Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (5 page)

MacDonald and Rolfe rode back to the town of Arles, the county seat and the nearest town to their ranches. While in Austin, they had divided the land grant into two separate ranches and the purchase was recorded as such.

They hoped the drawings of the rivers and springs in the old Spanish land grant were correct as well as the measurements. MacDonald believed the
Golden One
was on his portion recorded in his Earth name. They also knew the river on one side of Rolfe's ranch was his boundary no matter if the course had changed. No one could really be certain of any boundary after that. They pulled up at the sheriff's office, dismounted, and entered. An official could tell them where the surveyor, if there was one, was located in town.

Sheriff Franklin looked up at the two dust-covered men; one a giant, the other a hunter in buckskin with a sheathed bowie knife slung on his right hip. Neither looked like the type that would bother with a law officer if something was wrong. He felt his shoulders tightening, ready for trouble.

“Good day, sir, I am Zebediah MacDonald and this tis my friend, Herman Rolfe.” The voice had a rumbling quality to it and the r sound was rolled. Probably from Scotland, thought Franklin.

“We are in need of a surveyor as we have purchased the Ortega Land Grant. Could ye tell us if one tis in this town and if so, where he tis located?”

Franklin took a moment to study them a bit more closely. Where did two men come up with money for that? Why here? There were a couple of spreads up north a bit, but the Tillman brothers did as much farming as they did ranching. Still an honest question deserved an honest answer.

“Welcome to our community, gentlemen. I'm Sheriff Franklin.” He stood and extended his hand. A handshake could tell you a lot about a man. He blessed Providence when his hand wasn't crushed by either.

“You all will find the surveyor, Mr. Smeaton, behind the Blue Diamond freight station. If you all run into any problems, let me know.” No need to antagonize potential voters. He realized both men were probably in their thirties and ready to settle down. “We're a fine growing community. There's everything here you all might need in the way of sundries.”

“Thank ye, Sheriff Franklin. We twill keep that in mind.” Both nodded at him and left.

Outside they mounted and rode to the surveyor's office. It was a small wooden building tucked away behind the freight depot.

“Things look slow, not like in Saint Louis.” Rolfe spat on the rutted street. It wasn't the heat of the day and no one was loading wagons or acting like freight needed to be delivered. Blue Diamond's freight buildings were normally a hive of activity.

“Perhaps they have down days here.

“Did ye wish me to speak again?”

“You might as well. He might try to cheat us else.”

“If he rides out with us, ye canna remain silent.”

Rolfe grinned. “Then he would think me a real blockhead.”

They entered the building and found a small man dressed in a chambray shirt and canvas trousers laboring over a plat for future lot sales in Arles. His brown hair was rapidly receding from his forehead. He looked up as they entered.

Once again MacDonald performed the introductions and Smeaton rose to shake hands.

“We have purchased the Ortega Land Grant. Tis split twixt the two of us, but we need to ken where the boundaries are on all sides. What tis the cost for a survey like that and how long twould it take?”

“That would cost at least one hundred dollars and it would take at least two weeks. The river probably serves as a natural boundary for the land bordering it. The lands to the east that run into hilly country pretty well end at the highest rock, but no one knows for certain. The Spanish didn't have time for precise measurements here. They just sent whoever was rich enough and daring enough to settle.” He waited for the men to object outright to the price. At least their interruption gave him an excuse to stand. The town council was becoming downright demanding about the plat.

“That seems a bit high,” rumbled out of MacDonald's throat. “Ninety dollars sounds fairer to me.”

Smeaton swallowed. Either the man was a skilled negotiator or he was reading his mind.

“All right ninety it is, but I can't get out there until next week.”

The two men looked at each other and nodded.

“Very well, Mr. Smeaton, we twill expect ye then. Now if ye twould draw up a contract, we twill sign it.”

It meant, thought Smeaton, that one of them was capable of reading. He sat and pulled a sheet of paper from his desk.

It took but a few minutes for the contract to be written. As he laid it out to sign, MacDonald smiled at him.

“Why do we nay walk over to the sheriff's office or Blue Diamond? Someone there should be willing to sign as a witness.

