Blood on the Verde River (33 page)

“No. We will be going over your herd report and all when we get a break. I know it is accurate. You do a fine job for us.” Chet clapped him on his shoulder. “Have fun.”

“Gracious, amigo.”

Chet said, “Feliz Navidad.”

“Oh,
sí,
that too. This has been a wonderful event. My men will never forget it.”

The employee Christmas business all finished, Chet and Marge retired to the house. It was close to bedtime and he had his boots off when the yard bell rang. It was the signal his men had set that something might be afoot on the place. Immediately, he blew out the lamp in the bedroom.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“There might be something.” He buckled on his six-gun. “You get into bed and stay down. They try anything, the entre ranch crew will be up and moving.”

Boots on, he hurried downstairs and looked out the windows to see if someone was moving around in the yard. There was plenty of starlight to make it all silver outside. But he saw nothing moving.

Then someone shattered a window by firing a few shots into the living room. He heard footsteps on the porch and saw a figure jump off it and get on a horse. He opened the front door and fired the Colt five times after him. But standing in the cold air, he was not sure he'd even scratched the invader because of the pines and other trees in the yard.

“You all right?” Jesus asked, coming on the run. “Something told Cole we needed to watch out tonight.”

“There was one—”

“Are you all right?” Marge called from the top of the stairs.

“Yes. Stay up there. He's gone, whoever he was, thanks to my sharp men. We need to cover the window he shot out is all.”

“When are you coming up?”

“When I get the window fixed.”

Monica came in next wearing her robe. “Anyone shot?”

“No and they got away. They did break out a window. The boys have gone to get something to cover it with until we can get it repaired.”

She waved her hand. “The gun smoke is bad in here.”

“How did the bell work?” Cole asked.

“Asleep, I may have missed it, but now that I know the sound, I bet I wake up,” Chet said.

“Should we go after him?” Jesus asked.

“In the morning. Not tonight.”

“Yes sir. We can fix the window. Go to bed.”

“Thanks. I will.” Chet made no move to go upstairs.

“Go ahead. We have it,” Cole promised.

“All right. I am off to bed again.” Chet still didn't move.

The words sounded funny and Cole laughed. “Next time, I'll have a ba'r trap set for him.”

Chet laughed and went on up to bed.

“Pretty bold of them to try to sneak up on you here,” Marge said as she sat up when he entered the room.

He undressed in the dark. “They're setting bear traps for him next time.”

“Oh my God, really?”

“No just kidding,” He hugged her. “Try to sleep.”
Who are these idiot killers anyway?
Snuggled up against her, he finally fell asleep.

Raphael sent his riders in every direction to learn what they could about the invaders. Jesus found nothing outstanding about the hoofprints in the yard. No traces of blood, so no doubt Chet had missed him. Someone had gone to town to order a new window. Canvas was tacked over the empty space in the wall, in the meantime.

Marge was still shocked about an attack on her house. Monica offered to bash the shooter's head in with an iron skillet. And Chet figured the ranch crew might hang the whole gang for their insulting attempt to kill their patron.

“Will they come back?” Marge asked him at lunch.

“I don't know. If they're smart, they won't. This place is too tough for them.”

“Well, I don't like it one bit, them breaking out my window and shooting at you.”

“I bet that'd scare the bejesus out of them, if they knew that.” Chet grinned.

“Oh, you are not being serious with me.”

“Honey, they made one raid and failed. We will find them and either arrest them or hang them. Now, lets get on with our lives.”

“Oh, Chet if I lost you—”

“You are not losing me. By dark-thirty tonight, Raphael's vaqueros will have them located. Those are tough men and they will get answers. There is no place on this mountain the gang can hide.”

Someone rode up. It was Roamer. Chet put on his jacket and went to meet him.

“Holy cow, what's going on? Everyone in Preskitt is up in arms this morning saying some hired killer about killed you last night,” Roamer exclaimed.

“My guards heard him coming and rang a bell for an alarm. He was on the porch, shot out the living room window, and then jumped on his horse and rode off.”

Roamer took off his hat when Marge came out. “Howdy, ma'am.”

“Hello. You two come inside and talk.”

Chet nodded. “We will. I guarantee he's not around here to pick me off.”

“Come in anyway. It's cold out here.”

Roamer laughed. “If those men are in the country, I bet they're hiding. Everyone is out looking for them.”

Marge stepped aside as the men came in the door. “That worries me. Someone will get hurt over that. My vaqueros can handle about anything that comes along, but ordinary folks won't shoot fast enough.”

