Blood on the Verde River

by Dusty Richards

  “The money belonged to John J. Wilson. Wells Fargo was taking it to deposit in a Denver bank for him. The gold dust was from the Green Frog Saloon.”

  “Who knew about the transfer?”

  Roamer shook his head. “Got me, but you’re right. Those worthless outlaws that held up the stage and murdered your nephew got less than a hundred dollars.”

  Sheila had returned and refilled their coffee cups. “Chet, do you think they knew the money would be there?”

  “The way the law in the territory has tightened against things like stage holdups, yes I do. No one smart would hold up a stage to get forty dollars. My thinking is they knew the money was going to be on the stage.”

  “Chet,” Roamer began, “you’re the best thinker I know on these cases. I will tell all of you, Chet went after the killers of an old man and his wife. He caught them and then told me who had the money that the killers didn’t find. The dead man’s own brother.”

  “Aw, that was luck,” Chet said to dismiss the bragging on him.

  Roamer went on. “I have been riding hard after the stage robbers for two days and all I know was the stage was robbed. You figured out how four strangers hold up a stage, get twenty-five hundred dollars in cash plus gold dust, and that someone must have told them it was on that stage.”

  “How did they know to take this route?” Chet asked.

  “It damn sure is not a wagon road beyond here, is it?”

  Chet shook his head “I bet they’ve used it before.”

  “Yeager said he didn’t recognize them, even at the distance.”

  Chet nodded “They had to know this track. Too much wild country out here to ride it like they’d never traveled it before.”

  “Maybe they live over there,” Lefty said, pointing to the other side of the mountain.

  “That’s possible,” Chet said. “In the morning, we’ll track them down. But we have to be quiet. I heard those last two killers talking about going to Rye clear as if I could hear one of you. I almost rode in on them and had to drop back.”

  Everyone agreed to talk soft and ride easy in the morning.

  Before dawn, the smiling Shelia had breakfast stacked up and ready for the men. They teased her until she blushed—how if John ever didn’t treat her right, they’d come take her away.

  “Not much chance of that,” she said. And they all laughed.

  The posse headed down the other side of the mountain in the early hours. Talking low among themselves, Jesus had the lead. Chet had showed him the tracks of the horse that probably packed the strong box. The youth could also pick out the various horse prints from the day before when he and Chet had followed both outfits. He’d also learned a lot about tracking from Chet and JD in Mexico.

  Chet wondered why the thieves had not shot the lock off the box and emptied it. But that was their business and his to find out.

  On the ride, Chet was thinking of his family. Like always, he missed his wife’s company and wondered how the little one was doing. A child of their own—a miracle. Marge was sure all right. She’d given Susie enough motherly advice to survive the honeymoon and settle in with Leif. He hoped JD found himself. That boy worried him more than anything else. He didn’t know any past family history that his ancestors were ever in trouble, but his grandpaw on his mother’s side had told him lots of them were bad guys in Arkansas. Then he’d laughed and his mother had frowned at the old man.

  JD knew right from wrong. He’d somehow fallen out of being himself after the Kay deal. Her place had needed so much done and she wouldn’t let him borrow any money to do it. Maybe he’d find himself.

  Chet shook his head. Only God knew. So he prayed for JD and for Marge and the baby. He rode on in the line headed downhill for the Verde.

  Fresh ashes were spotted on the banks of the river where the robbers had stayed the night before. Maybe three or four hours ahead of them, was how Chet figured it. After fording the river, knee-deep on their horses, they scrambled up the steep tall mountain wall.

  Suddenly, an unsaddled horse with signs he had recently been under one came out of the junipers and whinnied to their animals. Guns were quickly drawn. Chet sent Jesus one way and he went the other while the others caught the loose horse. He found the saddle and the empty strong box with the lock beaten open by a hammer or a rock. “Over here.”

  Roamer pulled up next to him. “That horse fits the description of the one stolen from the man on the road.”

  “This is probably his saddle, too. Looks like they emptied the strong box.” Chet dismounted and shook his head over the discovery. He knew things would become harder.

  Roamer had pulled off his riding gloves to stand looking at the plain brown horse with a TW brand on its shoulder. He waved his pointed finger at Chet. “Nothing’s out of place now, is there? They got rid of the stolen horse and the strong box. We don’t know a thing. Annie said they were tough, bearded men. Bearded . . . but without all that hair, she might not be certain enough to identify them. Now we are looking for three men with gold dust and money.”

  “They’re within ten miles of being arrested or gone like smoke on the wind,” Chet said as he swung back on his horse. “I say we give them hell and try to catch them. Annie Smart might be our ace in the hole.”

  Roamer climbed on his horse. “Let’s ride.” They turned and joined the rest of the men.

  An hour and a half later, they came up a wide, sandy, dry bed to a small town. The tracks had been near impossible to read in the loose floor and only two sets of tracks appeared by then. Chet’s stomach turned sour. The robbers sure might get away. A growing worry was gripping him. Damn we’d sure gotten close.

  CHAPTER 12

  No strangers in town. That was the word they collected in the two stores and the saloon. They learned nothing different from the blacksmith, stage stop operator, and two drunk Indians. Ranchers coming into the settlement shook their heads and so did sun-bonneted women in town to shop. Jesus searched the main road north and south for a sign of a familiar horseshoe track and came back empty-handed. Their leads had petered out in the Rye Creek Wash.

  Chet met Roamer near the unpainted church. It was midday. The weather had warmed up and both men had shed their coats.