“It's legal the way it is. People know me here.” His face flushed.

“Aye, but we are new.”

“All right, we'll go over to the Justice of the Peace. Mallory's the Notary Public too.” His voice was sharp. “But first I'd like to see the color of your money.”

MacDonald removed a gold coin from his money belt, but held onto it. “Payment twill be after the job tis completed.”

Smeaton recognized the coin as a twenty dollar gold piece and realized the bulge around the man's waist was not extra flesh, but a money belt. Greed overcame dislike. He nodded, grabbed up his papers, and led the way out the door.

It took less than one half hour to complete the signing, dating, and stamping. MacDonald relented and paid out two five-dollar gold coins for expenses before heading to the dry goods store.

Stanley, the owner, nodded at them as they entered. He was busy totaling up an order for a matron. The two looked around and decided dried beans, salt, sugar, flour, hard tack, some cheese, chicory coffee, and canned peaches would sustain them while camping. Before leaving, Rolfe selected another plug of tobacco for his chewing habit.

The salesman in Stanley came to the fore and he looked at Rolfe when handing him the tobacco. “We just had a shipment of ready made shirts and boots. They are in your size. They would be more comfortable than those Injun duds.”

“Du crazy? Aint nothing more comfortable than these. Vhite men's boots don't fit any von.” He turned and left the store with MacDonald while Stanley scowled at their backs. It was the beginning of animosity between the townsmen of Arles and the Yankee interlopers that would worsen over the years.

Outside the two men mounted and rode out of town towards their holdings. They had already arranged to meet Smeaton by the river where the high bluffs were on Rolfe's portion of the grant. They discussed their plans while sitting by the campfire that evening. Dinner had been a couple rabbits washed down with the peaches.

“After we find out our boundaries, I think we should trail up to Indian Territory and see Chisholm on our way to St. Louis.”

“Why tis that, Friend Rolfe?”

“Because we've got to earn a living and he might want some cattle next year. We can trail cattle to New Orleans, maybe, but Chisholm knows me and he can always use beef on that reservation. Hides and tallow aren't going to bring in much. Not when California and Mexico keep shipping as much as they do.”

“What about Mrs. Rolfe and your children?”

“I'll build a home here. See those bluffs? A man could dig out a sizeable house and be nice and cozy.”

MacDonald eyed the bluffs that had once stood at the river. He cleared his throat.

“Herman, Mrs. Rolfe doesn't strike me as someone who wishes to live in a dirt house.”

Rolfe considered. “Ja, but the funds we have won't keep us forever in St. Louis, and she wants all of us to be together. Martin is three now and he needs to be here and learn to be a rancher, not a townsman. He isn't going to be a Pastor.

“If we can't sell cattle, I'll be hunting wolves. It pays well when they've been killing livestock.” That this scheme would leave Mrs. Rolfe and the children out on the prairie while he traveled did not upset him. This looked like a peaceful land. It was western Texas that was ruled by the Comanche.

“I have been thinking of signing up as a scout with the Dragoons or the Army if ranching does nay provide an income. They dinna pay that much, but I have heard it tis a way to get one's citizenship. It twould also allow me to keep the funds until I am ready to build a house. The money twould be safe in the
Golden One
and we twould nay need to worry about a bank failure.”

Rolfe's face cleared. “I hadn't thought of that, but what if I need the money and you aren't here. How would I get it?”

“If ye went with me into the ship when we store the extra funds, I could instruct the system to allow ye to enter. It twould just need yere palm print and eye readings.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What does that machine do, take off my hand and extract one of my eyes?”

MacDonald grinned widely. “Nay, it takes an electronic picture of yere eyes and the pattern on yere palm and implants them in the memory banks. Then I instruct it to recognize ye. Ye twould need to memorize where to stand when opening the access panel, but that tis easy for someone like ye to do.”

Rolfe considered. He did not want to go into that machine. It was a terrifying concept, but the thought of a bank failure, losing his money while drunk, or entrusting the whole amount to a woman was equally terrifying. MacDonald was sure to see how frightened he was if he went near it. There was also the possibility that when the moment of actually stepping over the threshold came, he would be unable to do so. Trains had been hard enough to accept when he was younger. This thing, whatever it was, Mac claimed could fly between stars.

