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The Trader

By: Muleskinner
Chapter 1

It's been six months, and you have managed to survive. With the
food, that old Springfield your dad had left you, and ammo you kept
at your brothers farm, your family has made it this far. You did
some hunting, and the smoke house is full of venison. You even
managed to raise a small garden, setting up at night guarding it
from varments, both human and critters.

The groups of people walking along the road had stopped, and you
havn't seen a vehicle go by for two months. The Sheriff came by a
few days ago, on a horse. He wanted to know how many of you
were left, and to let you know that there would be a meeting a the
old High School at the end of the month. He also mentioned that
you could trade for food, clothes and medicine at the old Tavern at
the crossroads.

You and your brother had pooled together everything that you
could do without. A box and a half of .12 guage shells, two old
skinning knives, an old pair of winter boots that didn't fit anybody
in the family, fourteen dollars in silver coins, and a side of smoked
venison. You wrapped it all in an piece of tarp and lashed it to an
old Army packboard. Your wives had made up a list of the things
they needed, sugar, coffee, salt, sewing thread, candles, and some
socks for the kids. It was over fifteen miles to the Tavern, and you
planned to get an early start in the morning. You would be going
alone, because your brother had to stay at home an watch over the
family.

It was getting dark, and your feet were blistered and sore. You had
left the farm before daylight, and had been walking all day. You had
hidden in the brush along the road once, as horsemen rode by.
They looked like a rough bunch, and you hadn't let them see you.
Your family needed the things on that list, and you wern't going to
let them down. You heard the voices comming from the Tavern
before you saw it. It was dark now and there had been no electricty
for months. When the door opened a glow of lantern light fell
across the old gravel parking lot out front. There were some horses
tied off to one side, and it looked like maybe a few tents in the
woods beside the building.
When you stepped inside you moved to your left, not wanting to
frame yourself in the doorway. It smelled like food cooking, damp
clothes, leather, sweat, and old cigarette smoke inside. There were
three men setting at the bar, drinking from large mugs. Two of
them were dressed much like you were, leather boots, canvas pants,
wool coats, and ball caps. One sat away from the others at the end
of the bar, he wore and old suit coat, a dirty white shirt., patent
leather dress shoes, and no hat. When he looked your way, you
could see his puffy face, shiney with sweat, and a three day growth
of beard. You recognized him, he used to sell used cars at the lot in
town.

The bartender called out to you, "Supper will be ready in a few


minutes. Do you want something to drink?" She was a tall redhead,
not heavy and not thin, solid came to mind. She looked like she
could take care of herself. But she smiled, when she talked, and
seemed friendly enough. "No thanks, I am carrying my own food."
you replied. "I am looking to do some trading."

The redhead nodded toward a alcove to the left of the bar. There
was a lantern hanging from the ceiling, and a few trade goods
spread out on a table. As you walk toward the alcove you notice a
slight movement from the shadows behing the table. A figure
moves into the light. He looks to be in his fifties, an old felt slouch
hat covers his head, with gray hair showing around the sides. His
face is weathered from the elements, and he wore and old wool coat
that hung down past his hips. As you get closer you notice the
handle of a large knife showing from under his coat on the left side.
And there is a bulge under his left arm.

You can't see it, but the bulge under his arm is a stainless steel,
bone handled .44 mag, with a three inch barrel. Loaded with 250 gr
hard cast wadcutters. The old man had loaded them himself, and
they would shoot through a four inch oak door. He looked up as
you drew near. "Are you the trader?" you asked. "Sometimes." he
replied. "Have a seat." as he motioned to the bench across from
him. "My friends call me Muleskinner, what can I do for you?"
Chapter 2

The frost comes early at 7500 feet. So I had the garden harvested,
and the vegatables in the root cellar by the first week of September.
I had smoked half of the meat from a cow elk, and canned the rest.
We had a good rock house, a root cellar, and a barn full of hay. We
had enough firewood stacked for three winters, and I had enough
diesel stored to run the generator two hours a day for the next five
years. Two hours a day will keep everything in the freezer frozen,
and pump enough water for the house and animals.

It was the 15th of October and I had been on the trail for three
days. It was seventy five miles from the ranch to Springerville. I was
riding about twenty miles a day, just poking along and letting the
mules eat as they traveled. I had five big mules, one to ride and
four to pack. My lead mule Scooter, carried the chuck boxes and my
bedroll. The other three Skeeter, Amos, and Jackie, carried my trade
goods. The wife and I had seen the end comming, so we had put
away a lot of goods that we thought we could use for trade goods
later. The storage room in the barn was stacked full of these goods.
Cases of canned food, toilet paper, soap, whiskey, asprin, cold
medicine, salt, pepper, all of the little things that people want and
need to get by every day. To this I added dried and smoked meat,
home made wine, rawhide, and tanned leather.

So when I decided to go to town, I was hauling a big load of trade


goods. We didn't really need anything from town. But my wife's
birthday was comming up, and I was looking for something special
for her. And I wanted to get some news, we hadn't heard much
about what had happened. The power had gone off one afternoon,
and hadn't come back on.

I knew a retired Deputy Sheriff who lived on the edge of town, and I
wanted to get to his place before dark. He had a five acre pasture
next to his house. It was well fenced, and you could see all of it
from the back door. So I figured it would be safe to keep the mules
there. I knew I could stay with my friend for a few days, and take my
time trading my goods.

We hadn't had any trouble at the ranch, but I had heard rumors
about gangs of looters. I was a little worried about leaving my wife
alone at the ranch. We had a good neighbor who lived within
walking distance. He would be over every day to help with the
chores, and keep an eye on things. And the dogs would let her
know if anybody was lurking around. You can't sneak up on a pack
of hounds. She wore her house gun everywhere she went, even
when doing household chores. I knew she could shoot her Ruger
Redhawk .44 mag, as well as I could. And there was a twelve gage
pump shotgun next to each door in the house.

I arrived at my friends place about an hour before dark. I rode into


the yard, and pulled up the mules. I didn't get down, I just sat there
with my hands on the saddle horn. "Hello in the house." I called out.
"Hello your own damm self." The voice was behind me and to my
left. I didn't move my hands, and without looking around said. "You
don't miss a trick do you?" My friend laughed and said, "It will be a
cold day in hell, when somone can ride up to my house. And me not
see them comming a mile away. Put those mule up, and come on up
to the house." He still hadn't moved from behind cover, and I knew
he wouldn't. If someone was watching he didn't want to give away
his hiding place. There was a tunnel from the basement of the
house to the old garden shed about fifty yards out in front of the
house.

