Rancher T.J. Trager & Little Tracey

It was sundown when I rode in from the south flats where I had worked with the herd all day. As I washed up at the windmill tank, I heard a horse coming in at a trot. I walked to the corner of the barn and saw a black gelding, saddled--with no rider. he slowed to a walk and stopped when he saw me, then turned toward the trough by the tank. He kept an eye on me as he eased over and drank. When he raised his head I thought he had had enough, but I was wrong by half. I spoke to him as I walked toward him. There was just enough light for me to see that both reins were frayed by being dragged and stepped on. There was no rifle in the boot. When I reached out toward him, he shied and turned flared nostrils my way. 'East boy. Little hay might help.' I backed off and got a fork of fresh hay from the barn.

When I put it on the ground in front of him, he didn't move until I had backed well out of range. I hunkered down and kept talking to him. He tossed his head defiantly and pawed the ground with his front left a couple of times before he eased forward and chanced a sniff of the hay. He checked me again before taking a bite. I watched him eat as I speculated about where he had come from and about his missing rider. When he had nearly finished the hay, he shook his head and turned back toward the trough.

'That's enough for now, boy. Come on.' I walked toward him slowly. 'Come on, boy.' I gently took hold of a rein and eased him toward the open barn door. He must have smelled the scoop of grain I had put into one of the stalls. He entered and got interested in the grain.

I lit a lantern before loosening the cinch. When I eased the saddle off slowly and swung it over the stall partition, I saw an arrowhead half buried in the pommel. I could feel the muscles in my back tighten as I ran my fingers over the exposed end of the flint, there in the poor light in the stall.

Cal, my wrangler, and I had to wait 'til dawn to backtrack the gelding. About fifteen miles east we found the body of a young man. We picked up the fellow's papers that were scattered nearby before we buried him on high ground and headed home. That evening I looked through the papers. The three letters addressed to Robert R. Chapman were written by his sister, Christine, in Philadelphia. In one of the letters I found a photograph of the young woman. On the back, in the same delicate hand was written, 'I had this taken when mother and I went to town last week.' I looked at the picture carefully. Christine was a well-dressed young woman, proud and with strong resolve. Writing her would not be easy.

Dear Miss Chapman,
        Three days ago just at sundown a saddled horse with no rider came here to my ranch. The next morning one of my hands and I backtracked the gelding some fifteen miles east and found the body of a young man who must have been your brother. He had straight black hair, was six feet tall and weighed about 170 pounds. There was an old scar on his left forearm. I am sorry to have to relate this sad news to you. I am sure, from the evidence, that he accidentally rode upon a small band of Indians who had been drinking. Beside his body, the only things left were his papers, a bill of sale for his horse, your three letters and a few pages of notes I assume he wrote. I'm enclosing all of these with this letter to you.
        We buried him on high ground about a mile from where we found his body. My wrangler cared the date, June 28, 1875, and the name 'Chapman' on a piece of driftwood.
        If you wish, I'll ship the horse to you. If not, he will be well cared for here on my ranch, the Double T, and I'll pay you what your brother paid for him.
        I'm sorry about your brother. I wrote a report about what I believe happened and sent it to the governor's office, the territorial marshal and to the Indian agency. If there is any further information about what happened, I will send it to you.

Sincerely,
T.J. Trager, Double T Ranch
Kiowa County, Colorado Territory

I read my letter over a couple of times and decided I could do no better. I looked at the picture of Christine one more time, put it into the envelope and sealed it.