both were in perfect working order. The
shorter 4 ¾” Colt felt familiar in his hand.
Dobe raised his arm up and sighted along the top of the frame and the
front blade neatly covered a dark spot on the wall across the room. The front sight didn’t waver. The hammer fell on an empty chamber.
Finished with his cleaning ritual, Dobe
reached up to an overhead shelf and removed two heavy plain boxes. Their end flaps carried the simple scrawl “45
Hand loads.” Dobe opened the first box
and began loading the gun belt loops one at a time with the big lead
bullets. He picked up the short Colt and
gently moved the hammer two clicks back and opened the loading gate. Loading one round, he skipped the next hole
and then loaded the next four. He moved
the hammer to full cock and then lowered the hammer on the empty chamber. He repeated this ritual with the other
Colt. The longer of the two slid into
the holster and Dobe dogged the loop of leather over the hammer spur. The other Colt went inside a small leather
saddlebag. Dobe paused for a minute and
then returned to the small closet that held his other firearms. Reaching inside he quickly found what he was
looking for, the Winchester 1894 rifle that his father had purchased in 1902 on
a trip to Amarillo. Dobe rarely had a
need for the long barreled arm, but this was one of those times that called for
it. He quickly checked the rifle over
and was satisfied with it. He walked
back to the bench and laid the rifle on the rough boards. He reached up to the shelf and removed two
boxes marked “.30WCF” and both went into the saddlebag.
Dobes’ mind returned to the present and
he shifted in the saddle, getting comfortable for the long ride ahead. Following a few horse lengths behind, Manny
watched Dobe as they moved through the scrub brush on the ranch. Off to his left Manny heard a calf bawling
for its mother, ready for breakfast.
Manny’s eyes returned to the trail that was getting easier to see as the
dawn broke.
Dobe had not spoken as to the reason for
the sudden trip. Manny was cleaning the
hooves of one of the ranch horses the previous evening when he looked up and
saw Dobe standing near him by the gate to the corral. As soon as Manny made eye contact Dobe simply
said “Manny, tomorrow morning at first light I’m leaving for Mexico. If you’re of a mind to, I’d like you to come
along for the first part of the trip.”
Manny had not hesitated and said “Si, Dobe, I will come.” Without another word, Dobe turned and walked
back to the small adobe ranch house and went inside. Manny didn’t need to be told which horses to
prepare. He knew Dobe would want the big
gray roan, and he would ride “Loco” his favorite saddle horse. Manny walked over to the saddle rack and
started preparing the tack they would need for the trip. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dobe exit
the house and disappear into the sage brush.
About 15 minutes later Dobe returned to the house carrying a dusty
leather satchel. Manny knew then and
there this was no ordinary trip. Dobe
only kept one thing in those cases scattered about the ranch. The guns he didn’t want to lose and the ones
he trusted the most.
Both men rode in silence for the new few
hours, needing few words to communicate as they moved through the range that
kept Dobes’ cows fed. Near noon Dobe
spotted a windmill and watering tank that marked the spot he’d been riding
towards. Soon they rode up under the
shelter of a cottonwood tree and tied off the horses. Manny removed the saddles and Dobe quickly
started a small fire. Walking over to
the stock tank Dobe filled the blackened coffee pot with fresh well water and
returned set it on a flat rock near the fire.
Manny brought up a small cloth sack that held deer jerky and both men
stretched out beneath the shade of the tree.
It wasn’t as hot as Dobe thought it would be, a front had passed though the
South Texas area the previous night and it brought with it cooler temperatures
and small isolated rainstorms. The area
they were in had missed the rain, but benefitted from the cooler temperatures.
After their simple meal, both men dozed
in the heat of the day while the hobbled horses nibbled the sparse grass.
Dobe woke with a start about an hour
later. He didn’t like sleeping during
the day, but they needed to cross the border at night and Dobe knew they would
be riding most of the night to put plenty of distance behind them. The horses
needed to be fresh for the ride ahead, so he wasn’t pushing them hard. Dobe
didn’t want to linger near the border, he knew from experience the best way to
cross into Mexico was to cross at night, and then move quickly into the
interior. Dobe wanted to be twenty miles
from the border before dawn. That was
his plan.
Dobe stood and stretched out the kinks
in his back as Manny did the same. Manny
moved off to saddle the horses while Dobe packed their camp gear back into the
old saddlebags. Dobe kicked dirt over
the fire and strapped on his gun belt.
He lifted the Colt out of its holster and gave it a quick check. Everything was fine and he returned the
revolver to its normal place and lifted the thong over the hammer.
Soon both men were back in the saddle
and moving South again at a steady gait.
The landscape was beginning to change slightly and Dobe noted they were
less than fifteen miles from the Rio Grande River, the crossing Dobe was aiming
for. Dobe wanted to be in a certain spot
about four miles from the river before sundown.
He knew from experience that they were right on schedule to arrive when
he wanted. Dobe lifted his hat and wiped
his forehead with his sleeve, and placed the hat back on. He gently tapped the big roan in the flank
and the horse picked up the pace just a bit.
Manny saw Dobe urge his horse on and
wondered why the old rancher was in a hurry.
Plenty enough time to figure it out.
To be continued...