Chris and I had worked together for over ten years, chasing
smugglers, thieves, killers, and drug dealers. We had even found
time to get a little work done. I turned the mules out into the
pasture, and put the saddles and goods in the barn. Then carrying
my rifle and bedroll, I walked up to the house. The back door led
into a large screened in pourch. I could smell frying chicken, and
apple pie. Chris's wife called out for me to come in. And their two
teen age boys met me at the door. They were spitten images of
their father, and at fifteen and sixteen years old, nearly as big as he
was.

As I stepped into the kitchen, Chris was comming up the stairs from
the basement. He was wiping the dust off a jug of cider, and
grinning from ear to ear. "I was wondering when you would show
up." he said, as he set the jug down he grabbed my arm and shook
my hand. Nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process. "I see you
are still riding that mule we broke three years ago."

"Yeah" I answered, "If I ride one of the others, she won't let me
catch her for a week." "You would think that she owns me, instead
of the other way around." "What brings you to town?" he asked. "I
know we don't have anything here that you need. Remember I
helped you stock up out at the ranch." "Two things" I replied, " I
need to find a birthday present for my wife. And I was hoping to
pick up some news."

"Well the news is all bad." he snorted, "Nobody will give us a


straight answer, since the power went off. We heard they had bad
riots down in Phoenix. And you have to get a pass from the Sheriff
to travel." "I was hoping to do some trading, and pick up a nice
present." I replied. "That shouldn't be a problem" said Chris, they
have set up a regular trading post in the old tavern at the
crossroads. You should be able to get anything you need over
there."

"Come and eat, you two. You can talk later." his wife called from the
dining room.
Chapter 3

While we ate supper one of the boys went down into the basement,
then out to the tool shed to stand watch. When the other boy had
eaten he went to relieve him. They did this without being told, and
seemed proud that they were standing guard while their family ate.

Supper consisted of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas, and


fresh milk with pie for desert. Chris and the boys kept the family
and a few neighbors in fresh meat, and helped his wife tend the
garden. Chris told me that after the power went out, some people
actualy loaded up and went to Phoenix. They were hoping that
FEMA would take care of them, none of them ever returned. There
were plenty of private wells in town, so fresh water wasn't really a
problem. People pulled together, with generators, and pumps. And
after six months were adjusting to this new lifestyle.

After supper Chris and I visited until midnight. Then Chris went out
to relieve his oldest boy at guard. He always stood the watch from
midnight till four. Then his youngest the fifteen year old, relieved
him. They had been doing this since the first day without power,
and no one had ever bothered them. Chris would then sleep late. In
the morning the boys would do the chores, letting their father sleep
till nine or ten.

At midnight I went out to the barn to check on my mules, and bed


down. I don't feel right sleeping in someone else's house, even a
good friend's. I can't hear anything from inside a house, and I feel
trapped. When I got to the barn the mules met me at the gate. They
knew I always came out before bedtime. And they knew I would
have treats for them, little bits of dried apple. I took two small goat
bells from the chuck box, and hung them around Abby's and
Jackie's necks. I would sleep like a baby, with the sound of those
two bells dinging as they grazed. And if anything or anyone startled
them durning the night the change of the rythem in the bells would
wake me in an instant. Mountain men, sheep hearders, and mule
packers from Mongolia to the Rockey Mountains, have been using
this trick for hundreds of years.

It began to rain just before sunup, and I woke to the sound of rain
on a tin roof, I can't think of a better way to start a day. By the time
I got dressed and started for the house, it was raining like a cow
pissing on a flat rock. I stopped in the wood shed and grabbed an
arm load of firewood. When I entered the kitchen I was dripping
water on the floor, and steam was raising from my wool coat. Lisa
was fixing breakfast, eggs, bacon, and biscuits. And the coffee pot,
had just started to perk. Chris had just came in from his watch, and
had breakfast with us, although he didn't drink any coffee. So he
could get to sleep.

After breakfast I went back down to the barn. The mules met me at
the gate, wanting a treat and to have their backs scratched. I caught
up Abby, and Scooter. Abby is my saddle mule, and Scooter her full
brother is my lead mule when I am leading a string. I wanted to ride
into town, and go by the crossroads. I planned to do some trading
and wanted to meet the owner, and make arrangements. I would
leave the other mules in the pasture, knowing the boys would keep
and eye on them while I was gone. I brushed and saddled both
mules, and loaded Scooter with a light pack of trade goods. I really
liked these mules, they were two of the best I had ever owned. And I
knew that no one else could get near them, Abby would throw her
head up and began to bray if a stranger approached, and Scooter
would wheel around and do his best to kick their head off, if anyone
except my wife or I tried to touch him.

Before riding into town, I checked my weapons. My saddle gun is a


Marlin 30-30, it is light, fast to handle and deadly out to two
hundred yards. I wear a belt with fifty rifle rounds, and twenty
rounds of .44 magnum for my revolver. My seven and a half inch
Randall Model 1 hangs from this belt on my left side. My revolver is
a Ruger Redhawk Stainless Steel .44 mag. The barrel has been
shortened to three inches, and I carry it in a Jackass Shoulder
Holster under my left arm. On my right hip, on my pants belt is a
belt slide holster with a Springfield 1911A1. And in the small of my
back are four eight round stainless steel magazines. I don't
normally carry this much hardware, but when you go to town you
should be ready for a party.

The rain had slowed down to a soft drizzel, and as I rode through
the middle of town I noticed people doing their morning chores.
Men and boys carrying water and firewood, the women were inside
fixing breakfast. About half of the men, and even a few of the older
boys were wearing guns. A few stopped to look as I rode by, but no
one seem supprised to see a rider leading a pack mule. As I passed
the middle of town, a tall man wearing a gray Stetson, a badge, and
a long barreled revolver on his right hip stepped off the sidewalk,
and moved out to greet me. "Morning Sheriff" I said as he drew
near. "Good Morning" he said, as I pulled up the mules. "I didn't
know you were in town" he added, as he glanced at my eyes and the
bulges under my coat. It is an automatic thing with lawmen, even
with someone they know, they always check. It is one of many
habits that help to keep them alive.

"I got in yesterday, I am staying with Chris and his family." The
Sheriff and I had known each other for years. I had not worked in
this county, but we had met on business a few times over the years.
"I heard people do some trading at the crossroads." I said, "I am not
looking for anything in particular, but I do need a present for my
wife's birthday." The Sheriff pushed his hat back with his left hand,
and smiled. "Leave it to you to go shopping, with the whole country
going to hell." he said. "Most people are worried about where their
next meal will come from, and you go shopping for a birthday
present". "Well you know me Sheriff, I try not to get riled up over
every little thing that comes along." "Come see me before you leave
town." He added, "I have something I would like to talk over with
you. Maybe a job if you are interested." "I'll stop and see you before
I leave." I replied, as I clucked to the mules and rode off up the
street.

