the Daybreakers (1960) (21 page)

A Mexican I knew had come down the road from town, and he was sitting there on his horse looking at those bodies. "Bandidos?" he looked at me with eyes that held no question.

"No," I said, "assassins."

He nodded his head slowly. "There will be much trouble," he said, "this one," he indicated Torres, "was a good man."

"He was my friend."

"Si."

Leaving the Mexican to guard the road approaching the spot--just beyond the gap--I put Joe between the spot and the town. Only I did this after we loaded the bodies in the buckboard. Then I sent Orrin and Cap off to town with the bodies.

Joe looked at me, his eyes large. "Keep anybody from messing up the road," I said, "until I've looked it over."

First I went back to the spot in the grass where the drygulchers had waited. I took time to look all around very carefully before approaching the spot itself.

Yet even as I looked, a part of my mind was thinking this would mean the lid was going to blow off. Juan Torres had been a popular man and he had been killed, the others, God rest their souls, were incidental. But it was not that alone, it was what was going to happen to my own family, and what Orrin already knew. Only one man had real reason to want Juan Torres dead ...

One of the men had smoked his cigarettes right down to the nub. There was a place where he had knelt to take aim, the spot where his knee had been and where his boot toe dug in was mighty close. He was a man, I calculated, not over five feet-four or-five. A short man who smoked his cigarettes to the nub wasn't much to go on, but it was a beginning.

One thing I knew. This had been a cold-blooded murder of men who had had no chance to defend themselves, and it had happened in my bailiwick and I did not plan to rest until I had every man who took part in it ... no matter where the trail led.

It was a crime on my threshold, and it was a friend of mine who had been killed.

And once before Orrin and I had prevented his murder ... and another time Torres had been shot up and left for dead.

I was going to get every man Jack of them. There had been five of them here and they had gathered up all the shells before leaving ... or had they?

Working through the tall grass that had been crashed down by them, I found a shell and I struck gold. It was a .44 shell and it was brand, spanking new. I put that shell in my pocket with a mental note to give some time to it later.

Five men ... and Torres himself had been hit by four bullets. Even allowing that some of them might have gotten off more than one shot, judging by the bodies there had been at least nine shots fired before that final shot.

Now some men can lever and fire a rifle mighty fast, but it was unlikely you'd find more than one man, at most two, who could work a lever and aim a shot as fast as those bullets had been, in one group of five men.

Torres must have been moving, maybe falling after that first volley, yet somebody had gotten more bullets into him. The answer to that one was simple.

There were more than five.

Thoughtfully, I looked up at that hill crested with cedar which arose behind the place where they'd been waiting. They would have had a lookout up there, someone to tell them when Torres was coining.

For a couple of hours I scouted around. I found where they had their horses and they had seven of them, and atop the ridge I found where two men had waited, smoking. One of them had slid right down to the horses, and a man could see where he had dug his heels into the bank to keep from sliding too fast.

Cap came and lent me a hand and after a bit, Orrin came out and joined us.

One more thing I knew by that time. The man who had walked up to Torres' body and fired that last shot into his head had been a tall man with fairly new boots and he had stepped in the blood.

Although Orrin held off and let me do it--knowing too many feet would tramp everything up--he saw enough to know here was a plain, outright murder, and a carefully planned murder at that.

First off, I had to decide whether they expected to be chased or not and about how far they would run. How well did they know the country? Were they likely to go to some ranch owned by friends, or hide out in the hills?

Cap had brought back Kelly all saddled and ready, so when I'd seen about all I could see there, I got into the saddle and sent Joe back to our ranch. He was mighty upset, wanting to go along with a posse, but if it was possible I wanted to keep Joe and Bob out of any shooting and away from the trouble.

"What do you think, Tyrel?" Orrin watched me carefully as he spoke.

"It was out-and-out murder," I said, "by seven men who knew Torres would be coming to Mora. It was planned murder, with the men getting there six to seven hours beforehand. Two of them came along later and I'd guess they watched Torres from the hills to make sure he didn't turn off or stop."

Orrin stared at the backs of his hands and I didn't say anything about what I suspected nor did Cap.

"All right," Orrin said, "you go after them and bring them in, no matter how long it takes or what money you need."

I hesitated. Only Cap, Orrin, and me were there together. "Orrin," I said, "you had me hired, and you can fire me. You can leave it to Bill Sexton or you can put in someone else."

Orrin seldom got mad but he was angry when he stared back at me. "Tyrel, that's damn-fool talk. You do what you were hired to do."

Not one of the three of us could have doubted where that trail would lead, but maybe even then Orrin figured it would lead to Fetterson, maybe, but not to Pritts.

Bill Sexton came up just then. "You'll be wanting a posse," he said, "I can get a few good men."

"No posse ... I want Cap, that's all."

"Are you crazy? There's seven of them ... at least."

"Look, if I take a posse there's apt to be one in the crowd who's trigger happy.

If I can avoid it I don't want any shooting. If I can take these men alive, I'm going to do it."

"You're looking to lose your scalp," Sexton said doubtfully, "but it's your hair. You do what you've a mind to."

"Want me to come along?" Orrin asked.

"No." I wanted him the worst way but the less involved he was, the better. "Cap will do."

The way I looked at it, the chances were almighty slim that the seven would stay together very long. Some of them would split off and that would shorten the odds.

The Alvarado Ranch lay quiet under low gray clouds when Cap and I rode up to the door. Briefly, I told Miguel about Torres. "I will come with you," he said instantly.

