“They paid Killion twenty thousand for ten percent of his tax collection last year.”
“Whew, that would hire several deputies.”
Guthrey simply nodded. “We will need them.”
They spent the rest of the morning watching traffic for any signs of trouble. Things were quiet. Kathryn served them lunch. She brushed aside Guthrey’s polite attempt to stop her. Not to be denied, she brought trays of food for them and smiled.
After lunch, they continued their watch. By sundown, they thanked Kathryn for her hospitality, took their horses, and went to the courthouse. Horses hitched, they moved through the throng of onlookers as marshals with ballot boxes came in from the far corners of the county. Most parties with ballot books brought a large group of concerned citizens making sure no one messed with the election results.
McCall met Guthrey at the door. He acted as an overseer for the recall vote. He told Guthrey in the hallway that they had so far received eighty percent of the votes in favor of the recall.
“Sounds good. I’m going back to the ranch. Things have been peaceful enough here. Send me word when the governor puts us in charge. We are ready to close the doors.”
“It should be in the morning. I understand an assassin tried to kill you Saturday night?”
“He didn’t manage it.”
McCall frowned hard at him. “Be careful.”
Guthrey nodded. “I want you and Brown to watch the jail too. So no one escapes. We will make our sweep and bring everyone in on Thursday morning.”
When they got back to the ranch, Cally had food waiting in her warming oven for them. Pleased that Guthrey was unscathed, she hugged him.
The messenger from McCall arrived on a hot horse at dawn. An out-of-breath youth said, “The governor’s appointed you as the man in charge by executive order, sir.”
“Thanks. Get down and have some breakfast. Rest your horse.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
CONSIDERABLE NUMBERS OF men filtered into the ranch all day on Wednesday. Things were made ready, especially the wagons to haul their prisoners back to the county jail.
“What do you think now?” Cally asked during a slow moment.
Guthrey hugged her and threw his head back. “I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“I imagine you will. But you know I love you and I’m proud of all this. It’s an effort my father would have really enjoyed.”
He closed his eyes and savored their closeness. One more day.
TWENTY-SEVEN
NOBLE HAD GONE to Whitmore’s with Chuck Magio and that posse, since the old man knew that place well enough to keep the team leader informed.
In the predawn, Guthrey sat quietly on Lobo and studied the dark buildings of the Killion Ranch headquarters in the clearing. Juniper rangeland surrounded the place, and it was cooler there than in the chaparral country lower down in elevation. His posse members ringing the ranch were in place. He kicked Lobo off the slope, and he and his second in command, rancher Mike Thorp, got closer to the house.
“Killion,” Guthrey shouted. “We have this place surrounded. I am here to arrest you.”
Half-dressed men came out of the bunkhouse only to face the rifles of Guthrey’s posse. His crew searched the corrals and buildings. Waiting for the ex-sheriff’s response, Guthrey dried his right hand, sweaty from holding the rifle, on his pants leg.
A woman came to the door. “He’s dressing.”
“Very well, ma’am,” he said and dismounted. “Watch for him,” he told Thorp and walked to the men being held at the bunkhouse.
“Are any of you men deputies?”
“No, sir.”
“Have any of you participated in a raid on anyone’s place?”
Heads shook. One man motioned to him.
“Yes?”
“Sir, we’re only ranch hands.”
“I understand.” At the sound of the front door opening, Guthrey turned to see Killion in his suit coming out of the house in the predawn’s low light. He held his coat open to show them he was unarmed. Guthrey left the ranch hands and hurried over to face the man.
“Why in the hell are you here?” Killion asked.
“I am arresting you for malfeasance of office. You may ride unhandcuffed if we have your word that you will not try to escape. The governor has appointed me as the chief law enforcement officer of this county.”
“You have my word.” Killion turned to speak to his distraught wife and reassured her. One of his men went to saddle him a horse.
With the tension defused, Guthrey spoke to his posse members. “All we need is a small patrol to take him to Soda Springs. I thank all of you for coming to make this arrest go so smoothly. I want you to report any future infractions of the law. Crook County has a new law enforcement agency working for everyone.”
He went down the line shaking hands with each man.
Then he excused himself, and they left in a hard ride back to Soda Springs. How the rest of the groups were doing concerned him, but his best men were handling those situations.
* * *
WHEN THEY GOT to Soda Springs, Guthrey took control of the crowded jail from McCall and Brown, who looked like they had gone two days without sleep.
“When do expect to hear from the others?” McCall asked.
“Chuck Magio and Noble, with a large posse, are at the Whitmore Ranch this morning. Noble knows that bunch and he can separate the plain workers from the gun hands. They better not try Chuck. He’s quick with a gun. Then Ranger Todd Bowles and more good men have gone to arrest Curt Slegal and his bunch. Gus Agnew, along with Ute and Kelly as lead men and with an Apache scout, have gone to the Chiricahuas to arrest a couple more men. One is at the sawmill and the other one was wounded in the Rawlings murder and is recovering around there somewhere, hiding out. A dozen volunteers are with them. They may be a day or two getting back.”
“I figured Whitmore would have a lawyer here already.”