The old Tavern at the crossroads, was about two miles south of
town. There was a spring near by, and plenty of firewood. The
owner, a man named Gene Hicks had put in a wood fired cook
stove, and stayed in business. He served Beef stew, fresh bread and
strong coffee twice a day. Nobody had ever seen Gene buy any beef,
but his wife was a good cook and nobody asked any questions. All
the local ranchers always ate there when they were in town, and
joked about eating their own beef. Gene just smiled, and poured
more coffee.

As I rode up to the Tavern, I noticed a few tents in the brush about


one hundred yards from the kitchen door. There were a few smokey
fires burning among the tents. Three rough looking women stood
and watched as I rode up. There were two horses tied to a hitch rail,
near the front door. I tied my mules to a light pole away from the
horses, taking my rifle off the saddle, I went inside.
Chapter 4

He had been gone for five days, he always told me not to worry, but
I always do. Years ago when he had been a deputy, he would be
gone for days at a time. On a search and rescue, or sitting on a
smuggler trail. It's not like I don't have anything to do. Keeping the
fire smouldering in the smoke house. We had traded a horse colt for
two hogs, and the hams had been hanging in the smoke house for
the past week. Riding the fences every morning, the elk and deer
were always pulling them down.

Our neighbors are an old retired couple. Their place is approx a


quarter of a mile away. I always ride by and check on them, when I
go out to check the fence.

The garden plot is bare now, everything has been put up. We had
cleared the vines and stalks, then plowed manure into the ground,
getting it ready for next spring. All of our friends, had told me we
were crazy. Building a house way out here, ten miles from the
highway over a bad dirt road. I sometimes wonder how they have
fared, since the power went out. The house is built of field stone,
the walls are two feet thick, and the roof is covered with heavy
sheet metal. All of the windows are high on the walls, almost
hidden under the eaves. Two foot square, just big enough to crawl
through if you had to. My husband made them himself, two sheets
of half inch thick plexaglass, with an inch between them. They
opened to the inside, and are held closed with two small deadbolts.
A man with an rock, or club couldn't break them. You could shoot
through them, but they wouldn't shatter. There are heavy wooden
shutters on the outside.

The house is actually two houses, each wing is twenty four feet wide
by forty feet long. With a twenty foot covered breezway between
them. We live in one wing, and the other is for storage, and a work
shop. I have room for all of the garden stuff, and my hobbies. There
are two large wall lockers with my medical supplies, and
instruments. He has his loading bench, with a different press for
each caliber. The wall above the bench, is covered with tools, we
could repair anything we had. Or make anything we might need, if
we had to. The walls are covered with shelves, for all of our
supplies. Both wings have a bathroom, and a kitchen. Each kitchen
has a large chest freezer, we kept them full of elk, deer, or beef. We
have at least two of everything. The cook stoves are gas on the
right side, and wood on the left. We have a one thousand gallon
propane tank behind the house. We have been using it sparingly,
doing most of the cooking and water heating with wood. It might
have to last a long time. In the wing where we live, the walls are
covered with book shelves. With a large section for my medical
texts, and sections for canning, gardening, building trades, vet
medicine, and a general section of what my husband calls, good
stuff we might need to know.

In the breezeway we keep two cords of firewood stacked along the


sides, they look like a low wall from a distance. There is a big
wooden table in the middle, with benches along the sides. We eat
out there in the summer. There is always a breeze, and shade.

When the power went off, we switched to running the big diesel
generator two times a day. An hour each morning, and an hour at
night. This kept the freezers froze, and pumped water into the
storage tanks. The washing machine will run a load in about forty
five minutes. We hang the clothes on a line behind the house, so
the drying dosn't use any energy. We have five thousand gallons of
deisel fuel stored in two underground tanks, it is treated so it won't
go bad. If we are frugel this should last for five years. The tractor
runs on diesel as well, but we only use it two or three times a year.
To plow the garden in the spring, and turn it under in the fall.

The barn is one hundred yards west of the house, almost hidden by
the cedar trees, but both ends of the barn can be seen from the
front of the house. It is forty feet wide, and eighty feet long. It looks
like a huge quanset hut made of ribbed steel, with a cement floor.
There are large rolling doors at each end, you could drive through
it. Inside we keep the tractor, our travel trailer, all of our tack, and
feed for the horses. Along the north wall are two twenty foot long
conex containers, they are insulated and rat proof. There is a small
bathroom, with a shower, and a kitchen as well. The two conex
boxes are storage for our supplies, that won't be affected by
freezing. The walls are covered with metal shelves, and they are full
of supplies. It looks and smells like an old time general store. There
is dried food, (any foodstuffs that might freeze, are kept in the
house) medicine, clothes, shoes, cases of whiskey (it won't freeze),
cigaretts, cases of toilet paper, cases of feminine napkins, boot oil,
sharpening stones, cooking utensils, pots and pans, knives, saws,
axes, picks, shovels, hoes, and rakes.

Behind the barn are corrals, and a round pen for training. The
horses, and mules normally stay on the four hundred acres we lease
from our neighbor. We maintain the fences, and keep our horses,
mules, three cows and a bull on this land. This keeps our neighbors
taxes low. And we get free feed for our animals.

Approx fifty yards north east of the barn is the blacksmith shop,
and generator shed, it is three sided and open to the south. There
is a forge, anvil, and two steel work tables. The back wall is covered
with tools, many of them have been in the family for three
generations, and had been made by my husbands great
grandfather. We don't use the forge much, but our neighbor is a
retired machinist. And he is always tinkering, and making things.

Behind the shop are kennels for the hounds. We keep six redbone
hounds for hunting lion, and bear. Two of these hounds are tied up
near the house at night. We have two years of dried dog food stored
in barrels in the barn. We supplement this with cooked meat scraps.
Next to the kennels is the chicken coop. Fifty chickens and three
roosters, keeps us in eggs and fried chicken on sundays.

Behind the house, about one hundred yards to the east is the
smoke house, with a covered lean to on the side. We do all of the
buchering, and meat cutting out there. The smoke house is twelve
feet by twelve feet, with two foot thick rock walls, and a metal roof.
The fire box was built into the ground behind the building. It will
hold an elk, and a large steer at the same time. We burn mesquite,
and sometimes apple tree wood.

Next to the smoke house is a three sided wood shed, with twenty
five cords of mixed cedar, mesquite, oak, and juniper stacked
inside.

There is always something to do on a place like this. But it sure gets


lonely when he is away. I wonder what he is doing right now...