“I can tell you, men are scrounging the country looking for them,” Roamer assured her as she led them to the kitchen.

“I told her they'd probably tree them by dark,” Chet said.

Roamer agreed and sat down to cake and coffee.

“Señor, señor!” came a cry from the yard.

Chet ran to the door and saw a rider on his sweaty horse holding a rifle on his knee. “We got them cornered on Apple Creek.”

“There,” Roamer said. “I told you so.” He gobbled the cake and washed it down with coffee. “Go get a horse.” On the way out, he said thanks and trailed Chet outside.

Raphael brought Chet a saddled horse.

“The vaqueros have them pinned down in a shack. They will still be there when you get there.”

“Gracias.” Chet nodded to the rider who'd come in with the news to take the lead.

He rode beside him. “How did you find them?”

“Someone saw them. They have only been here two days, asking lots of questions about you. Made people suspicious.”

Chet, Roamer, and the vaquero covered lots of ground before they arrived at the head of a canyon where several more vaqueros stood armed with rifles.

“They are down there in a cabin,” the man Chet knew as Romez said.

“How many?” Roamer asked.

“Two is all, but they are good shots. I told our men to stay back; that you were coming.”

“That's good. You did right.” Chet clapped him on the back.

“What are their names?” Roamer asked.

Romez shook his head. “We don't know.”

“That's fine.” Roamer dismounted. “What do you think, Chet?”

“They can't run out the front door and get away so let's set it on fire.”

“Might be hard to burn.”

“Naw. It's going to burn easy. I don't see any windows in back. I'll go set it on fire.”

Roamer caught his arm. “One of the men can do that. I don't want Marge on my neck over you getting shot.”

Chet didn't like it, but he agreed.

A torch was made and a ranch hand rushed downhill to set it beside the logs on the bottom. Then he hightailed it for the hillside and some cover.

“Come out with your hands up or you are going to cook,” Roamer shouted.

They came out firing their pistols in all directions and running for the timber. Mounted men with rifles began shooting at them. Chet and Roamer were on their horses and heading after them, too. The smoke from the half dozen rifles and burning cabin soon filled the air. Chet saw they'd soon be in the trees so he spurred his roan hard. The mountain pony whipped through the low brush, jumped a log, and set him up to track the fleeing outlaws. They must have emptied their guns, 'cause they were running and no longer shooting.

He holstered his six-gun, grabbed the riata tied on his saddle, made a loop over his head, and threw it. When it settled over one of the fleeing assassin, he hand jerked the slack and made a dally on the horn. His roan slid to a stop that slammed the man down.

Roamer rode past him to catch the other. Close enough, he bailed off his horse and took the man smashing to the ground. After a bit of a scuffle, Roamer cuffed him and walked him back to where Chet had roped the first outlaw.

By then, the ranch posse had their rifles on both outlaws. Chet demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

“Lonnie Nelson.”

“Why in the hell did you want me?”

“Delta and I figured if we killed a famous guy like you we'd get all kinds of jobs killing people all over.”

“This is going to be your last job. All you'll be killing are rocks in the Yuma County Jail. Did a guy named Arnold pay you to kill me?”

“Yeah. He said you took his wife.”

“Not me. She left him for an outlaw named Evans. I never met Arnold, but you'll have plenty of time to visit with him in prison.”

“Got enough information?” Roamer asked.

“Dumb, stupid outlaws are what they are.” Chet shook his head in disgust.

Roamer tossed his head toward the vaqueros. “Next time you need a posse, get these guys to work on it.”

Chet agreed.

Then both Roamer and Chet went around and shook all their hands.

The men were pleased and thanked him, too.

Roamer loaded the two prisoners on horses the ranchmen found and headed for town. Chet rode home with the vaqueros and Raphael met them. They rode in like conquerors and their families came to cheer them. Marge and Monica were on the porch dressed for the cool temps, beaming at the news that the would-be killers were in jail.

Weary, Chet came up the stairs. “That is over. Now we return to peace again.”

“Don't send Cole home yet.” Marge said. “You have enough enemies in this world. He and Jesus still need to ride with you.”

Chet shook his head. The problem was solved and he still had to have bodyguards. He loved her so he didn't argue. When he got some rest, he'd think clearer and make a decision then.

Marge slid her arm through his. “I am glad you are unharmed.”

“I know. I know.”

“Do you want supper?”

“No, I am going to bed.”

“I'm sorry. Are you mad at me?”

“No. I love you. I am just tired. I never saw such a force like your vaqueros. They tore up jack and found the shooters. Then, organized, they forced them out of hiding and would have shot them. But Roamer needed to arrest them, so I helped him.”