“I met a guy named Bentson, who said he was a lawyer and offered me a ranch up on the Verde for Cally’s place and to simply ride off and turn my back on this job.”
McCall shook his head. “That’s pretty country up there. You missed a good deal.” He laughed. “I doubt a trade for the King Ranch would have suited you.”
“He didn’t offer me that place.”
Brown said, “There are ten men out back going to build a barbed wire compound for you to hold the rest of the prisoners.”
“Thanks.” Guthrey nodded his approval.
Late afternoon, Noble rode in on a frothy-shouldered, spent horse. From a distance Guthrey saw the old man and rushed to see what had gone wrong up there. When he reached close to his man he had to clear back the crowd of bystanders who closed in around him.
“Let me in. Give him some room.” Guthrey could see that though Noble had dismounted, he still clutched the horn to hold himself up. “Everyone get back now.”
They finally backed up, but not before they’d put an edge on Guthrey’s temper.
“You all right?” he asked Noble.
“Yeah. Yeah.” But he still clutched the horn. “Things went good. Chuck’s got it under control—” He gasped for his breath.
“Sit down.”
Noble shook his head. “That damn Whitmore ran off—maybe he got word last night . . . we was coming . . . Chuck got someone . . . to spill the beans where he’s gone. My God, that man can get tough.”
“I know him. He can do that when you won’t answer him. Noble, sit down.”
“I may not get up. You ain’t never been to that canyon—I’m going with you.”
Damn. That hardheaded old man was going to die, he was so worn out already and still insisting. Guthrey turned to the crowd. “Someone get him a chair
and find my horse.”
“Get me a fresh one too.” Noble’s shoulders gave a shudder.
Guthrey shook his head, looking hard at Noble. There was no talking sense to him. He’d probably fall off his horse when he did get one and break his neck.
A chair arrived, and Noble looked over his shoulder at it and nodded. Guthrey caught him and set him down. “Did the man say how many were with him?”
“Two of his gunmen rode out with him,” Noble said. “We got Hampton and the rest. Chuck’s coming with them.”
Someone handed Noble an open canteen and he took it in both hands. “I’ll be fine in a minute. Just hold your horses; we’ll get ’em. I’m damn sure going along for all them folks that the sumbitch ran off and hurt. You know, it’s harder than hell to get a toehold in ranching. Takes years to get one going, and not many folks do it. Those people he ran off, they had a toehold and he broke it off for them. All that bullshit we been hearing about how he was going to have you kilt—it was just that, bullshit. That bastard hurt women and kids—but he wouldn’t buck a real man.”
“Noble, I appreciate your concern. My concern is that you are completely worn out.”
Someone brought two fresh horses and they began to unsaddle the worn-out ones.
“Hold it, don’t saddle him one. Can’t you see he’s done in? Sit there, Noble. I can get a guide to show me this canyon,” Guthrey said.
Noble took off his hat. “No way, I’m going along with you, even if I have to crawl on my belly and back you up. Now saddle me a damn horse.”
“All right, but you tell these folks what you want on your tombstone when I bring your carcass back belly down over that horse.”
Several folks in the crowd offered to go along and help Guthrey. There must have been twenty or more ready to join a posse. Guthrey took off his hat, scratched the hair and an itch in the middle of his skull. “Boys, boys. Since I can’t talk sense into this ole man, I’ll take him along. I don’t want any innocent citizens shot by these three. So I’ll handle arresting them.”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “One problem, send one Ranger.” The crowd shouted, “Yeah, they do it that way tin Texas.”
“And we got one of them right here in Crook County. Made more arrests today than Killion did in four years.”
Another roar went up.
“Give us a little room, folks. Back up, please. This old man’s going with me. He’s one of the best friends I have—”
The applause was loud, and they did back up.
“Noble, you all right?” Guthrey’s mouth was close to the man’s ear when he spoke.
“I’m getting there. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Good, take your time. I know what getting Whitmore means to you. I won’t deprive you of that. I am real concerned about your condition. You are plumb tuckered out.” He glanced up at the crowd of people, who probably couldn’t hear his conversation. This grand old man had been his steady partner since Guthrey’d hired him. Noble wanted to see Whitmore arrested and put behind bars before the sun set. Guthrey’s own lovely wife would be on pins and needles if she knew he’d given in to Noble by letting him go along when he was so worn out. But he trusted she’d understand in the end. He could just ride slower up there and maybe Noble would recover some from the pressure of the hard ride to tell him that Whitmore had run.
They helped Noble onto his horse. He looked better in the saddle and forced a smile, then he nodded thanks for their help. When he reined the horse around, they gave him a cheer, and the two set out with many words of encouragement from the crowd.
One old woman with an age-wrinkled face under her sunbonnet turned back, stepped out of the bunch, and spat tobacco in the dust. “I hope you wring that damn bastard’s neck. He kilt my husband, John.”
“We’ll get him, lady,” Noble said and they rode on.
About to laugh at the woman’s defiance, Guthrey kept a straight face and looked over at Noble. “Can you stand to trot these horses?”