"What is that noise? That darn bear, better not be after my chickens
again. Man those hounds are making a racket." she says, as she
unsnaps the holster and pulls her five and a half inch Redhawk .44
magnum.
Chapter 5

All of the curtains were pulled back, and I could see into the Tavern
before I got to the door. There was a man and woman eating a meal
at one of the tables near the front windows. As I stepped through
the door, a bell above my head jingled and a woman's voice called
"Come on in, sit anyplace you like." I paused and looked around the
room. The back wall was covered with shelves, holding different
kinds of liquor. There was a door in the middle, leading back into
the kitchen. In front of the shelves was the bar, running the entire
length of the back wall. On the right side of the room were three
alcoves, one of them covered by curtians, and the other two were
open. There were two rows of boxes stacked in the center of the
room, on what had been the dance floor. They were cases of canned
food, Dinty Moore Beef stew, canned corn, green beans, and stewed
tomatoes. In the front near the windows were six tables.

I moved across the room and took a seat in the alcove nearest the
bar. Sitting where I could watch the front door, and the kitchen door
at the same time. Laying my rifle on the seat coushion near my right
hand. There were no lanterns lit, but with the curtians open, there
was plenty of light in the room. The couple eating near the front
finished and walked to the bar. A tall readheaded woman came out
from the kitchen, and tood their money. They seemed to be friends,
and talked for a few minutes before leaving. I watched as they
walked too the horses tied out front, then mounted up and rode
toward town.

The redhead walked over to my table with a pot of coffee and a cup.
As she poured she asked if I wanted sugar or canned milk. "It costs
extra, so we don't leave it on the tables" she said. "Sugar" I said "no
milk". She pulled two packes of sugar from a pocket on her apron,
and placed them next to the coffee. "We have biscuits and gravey"
she said, "no eggs today, the egg man hasn't showen up yet." "That
will be a dime for breakfast. I tell people that up front, so there is
no missunderstanding later." she said and stared at me waiting for
a reply. "I have heard that you do some trading here." I said. "Not
for the meals." she replied. "We have to pay cash for the food, so we
like to keep it seperate from the trade goods."

"I'll have the biscuits and gravey." I said, placing a silver dime on the
table. "Pay me when you are finished." she said, then added. "I
havn't seen you in here before. Are you traveling?" "I came to town
to do some trading." I replied. "I heard that this was the place to
come" "I have three mules loaded with trade goods, and would like
to set up for a few days and trade." "We set up a market in the
parking lot on sundays. Or if you like, you can set up in here, and
trade with the customers." "What will it cost me?" I asked. She
smiled and replied. "If you have stuff to sell, it will bring in more
customers. So I will make my money off them. What kind of stuff do
you have?" "I have one hundred pounds of dried Elk meat, six quarts
of Jack Daniels, fifty pounds of flour, twenty pounds of sugar, some
amunition, and the rest is mixed stuff. Some clothes, thread, asprin,
stuff like that."

After bringing my breakfast, she sat down across from me and said.
"I'll buy all of the whiskey, meat, and other food you have. You can
stay here and trade the rest with the customers. How much do you
want for it?" "I didn't think I would sell it all at once. Let me finish
my breakfast, and we will talk about the price." I replied. She turned
and walked back to the kitchen, and I ate my second breakfast of
the day.

I didn't have any idea what to ask for the groceries, and whiskey. I
hadn't done any trading since the power went off, and didn't really
know how much to ask. So I took my time eating, and when she
brought the coffe pot around, I asked. "Where have folks been
getting their groceries since the power went off? I have been out on
my ranch the whole time and this is my first trip to town, in six
months." She hesitated for a few seconds, then said. "The national
guard brings food to the old armory every two weeks. They escort
the trucks up from Phoenix, then stay and hand it out. You can get
flour, corn meal, powdered milk, and stuff like that. A few of the
ranchers have set up a butcher shop in town, they butcher a steer
every other day. Anything else people need, they trade with each
other, or come here."

Remembering the women, and the tents I had seen when I rode up,
I asked. "What all do you sell here?" She smiled, and replied "We
have anything a man wants, whiskey, food, and even
companionship. But, if you do any business with the girls, you pay
them. I charge them a flat fee, to camp here and work this place.
They don't have any other place to go. The Sheriff ran them out of
town, too many fights. And the good citizens, raised a fuss."
After I had finished breakfast, we sat down and made a deal on the
groceries. I charged her two hundred dollars in silver for the elk
meat, flour, and sugar. When I said I wanted fifty dollars, each for
the quarts of Jack Daniels, she balked. "Thats too much" she said.
"Well, thats how much I want. I can probably get more for it in town,
but I would like to get rid of it all at once." I replied. She finially
agreed to the price, and I told her I would bring the whole load
tomorrow morning. It was noon and a few people were comming in
to eat. She charged fifty cents for lunch, beef stew and fresh bread.
And did a pretty good business.

As I rode away, the girls all came out of their tents and stood
watching me leave. It was still early in the day, but they were ready
for business. They all smiled, but their eyes were hard and knowing.
And I didn't like the way they looked at my mules, and the pack. I
suspected a man could get more than food, drinks, and
companionship at the Tavern. If he wern't carefull he could loose
everything he had, and get a knife in the ribs to boot.

I wanted to stop and talk to the Sheriff before I went back to my


friends house. I had some questions about the redhead, and what
all went on at the tavern. And he had mentioned something about a
job.
Chapter 6

I didn't ride straight back to town. I wanted to make a circle and


look over the country. I headed west from the crossroads, and was
soon in a cedar and pinion thicket. Before long I heard the ring of
an axe, and smelled smoke. I pulled up and looked around
carefully, not wanting to ride into someone's camp unexpected.
Moving slowly, and watching ahead I soon saw two men felling a
dead pinion pine. There were three or four other trees already
laying on the ground. I had ridden into a wood cutters camp.

As I drew closer I could see the entire camp, two wall tents, and a
huge stack of firewood. The trees were cut into three foot lengths,
then split into pieces approx four inches across. This made them
easy to pack on mules, or burros. In a meadow behind the tents, I
could see approx twenty head of mules, and horses grazing. Some
of them were picketed, and the rest were running loose.

I rode up and stopped approx twenty five yards from the largest
tent. There was smoke comming from the stove pipe, and I figgured
it for the cook tent. "Hello the camp," I called out. The flap was
pulled back, and I nearly fell off my mule. The young lady who
stepped out of the tent, took my breath away. She was one of those
women who could make every man on a street stop and stare, and
not even know she had done it. When she looked up at me and
smiled, I almost forgot how to talk. She had shoulder length black
hair, and light brown skin the color of coffee. She was probably five
foot three inches tall, with a perfect figure.