"You stay here." I gave it to him straight. "They thought by killing Torres they would ruin any chance the senorita would have. Torres is killed but you are not.

You're going to take his place, Miguel. You are going to be foreman."

He was startled. "But I--"

"You will have to protect the senorita," I said, "and you will have to hire at least a dozen good men. You'll have to bunch what cattle she has left and guard them. It looks to me like the killing of Juan Torres was the beginning of an attempt to put her out of business."

I went on inside, walking fast, and Dru was there to meet me. Quietly as possible, I told her about Juan Torres' death and what I had told Miguel.

"He's a good man," I said, "a better man than he knows, and this will prove it to him and to you. Give him authority and give him responsibility. You can trust him to use good judgment."

"What are you going to do?"

"Why, what a deputy sheriff has to do. I am going to run down the killers."

"And what does your brother say?"

"He says to find them, no matter what, no matter how long, and no matter who."

"Tyrel--be careful!"

That made me grin. "Why, ma'am," I said, grinning at her, "I'm the most careful man you know. Getting myself killed is the last idea in my mind ... I want to come back to you."

She just looked at me. "You know, Dru, we've waited long enough. When I've caught these men I am going to resign and we are going to be married ... and I'm not taking no for an answer."

Her eyes laughed at me. "Who said no?"

At the gap Cap and I picked up the trail and for several miles it gave us no trouble at all. Along here they had been riding fast, trying to put distance between themselves and pursuit.

It was a green, lovely country, with mountain meadows, the ridges crested with cedar that gave way to pine as we climbed into the foothills. We camped that night by a little stream where we could have a fire without giving our presence away.

Chances were they would be expecting a large party and if they saw us, would not recognize us. That was one reason I was riding Kelly. Usually I was up on Dapple or Montana horse, and Kelly was not likely to be known.

Cap made the coffee and sat back into the shadows. He poked sticks into the fire for a few minutes the way he did when he was getting ready to talk.

"Figured you'd want to know. Pritts has been down to see Tom Sunday."

I burned my mouth on a spoonful of stew and when I'd swallowed it I looked at him and said, "Pritts to see Tom?"

"Uh-huh. Dropped by sort of casual-like, but stayed some time."

"Tom tell you that?"

"No ... I've got a friend down thataway."

"What happened?"

"Well, seems they talked quite some time and when Pritts left, Tom came out to the horse with him and they parted friendly."

Jonathan Pritts and Tom ... it made no kind of sense. Or did it?

The more thought I gave to it the more worried I became, for Tom Sunday was a mighty changeable man, and drinking as he was, with his temper, anything might happen.

Orrin had had trouble with Pritts--of this I was certain sure--and Pritts had made a friendly visit to Tom Sunday. I didn't like the feel of it. I didn't like it at all.

Chapter
XVI

There was a pale lemon glow over the eastern mountains when we killed the last coals of our fire and saddled up. Kelly was feeling sharp and twisty, for Kelly was a trail-loving horse who could look over big country longer than any horse I ever knew, except maybe Montana horse.

Inside me there was a patience growing and I knew I was going to need it. We were riding a trail that could only bring us to trouble because the men we were seeking had friends who would not take lightly our taking them. But the job was ours to do and those times a man didn't think too much of consequences but crossed each bridge as he came to it.

It was utterly still. In this, the last hour before dawn, all was quiet. Even with my coat on, the sharp chill struck through and I shivered. There was a bad taste in my mouth and I hated the stubble on my jaws ... I'd gotten used to shaving living in town and being an officer. It spoiled a man.

Even in the vague light we could see the lighter trail of pushed-down grass where the riders had ridden ahead of us. Suddenly, the trail dipped into a hollow in the trees and we found their camp of the night before.

They were confident, we could see that, for they had taken only the usual, normal precaution in hiding their camp, and they hadn't made any effort to conceal that they'd been there.

We took our time there for much can be learned of men at such a time, and to seek out a trail it is well to know the manner of men you seek after. If Cap Rountree and me were to fetch these men we would have to follow them a far piece.

They ate well. They had brought grub with them and there was plenty of it. At least a couple of them were drinking, for we found a bottle near the edge of the camp ... it looked like whoever was drinking didn't want the others to know, for the bottle had been covered over with leaves.

"Fresh bottle," I said to Cap and handed it to him. He sniffed it thoughtfully.

"Smells like good whiskey, not none of this here Indian whiskey."

"They don't want for anything. This outfit is traveling mighty plush."

Cap studied me carefully. "You ain't in no hurry."

"They finished their job, they'll want their pay. I want the man who pays them."

"You figured out who it'll be?"

"No ... all I want is for these men to take me there. Twice before they tried to kill Juan and now they got him. I'm thinking they won't stop there and the only way to stop it is to get the man who pays out the money."

As I was talking a picture suddenly came to mind. It was Fetterson passing out gold to that renegade Paisano. It was a thing to be remembered.

"Bearing west," Cap said suddenly, "I think they've taken a notion."

"Tres Ritos?"

"My guess." Cap considered it "That drinkin' man now. Supposin' he's run out of whiskey? The way I figure, he's a man who likes his bottle and whoever is bossin' the bunch has kept him off it as much as possible.

"Drinkin' man now, he gets mighty canny about hidin' his stuff. He figures he got folks fooled ... trouble is, it becomes mighty obvious to everybody but the one drinkin'. They may believe that because the job's finished they can have a drink, and Tres Ritos is the closest place."