“Hell, yes. That canyon is in the Red Tanks,” Noble said as their ponies hit a trot. “He must have a place up there. In the past, when things got hot on some of his men for beating up someone, I think he’d send them up there until things cooled off.”
Guthrey had lots of time on his hands while riding through the mesquite, catclaw, and desert vegetation scattered across a strip of bare caliche-exposed surface that grew little forage on it, and he did a lot of wondering about what their man might do when cornered. All those so-called plots Whitmore had taken on to have him killed had evaporated like a mud hole from a summer rain.
“How much farther?” Guthrey asked.
“It’s a good ways up there. There’s a big spring up close to the top, but the water goes underground pretty fast after that. A former resident built a large stone mortar tank, but you can see there isn’t much forage in the country, so who needed the water up here?”
Guthrey nodded. “Funny, ain’t it? Where you don’t have grass there can be water and vice versa.”
Noble agreed. “It’s sure like that. Those kids’ daddy was a real hand at finding and capturing water. That’s why their cattle do so good up there.”
They entered Gregory Canyon on a wagon track between the towering black rock walls that closed in on them. With an itch between his shoulder blades, Guthrey kept an eye on the rims above them for sight of a sharpshooter. It would be an easy place to dry gulch them if Whitmore and his men were wary of pursuit.
“It’s not far from here,” Noble said at a wide place in the road. They dismounted and hitched their horses to some spindly mesquite.
On the ground, Guthrey slipped off his spurs and hung them on the saddle horn. Then he slid the .44//40 Winchester out of the scabbard and opened the lever halfway. The chamber was loaded. From a box in his saddlebags he filled his vest pockets with the long cartridges.
“You up to hiking?”
Noble nodded. He looked tired but determined as well.
The way grew steeper. Noble made him get to the right where it looked like there was some cover for them. Stopped, Guthrey could see a shake roof and then the rock house. No one was in sight, but three horses stood hipshot in the rail pen.
Where were they at?
Guthrey had no big hankering to be out and exposed when he challenged he house. The hundred or so feet from where they stood to the front door was open ground—no cover. Just some gravelly ground.
Guthrey and Noble were backed up and on their bellies where they should be able to duck any bullets when Guthrey cupped his hands and called out, “This is Sheriff Guthrey. Get your hands up and come out unarmed. I have a posse with me, and you won’t escape alive.”
He saw a gun muzzle as the door cracked open. He took aim and shot. Someone screamed and another cussed.
“I’m not kidding. Surrender or die.” He shot out the window to the left of the door to punctuate his order.
“All right, all right. We’re coming out. Dave can’t raise his left arm. He’s shot.”
His finger on the trigger, Guthrey closely watched the two men come out. One of them was wounded in the arm, and it dripped blood off the end of his finger. There were only two.
“Where’s Whitmore?” Guthrey asked as he scrambled to his feet
“He ain’t here.”
“You damn liars, tell him to get his ass out here.” Guthrey turned to Noble and said, “Stay here, this may be a trick. Keep your gun on them and shoot them if necessary. He may be escaping, and I owe him.”
“Be careful, he’s a snake.”
“I will.”
Jumping to his feet, Guthrey rushed the house, and then he saw someone climbing the steep mountain. A hatless man, it had to be Whitmore. Guthrey rested his rifle on the corral fence. “Stop and throw up your hands.”
&n
bsp; He saw Whitmore look back and then return to scrambling upward. Guthrey’s first shot was to the right of the man and must have sprayed his eyes full of grit. He screamed and his hands went to his face. He slid downhill a ways on his belly when he lost his grip on the boulder.
“You can die up there and the damn buzzards will eat you, or you can come down careful and surrender. Your choice.”
Guthrey’s rifle was reloaded. Whitmore seemed to be considering his chances of reaching the top safely or being shot while trying.
“Better give up. There’s no horse up there. No water either. Dying of thirst is lots worse than going to jail, I can guarantee you that.”
“Damn you, Guthrey. I should have had you shot that day in Steward’s Crossing. If I hadn’t had such sorry help, I could have done that.”
“You tried to hire several men to kill me, didn’t you? What happened to those guys?”
“No nerve, no damn nerve at all. Somehow the legend of you being an ex–Texas Ranger scared them all.”
“They were right to be scared. Rangers are a tough bunch. Now start coming down or I’m finishing you off for all those God-fearing folks that you and your grubby bunch hurt and ran off. I don’t really care if I shoot you or not. Right now my trigger finger is kinda itching to send you directly to hell.”
“I’m coming.”
Guthrey went to meet him, and when they got back to the house, Noble had the disarmed outlaws handcuffed. Both men sat on the ground. Whitmore came with his suit coat and pants floured in light-colored dirt. His hands held high, he shook his head when he finally arrived at the side of the house. Guthrey cuffed his wrists behind his back and shoved him to the ground beside the others.
“Now, why don’t you snap your fingers,” Guthrey said to him, “and have me killed.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
WHEN THEY WERE back at the jail at last, Doc had looked at the wounded man. The other prisoner and Whitmore had joined the rest in the barbed wire cell.
Noble, who had recovered remarkably in Guthrey’s eyes, was telling his part of the capture at the Whitmore Ranch.
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