"Come on in," she said, "are you looking for my father?" she asked.
"Howdy miss," I said, trying not to stammer. "I was just passing by,
and noticed your camp." I added. "I am not supposed to talk with
strangers." she said. "My father and brother are out cutting wood,
but they will be back soon." "Yes mame, I saw them as I was riding
in, I'll just ride over and talk to your father." I said, as I turned my
mule and moved away. The things you see when you are just riding
around minding your own businesss, I thought. As I rode up on the
two men working, the younger one saw me first. He jumped like a
startled deer, grabbed up a rifle, and dropped down behind the
stump it had been leaning against. "Dad, we got company." he said.
His father turned and faced me. He was wearing a pistol, in a cross
draw flap holster. I pulled up my mules, and called out. "Howdy, the
young lady said I should talk to you."

"Hello," he said, "Sorry for the reception, but we have to be carefull


out here." "No problem," I replied. "I was just riding through the
country, hoping to do some trading. I have some coffee, flour, salt,
and some sugar." "Well anybody with coffee, and sugar, is welcome
here," he said. "We havn't been to town for over two weeks, and we
are running a little short. Come on up to the camp, and we'll see
what you have to trade."

I followed them into camp, and tied my mules away from the tents
so they wouldn't kick dust into the cook pot. I pulled the packs off
Scooter, and carried it up to the fire. "That is a lot of firewood, you
have there." I said, as I put the packs down and stepped up with my
hand out. The old man shook my hand, and introduced himself. "I
am Ken Meek, this is my son Rick, and my daughter Melissa." "My
friends call me Muleskinner, but my real name is Louis. I have a
small ranch over in New Mexico, and came into town to do some
trading." I said.

The two men and I walked toward the woodpile, and Melissa went
back into the cook tent. "I was an Outfitter and Guide, before
everything came apart" he said. "We had all of these horses, and
mules to feed. And all the tents and gear to live out in the hills. So
we moved out here and started cutting wood." "Every few weeks, we
load the pack animals, and haul this wood into town." "It seems like
everyone is using wood to cook, and heat with. But most people
don't have a way to haul it." He stopped talking and turned to face
me. "We had a little trouble a few weeks back. Rick and I were out
working, and two men rode into camp. They were nice enough at
first, but when they realized Melissa was alone, they started to get
nasty." He turned and pointed to a mound of dirt, on the other side
of the meadow. "They are buried over there." he said. "Melissa has
been using a skinning knife since she was five years old, those two
didn't know who they were picking on."

We walked back to the tents, and Ken called to Melissa. "Honey, this
man has some flour, coffee, and sugar to trade." Turning to me he
said. "We sell our wood for cash, so we can afford to pay in silver. If
that is alright with you." "That would be just fine with me." I said. "I
want to sell off my goods, and be able to travel light." While we had
been talking, I had kept both men in front of me. Trying not to be
rude about it, being careful just the same. Stepping over to the
packs, I knelt down unbuckled the flaps and took out the packages.
Everything was wraped in squares of old tarp, and tied with string.
If you pack with mules long enough, you learn to wrap everything
like you are expecting a wreck, because sooner or later you will
have one.

"I don't know what they are getting for this stuff in town." I said. "So
you just take what you need, and I'll trust you to pay what it is
worth." Ken looked at me and said, "Flour is ten dollars a pound,
and sugar is fifteen. Coffee is worth what ever you can get for it."
"You pay me five dollars a pound for the flour, five a pound for the
sugar, and five a pound for the coffee, and we will call it square." I
said. "You have a deal," he said and shook my hand.

When I rode out of their camp, Scooters pack was much lighter and I
had over a hundred in silver in my saddle bags. It was begining to
get late, and I wanted to get into town and talk to the Sheriff. As I
rode out of their camp I was day dreaming about the perfect
woman. Beautiful, and knows how to use a skinning knife.
Chapter 7

When I got back to town, it was about four in the afternoon. The
first thing I saw was an old farm tractor, pulling a load of firewood.
It looked like my new friends had some competition in the wood
business. The Sheriff's Office and Jail were behind the Courthouse.
The Sheriff wasn't in, but the Jailer on duty was able to call his
house on a CB radio. They had the radio hooked up to a twelve volt
battery, with a solar panel on the roof. After talking to the Sheriff,
the Jailer gave me directions to his house.

The ride to the Sheriff's house took me twenty minutes. People were
sitting on their porches, visiting with their neighbors, and watching
children play in the yards, and the street. Most of them waved as I
rode past. I heard music from a radio, probably with the same
system that the Sheriff's Office was using. I even heard a piano
playing, and a woman singing.

The house sat back from the street on a corner lot. It had a white
picket fence, with a pedestrian gate that opened on to the street. I
tied my mules to the hitch rail beside the gate, and closing the gate
behind me I walked up to the porch. The Sheriff's wife answered my
knock. And pointing to a table and chairs on the porch, she asked
to have a seat. "He is taking a nap, I'll let him know that you are
here." She said. I moved one of the chairs, so I could keep and eye
on the mules, and be able to look up and down the street.

In a few minutes the Sheriff came out. He was wearing pressed


jeans, a white shirt, and his Stetson. The ever present long barreled
.357 magnum, hung on his right hip. It looked like a S&W mod 28
Highway Patrolman, with a six inch barrel. I stood up as he
approached, and shook his hand. "Have a seat." He said. "I am glad
you stopped by. I may have something that is right up your alley, if
you are looking for a job."

"You know me." I said. "I always thought work was a four letter
word. I am retired, and loving it. Nothing to do, except sit on the
porch and watch the world go by." He smiled, and answered. "I
know you all to well. If you are out riding this far from home, at this
time of year, you are bored stiff. And looking for something to do."
"You are part right." I said. "I haven't had any real news since the
power went off. So I thought I would take a ride and visit my old
friends, and find out what is going on. And I really do need to find a
birthday present for my wife."

"Well hear me out." He said. "And if you don't want the job, you are
not obligated. There are about twenty people stranded here, who
would like to go to Albuquerque. When the power went off the
governor declared a state of emergency. This closed the roads, and
rationed fuel for official vehicles only. All busses and comercial
trucks, were pressed into government service. These people were
stranded here, and have been staying with friends, or at the
National Guard Armory. The National Guard has been bringing
supplies from Phoenix. They come every other wendsday, and pass
out flour, corn meal, canned meat, and medicine. But there is no
public transportation, and no way for these folks to get home. The
roads are still closed, and it dosn't look like they will be open
before winter." He paused for a few seconds, then went on. "The
fact of the matter is, if these people could get home. That would be
twenty less I would have to worry about." He stopped, and sat back
in his chair and waited for me to say something.