“Mac, you know I'm not a coward, but that, that machine, it scares me. It's like it could swallow me alive and not let me out. I don't know if I could go into it or what I would do once I'm in there. Why don't we just store the gold in the tunnel? No one is going in there. They won't bother that stone if they go up there. It's too out of the way for anyone to find. I'll use my horse to roll the rock away.”

MacDonald eyed the fire for awhile and then looked up. “We could do that while we're waiting for Smeaton. I'm going inside though. I want a real cleansing and I twill sleep in a real bed and not worry about bedbugs.”

Rolfe shook his head. “Mac, I was right. You aren't human.”

Smeaton spread the paperwork out for MacDonald and Rolfe. It had taken a month to get all his readings and another two weeks to prepare both drawings. His face was tanner and if anything, the clothes a bit baggier as though the time on the prairie had squeezed the moisture out of him

“You all might want to refile your claims right here in Arles. They can record it and send everything to Austin. The state's lines were drawn up on old records.

“Mr. Rolfe, your land is pretty much the way it's drawn and abuts the Tillman ranches.” His finger pointed to the plat he had drawn out on one set of papers. “The only thing different is that the river has moved about one-half of a mile to the east.

“Mr. MacDonald, I'm sorry to say that your land ends here.” His finger touched a point on the map. That's only about a mile and a half up into the timber. It doesn't go to the top. Somebody had purchased a chunk of that land to look for silver and gold way back before Texas was a state.” Smeaton cleared his throat. He had already warned Franklin that there could be trouble today.

MacDonald stared at the paper with the black ink lines in disbelief. He did nay own the land where the
Golden One
rested. Somehow he had to get control of it.

“Who does own it? Tis it someone here in town?” His mind was racing. “Twould they be willing to sell?”

“Right now, someone with the first name of Buster and the last name of Miller or his descendants, if he or they exist own it. The state of Texas isn't interested in rocks and neither is anybody that wants to ranch or farm. That's damn poor land up there. Why would you want it?”

“Dot's vhere the mustangs like to hide in the summer. Und there's a good spring up there und lots of timber.” Rolfe realized that his friend had taken this like a blow to the temple. Disappointment can mess up a man's mind. “Ve planned to build a shack up there for vhen ve go after vood or horses.” Not that the former was true, but both saw Smeaton nod his head.

“Well, I don't think anyone will stop you. Like I said, no one knows who really owns it and no one wants it.”

He cleared his throat again. “Is everything else satisfactory?” He waited.

Rolfe felt like kicking MacDonald, but that wouldn't do much good. The man had already been kicked by fate twice. Rolfe dug into his money belt and took out two twenty and one ten dollar gold pieces. “Dot's for my side. Mac, pay the man and I'll buy du a drink.”

MacDonald gave his head a slight shake. He checked Smeaton's mind. The man hadn't lied. Reluctantly, he put his own two twenty dollar gold pieces into Smeaton's hand.

“Thank ye, for a job well done. Tis there really any need to file these papers again?”

“Not really. A problem could develop if someone starts to claim land next to yours or on it. Like I said, Mr. Rolfe's boundaries are so similar, it would take another survey to prove they aren't correct, and no one wants the land y'all thought was yours. My signature and date are written there and the notary has stamped it.” Smeaton figured the two were close to broke. It was just like a frontiersman to blow all his remaining funds on booze.

“Good day then, Mr. Smeaton.” Rolfe and MacDonald rolled up their papers and stepped outside. A light breeze was blowing from the South and grey clouds scudded high in the sky.

“Well, it's not going to rain for a while. You want that drink, Mac? You look like you could use it.”

“Nay, I dinna. I wish to go out and get rid of this anger or I may hurt someone.” He stalked to his horse and mounted.

“I twill meet ye up at that spring. Then we can deposit the survey with the gold.” He turned the huge stallion and rode north, anger surging and waning. Strange, 1850 had started out so promising.