“So why are you mad?”

“Marge, I am not mad . . . except at those stupid criminals.”

He knew it wasn't enough. She was upset. But it would have to pass for an explanation. It would have to. He was worn out. Step-by-step, he trudged upstairs, undressed, and went to bed.

Sometime in the night, she woke him up, apologizing and crying. “I'm sorry, but I worry so much about someone killing you. I don't know what I'd do without you. Hold me.”

He held her and kissed her. “I know this baby is a big concern and has you upset about everything. But you married me and you knew what I do, what I have done all my life. I am not going to stay inside and hide. I never have and won't start.”

“Oh, I was sick about you going to Utah and then these killers coming here for you.”

“Listen, listen. I am thirty-three years old and I have to be myself.”

She kept her face away from him. “What would I do without you?”

“I have no plans not to be here.”

She rolled over and faced him. “I mean, if you were killed.”

“Get that out of your head. No one is going to kill me.”

They were sitting up and holding each other in the dark bedroom.

“You have to get hold of yourself. You got on this ride because of who I was. You can't expect me to be your gardener and housekeeper around this house.”

She was agreeing with him, wiping away her tears, and acting more settled. “What should I do?”

“Thank God that we have each other. Be grateful for that baby we want so badly. It's coming on, isn't it?”

“Yes, I guess. I have never been pregnant this long before.”

“Good. I need to find some small horses for those boys of May's.”

“I smelled her skunk when we went up there. I never said anything. My, she was upset about that.”

“They are real boys and have been since they were smaller.”

“Where will you find the horses?”

“Maybe down at Hayden's Mill. There are more people down there. And maybe a greater choice of horses.”

“When will you go?”

“Tomorrow.”

“With your guards?”

“Yes.”

She fluffed her pillow. “Thank you.”

 

 

He hurried around the next morning. His men loaded a packhorse for a few days' trip to Hayden's Mill.

Chet, Jesus and Cole rode out in the sunshine that was weakly trying to heat the vast blue sky. He pushed hard to cut the trip to two days and by midday they were in the saguaro country where the sun was hotter on the front side. They spent the rest of the day carrying their jumpers and coats over their laps. Stages passed, leaving them in a swirl of dust.

That evening they had some meat and bread that Monica had put up for them. They washed it down with boiled coffee, turned into their bedrolls, and listened to a coyote or two as early sundown shut out the sun.

Day two, they rode onto the Mill. The ferry crossing the Salt River was a main point in north-south trade. The stage from Preskitt ended there, connecting with the stage from Tucson—the same one he'd ridden when he'd met his wife.

Chet and his men checked the liveries for horses to buy. At one, they found a small dish-faced two-year-old. But something told Jesus he might be a loco weed victim and he was concerned.

“He don't show it, but he is priced cheap for such a good-looking colt,” Chet said as they discussed him. “I may buy him and see.”

“We better find a third one then,” Jesus warned them.

Chet paid for the horse and they went on. Some small ponies, too small, were shown to them. A barefoot boy riding bareback brought a small spotted white horse. He was gentle acting and the boy could get him do anything he wanted him to do. The gelding was mouthed by Jesus, who called him a five-year-old.

“I have to have eighty dollars for him, mister,” the boy said.

“Why?” Chet asked.

“I need to buy a real horse and saddle so I can become a cowboy on some ranch.”

“Your mother know about that?”

“Oh yes, she does. She heard you wanted to buy a small horse and said this would be my chance.”

“She'd let you go? Become a cowboy?”

The boy straightened his spine. “She said she would.”

“What is your name?”

“Kyle Ryan.”

“Can you buy a sound horse and saddle for eighty dollars?”

“I can, sir.”

“I'll buy you one. You give the money for your horse to your mother and come to work on one of my ranches,” Chet offered.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I can sure do that. What's your brand?”

“Quarter Circle Z.”

Kyle nodded. “When do we leave?”

“Two days. Now, pick out a horse and saddle.”

“I can help him,” Jesus offered.

“I really thank you, mister.”

“My name is Chet Byrnes.”

“I sure appreciate it, Mr. Byrnes.”

“Just make hand is all I ask.”

“I will do that.”

The boy found a solid young horse and a good saddle. Chet paid the livery owner for Kyle's new horse and gave Kyle eighty dollars for his horse. It was decided he would meet Chet, Jesus, and Cole in the morning to ride over to Mesa to look for another small horse in that community. They watched him ride his new horse home to tell his mom and pack his things.