"So, you are looking for a guide to take them to Albuquerque. With
no vehicles, no fuel, and they can't use the regular roads." I said.
"That about covers it." He said. "If I were crazy enough to take the
job, who would pay me?" I asked. "And how about food? It is two
hundred and fifty miles, to Albuquerque. Traveling by horseback, or
wagon, it will take over two weeks. And at this time of year, it will
be a cold wet trip."

The Sheriff's sighed and went on. "I can provide the food. The
National Guard leaves food with the county, for emergencies. And I
have authority to distribute it. As for the pay, you would have to
make a deal with the folks who want to go." I started to think about
it. It could be done. With two wagons, and some saddle stock. If the
weather held for a few more weeks. I would need a cook, and at
least one wrangler to help drive the wagons. "Can you arrange a
meeting?" I asked. "I would have to talk to them, and see if they are
up to a trip like this." "Sure" He said. "most of them stay at he
Armory. Having a meeting won't be a problem"

"I have sold most of my goods, to the woman who runs the Tavern."
I said. "I told her I would bring it by tomorrow morning. Could we
hold the meeting, the day after tomorrow?" I asked. "That will give
me time to finish my business, and see about some wagons, and
horses." The Sheriff nodded and said. "Great, I'll set it up for noon.
The day after tomorrow. Oh, there is one other thing I would like to
run by you. The bank, can't cover all of the checks, and withdrawls.
There just isn't inough cash on hand. We have been able to contact
their main office in Albuquerque, through the Sheriff's Office up
there. They have agreed to provide the money, if we can come and
get it." He stopped for a few seconds, to let this sink in. Then he
went on. "I don't have a spare deputy to send, we are streached
pretty thin. And if Homeland Security finds out that we can't take
care of ourselves, they will come in and take over. It has hapened in
other counties."

I smiled, and said. "I am sure glad I stopped by Sheriff. It looks like I
will get to go shopping in Albuquerque, for my wifes birthday
present." Then I asked. "Is there a saddlemaker, and a blacksmith in
town? I will be needing some things for this trip." The Sheriff shook
my hand, and said. "We have two saddlemakers, and a good
blacksmith. They should be able to fix you up with anything you
need." "Good," I replied. "I'll see you on the day after tomorrow."

The ride from town to my friends house was two miles. And my
mind was racing the whole way. I rode up to the barn, and stepped
down. Chris was waiting just inside the barn door, and as he helped
me unsaddle, he asked. "Did you find what you were looking for?" I
turned to faced him, and replied. "Oh, I found plenty. I even had
time to talk to the Sheriff." I thought for a minute, then asked him.
"What are you doing for the next two or three weeks?"
Chapter 8

Chris and I stayed out in the barn, and talked until he had to go
stand watch. We talked about what it would take to make the trip.
Two or three wagons, food, bedding, a cook, two wranglers and a
hundred other things. While we talked I took the time to go over my
tack and gear. My saddle was custom built by Gary Dunshee at Big
Bend Saddlery in Alpine Texas. He calls it his Outfitters/Packers
model. It has wide swells, a low thick horn, high cantle, and extra
long saddle strings. The whole thing is roughout leather, with ox
bow sturrips. Gary made my headstall, reins, and hobbles as well.
They are extra thick harness leather, not very pretty, but stout
enough to hold a bronc mule.

On the off side of the saddle, I carry a Estwing campers axe. I made
a extra thick leather cover for the axe head, with a steel ring on the
back. The ring goes into a snap attached to the right front of the
saddle, the handle passes under my stirrup fenders and through a
loop of para cord hung off the rear cinch ring. On the near side I
carry a Marlin 30-30, in a handmade rifle scabbard. The stock is to
the rear, the scabbard runs under the stirrup fenders and sticks out
in front of, and just above my left boot. When I step off, my right
hand just naturally falls on the stock, and pulls it free. I can step
down, pull that rifle, and have a round in the air in under three
seconds. That trick has suprised a few mule deer, and more than a
few coyotes.

For those of you who don't know any more about saddles, mules, or
horses than a goose does about chewing tobacco. Let me explain
some of the terms. A horse or mule, has two sides. If you are
standing at his left front shoulder, you are at his near front. If you
are on the right or indian side, you are standing on his off side.
That big hump under the saddle horn, is called the forks or swells.
The leather skirting that covers the straps running down to the
stirrups are called fenders. The place where you put your butt is
called the seat. And the back of the seat is called the cantle. You tie
your gear to a saddle with saddle strings. These are thin strips of
leather, placed on both sides of the saddle for this purpose. Behind
the saddle, are a pair of small saddlebags. They hold some horse
shoe nails, a pair of fencing plirers, a first aid kit, some jerkey, and
a few rounds of ammo. On top of the saddlebags, a slicker wrapped
in a wool blanket is tied behind the cantle.
I checked everything, and rubbed in some saddle soap as I worked.
I have had this saddle for more than twenty years, and it is in as
good a shape as the day I picked it out. I ran my hands over the
cinches, looking for frayed spots, and stickers or burs. Keeping
your gear is good repair, can mean the difference between life and
death.

Next I went over the pack saddles. I use sawbuck pack saddles, they
cost less, and I can repair anything on them myself. A pack saddle
is a wooden frame, with cinches. Your packs, or boxes hang on the
frame. Then a mantie, or pack tarp goes over the whole load. And
last, a lash rope and lash cinch holds everything down. There, clear
as mud.

My saddle pads or blankets, are not blankets at all. They are one
inch pads of wool felt, with a canvas back. The felt side, goes
against the horse. Hair to hair, as the old timers used to say. A felt
pad will not rinkle or slip, like a blanket will. And if you keep them
brushed off, and hung up off the ground, they will last for decades.
I have felt pads, that I have been using for twenty years.

My chuck boxes are made of 3/8 inch marine grade plywood. They
are fourteen inches inside, front to back. Twenty four inches wide,
and twenty two inches tall. The have hinged lids, and lifting handles
on the ends. Picture two wooden suitcases, with rings on the back
for hanging on the packsaddle. If they were any larger, you couldn't
lift them once filled. Every summer when it is to hot to work. I clean
them out and paint them inside and out, with linseed oil. You can
buy the fancey fiberglass ones, with water proof lids. They will cost
you about four hundred dollars. I built mine from a single sheet of
plywood, and a hand full of steel hardware.

When you are on the trail, these chuck boxes are your kitchen
cabinets, tool shed, and doctors office. They provide a safe place
for everything from your sourdoe mix, to a box of horse shoe nails.
I fold an old wool blanket to cover the botton of the box. This does
two or three things at once. First, you never know when you might
need an extra blanket or two. Second it provides a degree of
padding for the things that go in the box later. This padding not
only protects the contents, but it helps keep them from ratteling as
the mule walks. You may not care about the rattling, but trust me
your mule will. If he hears a mule eating wooly bugger rattling
around in the pack box, you are fixing to have a rodeo.

In the near side box, I will put a pair of shoeing chinks, rolled
around a shoeing hammer, hoof nippers, hoof knife, nail clinchers,
and a hoof file. And box of horseshoe nails, covered with two or
three layers of duct tape. I keep ten or twelve horseshoes, scattered
around in both boxes. I use them to balance the boxes, when a few
pounds or ounces on one side or the other is needed. Next is a
twenty five pound bag of alfalfa pellets. Both boxes will have one of
these bags of pellets. It is emergency food for the mules. In case I
have to keep them tied at night, and they don't get a chance to
graze.

On top of the pellets, will be a two gallon coffee pot, nested inside a
stainless five gallon pail. This combination is my water heater, dish
pan, bath tub, and stew pot. (Note: Always rinse bucket between
bathing and making stew.) Fold up a towl, and put it in the bottom
of the bucket. Set the coffee pot on the towel, then pack zip lock
bags of oatmeal, coco, tea, coffee, and any other soft goods around
the coffee pot. This will keep the whole mess from rattling, and not
leave any wasted space. Wrap your knives and flatware in another
towl, and put this inside the coffee pot. You don't want a sharp
knife comming out the side of a pack, and sticking the mule, or
you.

The off side box, holds four stainless US Army mess hall platters, a
dutch oven, small grate, and groceries. Extra ammo for my pistols,
and rifle, a cleaning kit for the guns, and a small duffel bag with my
clothes and personal gear. Each box has an Eastwing hatchet, and a
packsaw. When full, each box will weigh between fifty and one
hundred pounds. Depending on how much stuff you need, and how
big your pack mules are.

My bed roll will ride on top between the boxes. Now, when I say bed
roll. I don't mean a super light weight sleeping bag, with a ground
cloth. A real cowboy bed roll, is not just a place to sleep. It is his
parlor, and card table. First you need a eight foot, by twelve foot
heavy canvas oiled tarp. Lay the tarp out on some clean grass, not
on the wife's new bedspread. In the middle of the tarp put a two
foot, by six foot, by two inch thick foam pad. (Increase the
thickness of the pad by one inch for each decade of your age over
fifty.) Leave three foot of tarp, at each end of the pad. Next, place
the sleeping bag of your choice, and two or three hudson bay
blankets over the foam pad.

Now, this is the most important part. Go find one of those $300.00
dollar feather pillows, your mother-in-law gave your wife for a
wedding present. Place the pillow at the head of the sleeping bag.
Under the pillow is where you keep all of the stuff that won't fit in
your saddle bags. A deck of cards, letters from home. (If you know
anybody who can write.) Extra pair of socks, your sewing kit, your
good boots, two boxes of 30-30 shells, and your extra knives.

With the pad centered on the tarp. Fold the sides of the tarp over
the sleeping bag, and blankets. This will keep your stuff, from
spilling out the sides. Then fold up the three foot of tarp you left at
the foot of the bed. This will seal the bottom of the bedroll. Now
start rolling the bed roll from the bottom, keeping your knee on the
roll as you go. Take a thirty foot lash rope with a loop in one end.
Put the loop around the bedroll, from side to side. Pull this up as
tight as you can, to keep the roll compressed. Then put half hitches
around the roll, and tie it fast.

Mine weighs about forty pounds.

I finally got to sleep around two in the morning. It would be a long


day tomorrow. I had to deliver the goods I had sold, and find some
wagons.
Chapter 9

I slept late the next morning, didn't get up till six. I caught up the
mules before breakfast, gave each of them a bait of grain, and
rubbed them down. Then looked my tack over, double checking my
work from last night. When I got up to the house, everybody had
finished breakfast, and Chris was sleeping. I had some coffee, and
bisquits with jam. I told Chris's wife to not expect me back tonight.
I didn't know how long this day would be, or where I might me
spending the night.

I had the mules saddled and loaded by 0830, and with a wave at the
house I rode toward town. It was the morning of the 17th, I had left
home on the 12th. It had been a busy six days, and didn't show any
sign of slowing down. As I passed through town, people were
sturring around, going about their daily business. Nobody seem
suprised to see a string of pack mules walking down main street. I
rode through town with out stopping or talking to anyone. I wanted
to get to the Tavern, and finish my business with the redhead. But
first I had to make a stop, at the wood camp.

As I drew close to the camp, I could hear the ring of an felling axe.
And then the crash of a tree comming down. As I rode into the
clearing, the two men stopped and watched. I rode up to the tents
and called out. Melissa, came out and greated me with a smile and
a cup of coffee.

Ken had mentioned that they had been in the outfitting business,
before things stopped. And had gone into wood cutting, as a way to
make a living with his equipment and stock. Well, I needed stock,
and men to handle them. "Good morning." Ken called out as he and
Rick walked into camp. "Morning." I replied, sipping my coffee.
"Ken, would you consider selling your horses, and mules and
comming to work for me?" I asked. He stopped and stared for a few
seconds. "What did you have in mind? He asked. So I told him the
story. When I finished I said. "I have decided to do it. I'll need two
wagons, or maybe a coach. And a chuckwagon, with all the fixins."

Ken sat down, on a stump and pulled a pipe from an inside vest
pocket. "I have two hay wagons. We used to give hay rides, for the
tourists during the summer. I've got twenty five head of riding
stock, and they will all pack. And four teams of draft horses." He
paused, and waited for my reply. "What will you take for the whole
outfit?" I asked. "Fifty dollars each for the riding stock, and two
hundred for each team. That comes to Two thousand and fifty
dollars. I'll take two hundred each for the wagons." I finished my
coffee. Melissa, stepped up and poured me a fresh cup. Two
thousand four hundred, and fifty dollars. Those horses, and wagons
would have been worth fifty thousand before everything came to a
stop.

Turning back to face Ken, I asked. "Do you know where we can get a
chuckwagon?" "Yes I do." He replied. "There is a man in Alpine, who
makes wagons and buggies. I don't know what it will cost, but we
could go ask." Pausing for a few seconds, I asked. "Will you and
your family come to work for me. I'll pay one hundred a month, and
found." They all looked at each other, and them back at me. The
Ken said. "We wern't looking forward to spending the winter, living
in a tent. And chopping firewood, for a living is starting to get old.
We'll take the job." "Done." I said, as I stepped forward and shook
his hand. "I don't have the money to pay for the horses, and
wagons. But I will before we start the trip." Ken looked me in the
eye, and said. "Your word is good enough for me." "Thanks." I
replied. "Break your camp, and move to my friends place. He lives
two miles west of town." "I know the place." said Ken.

"I will be back, sometime tomorrow. After you get moved, ride down
to Alpine. Try to get us a chuckwagon." I told him. Then pulling out
my wallet, I counted out five hundred in tens and twentys. Handing
the money to Ken, I added. "Get a chuckwagon and anything else
you think we will need. After the first trip, I would like to start
hauling freight. It may be quite a while before things get back like
they used to be. We might as well stay busy." Ken smiled, and
seemed to grow a foot. He had looked tired and worried when I
rode up. Now he was a man with a purpose, and a job to do. "We
should be back in two days." He said. Stepping into the saddle, I
turned and faced them. "I'll see you in two days." Then turned and
tode toward the Crossroads.

Now I had a purpose, and a job to do. I should be at the Tavern, by


noon. I wonder what they will be having for lunch.
Chapter10

I rode out of there, and headed for the Tavern. My mule had been
over this ground before, and walked out at a fast pace. I just sat
there, and spent the time think ing about all the things I would
need for the trip. And sent up a short prayer for the weather to
hole. Suddenly the mules ears went forward, and she looked to the
right of the trail. I felt her tense up but she did not break stride. She
often did this when she spotted game. We had killed a lot of mule
deer this way. Deer are not afraid of a four legged critter, and will
often stand and watch a horse, or mule with a rider go by.

I turned my head to try and spot whatever she was looking at, when
the slack came out of the lead rope. That ment the pack string had
stopped. The rope pulled tight and they started up again. The only
thing that would make the string hesitate, was a person. They knew
the difference between a man and another animal, and if you were
sharp enuff you can tell when they spotted another human. They
had often let me know of the presence of a backpacker, or a hunter
before I had seen them.

Then I saw him. Fifty yards to my right, behind a cedar tree. I could
see his right shoulder, his face, and a rifle barrel. When I lead a
packstring I keep a single wrap of the lead rope around the saddle
horn, so I added another wrap and dropped the end of the rope.
Without stopping, I slipped my right foot out of the sturrip, and
swung my right leg over the back of the mule. I dropped the reins
over the saddle horn, and stepped off the mule. As my right foot hit
the ground, my right hand was pulling my Marlin 336 from the
scabbard that rode under my left sturrip leathers.

She knew what to do, we had taken many deer and coyotes this
way. She stepped out and led the packstring past me, I just moved
back a few feet and stepped behind a big pine tree. When I stepped
down, the man behind the tree stepped out from behind the cedar
and raised his rifle. Without taking his eyes off the mules, he called
out to someone. "Catch those fucking horses." As the last mule
went by I raised my rifle, and shot him in the face. He who hesitates
is lost.

Before he had hit the ground, I was moving. I ducked and slipped
into the brush along the trail. Moving slowly not wanting to make
any noise or make the tops of the brush move. The mules had gone
about one hundred yards down the game trail, when my saddlemule
swung them to the left and stopped. Unless something or someone
chased her away she would stand there and wait for me to return.

I moved away from the trail for approx twentyfive yards, then along
the trail toward the mules. As I came abreast of the mules, I
stopped where I could see them, and I waited. My saddlemule was
watching back down the trail, and off to the far side. She swung her
head to look at me then looked back down the trail. She had just
told me where the other person was. I could see all of the mules,
and fifty feet of trail on either side of them. No one could get to
those mules without showing themselves. So I waited. The lack of
patience had killed more men then smallpox.

Ten minutes passed with no movement. Then the mules began to


fiddget and look down the trail in front of us. I slowly swung my
head and checked behind myself. Then started to study the brush
on both sides of the trail. Finally he moved. I sould see a foot and
leg up to the knee. He was about seventy yards down the trail on
the far side. He was being very carefull and moving slowly. The foot
disapeared, then I made out his left shoulder. He was moving away,
trying to escape without being seen. As I watched I could make out
movement in the brush. Then he stopped and turned. In order to
see back up the trail he moved into a clear spot, and peered from
between two pine trees. He moved to his right to get a better look,
and showed me his right shoulder and center of his chest at approx
ninety yards. Looking through the receiver sight on my mod 336, I
put the front sight post on the center of his chest and pressed the
trigger.

The mules started at the sound of the shot, and moved a few yards
back up the trail, but stopped at my low whistle. After signaling the
mules, I dropped to the ground and crawled twenty yards deeper
into the brush and waited. I couldn't see the mules, but I would hear
them if they started to move. And listen is just what I did. For the
next thirty minutes, I listened and waited. After thirty minutes had
passed, I started to move toward the second man. I had only been
able to see a few square inches of the chest, and wanted to make
sure he was down for good.
I circled past the spot where he had fallen, and moved in on the
spot from the far side. When I was about twenty feet from where I
thought he should be, I smelled him. He had messed his pants
when he died, and a few flies were begining to gather. I waited for a
few more minutes, and watched for movement. Then moved to my
left where I could see him better. Long dirty blong hair, a short
scruffy beard, and shabby clothes. The flies were begining to crawl
on his face, and feed from the blood on his shirt. He had fallen on
his back, dropping his weapon. A pump shotgun with a long barrel.
I moved up and checked the body. He didn't have a pack, or
canteen. Just the shotgun, and a pocket knife. Not even extra
rounds for the shotgun.

I left the knife and shotgun, and moved toward the first man. I
would pick up the weapons when I was ready to leave. staying off
the trail I stopped a few yards from the tree where the first man had
stepped out, and waited again. I could hear the flies buzzing, but
nothing moved. Moving slowly I advanced until I could see the top
of his head. He had dropped straight down, and was sitting and
leaning against the tree. As though he was taking a rest, a very long
rest. There were a few blankets, a pack and two cans of pork and
beans under the tree. It looked as though they had been camping
there, and when I passed with the string of mules, had decided to
change their status from walkers to riders. His rifle was a Enfield
.303 British. He had five stripper clips, and three loose rounds in his
jacket pocket. He wore green tennis shoes, jeans, a flanel shirt, and
a field jacket. There was a web belt with the other stuff under the
tree. It had two military canteens, and an old K-bar knife on it.

I gathered up the plunder, and moved back to my mules. Still being


carefull, and watching all around. But wanting to get clear of the
area in case others had heard the shots, and decided to investigate.
Loading the rifle and other stuff on one of the pack mules, I led my
saddlemule with the packstring following up the trail to the second
man. I added his shotgun, and pocket knife to my load of trade
goods. Stepping back into the saddle I moved off at a fast trot. It
was approx five miles to the Tavern, and I was going to be late for
lunch.

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