  “Damn, we worried about this happening and it has,” Roamer said. “They slipped back into their lives around here.”

  “Jesus rode up and down both sides of town searching for tracks. Not one familiar horse track going either direction. The south way would mean they’d headed for Hayden Mills, north is to Payson Junction or at least some small settlement up there.”

  Roamer closed his eyes. “When we go back, I’ll stop and ask Missus Smart if there was anything else she noticed about the man who ordered her back inside her house. As far as I know, no one else saw their faces. What do you think?”

  Chet shook his head. “The earth didn’t swallow them. They’re around here—somewhere.”

  “They say a Gila County deputy lives about four miles from here.”

  Chet nodded. The man’s name was Franklin. Someone had mentioned him, and then laughed how he was the law. “He doesn’t do much from all I’ve heard.”

  “Maybe we should go introduce ourselves.” Roamer slapped his saddle horn. “How did they do this?”

  “Aw, Roamer, we knew they were slick. They avoided Yeager’s. Must have looped around them and Annie’s place on their way to rob the stage. The only reason they stopped on the way back was because their horses needed a drink. I bet they regret that stop at Annie’s now, too.”

  Roamer frowned. “What can we do?”

  “Ask where Franklin lives?”

  Roamer nodded. “All right. Maybe we can learn something from him. I doubt, from what I’ve heard about him, that he’s going to give us any help, but let’s go see him. I’ll have my men keep checking around here.”

  “Good. We may still stumble on those robbers yet. Jesus can join us.”

  “Sure.”

  Rob Franklin
’s ranch was south of town and up on the Four Peaks side of the road. They reached there past noontime. His headquarters consisted of a squaw shade and some pole corrals. A man of medium build about five-eight came out of the shade barefooted and pulling up his suspenders with a silver badge on the right strap.

  “Rob Franklin?” Roamer asked.

  He eyed them suspiciously. “Yeah, what ’cha need?”

  “I’m from Yavapai County. Sheriff Sims’s office. Three men held up the Black Canyon Stage a few days ago. We tracked them from there over to here.”

  “What’re their names?”

  “I was hoping you could fill that in for us.”

  “Well, this ain’t in your jurisdiction. So what the hell are you doing here?”

  Roamer’s face grew red under his freckles. “I’m here in pursuit of four felons that held up a stage and stole a man’s horse. Don’t question my authority.”

  “Hell, they could be anyone. How can you find them if you don’t have any names?”

  “Come on Chet. He ain’t any damn help.” Roamer reined his horse around in disgust.

  “Franklin, thanks.” Chet tipped his hat to the man and turned to leave. “The people of this county can count on your able services to protect them from such felons.”

  “Go to hell and get out of here!”

  They headed through the head-high chaparral for the road.

  As soon as they were out of the angry lawman’s hearing, Roamer said, “He probably knows damn good and well who they are.”

  “I saw a horseshoe print back there that, I think, is damn close to one of theirs.”

  Roamer jerked his horse to a halt. “You saw what, Jesus?”

  Jesus reined his horse to a stop. “I don’t know how the last guy shod that horse, but it is on crooked . . . or the horse’s right front leg is crooked. That horse was at Franklin’s recently.”

  Chet pulled up alongside them.

  Roamer pounded his saddle horn. “Sumbitch. Why, he made me so damn mad I never looked in the dust for any sign of them.”

  Jesus nodded. “Not many saddle horses are like that. The animal has probably learned how to move smooth enough, but he still has that fault.”

  Chet nodded. “Someone really likes him or is proud of the rest of him to overlook his fault.” He frowned. What did the robbers want with Franklin? Was he in cahoots with them or was it just a passing through hell? Chet motioned them forward then turned to Roamer. “Do you know the sheriff in Globe?”

  “I met him once when the state legislature met in Preskitt at the sheriff’s party for the legislatures. His name is Gordon Blankenship.”

  “Rather than us questioning Franklin about who came by, why don’t you go down to Globe and tell Blankenship our plight. You can ask the sheriff to require Franklin to tell us why the robber’s horse was at the deputy’s place.”

  “What’s he so mad about, anyway?”

  “He may be in with them. Or he may realize I hung those two killers in his district.”

  Roamer nodded. “I wondered about that. But near as I heard those men were drifters and didn’t live around here.”

  “I didn’t give a damn. Those ruthless outlaws had killed two good men and hurt a nice lady as well as stolen some good horses.”

  “Hell.” Roamer shook his head. “They had it coming. I was sorry I wasn’t there. That deputy never sent you any help. That made me sick.”

  “He wouldn’t even let Raphael go to help me.”

  “Sims defended his doing that, too. Made me so mad I about resigned.”

  Chet hurried the conversation along. “What do you say? Ready to ride to Globe?”

  “I’ll head there. It will take me a few days to go down there and come back. Wilson and Burton are costing the county a dollar a day. Sims will ask me if I went crazy keeping them on the payroll while I rode to Globe and back.”

  “I will pay for those days. So don’t worry.”

  “Thanks.”

  Chet acknowledged his thanks with a nod. “Meanwhile, we’ll look for the crooked-legged horse and his owner.”

  Thirty minutes later, Roamer said, “See you in three or four days,” and was gone.

  The rest met in their camp in a grove of cottonwoods at the edge of town, and Chet told them how Jesus had spotted the hoofprint at Franklin’s place and what Roamer was going to do.

  “We are close then?” Lefty asked, and then spit tobacco aside.

  “It looks that way. We may be grasping at straws, but Jesus thinks it is the same animal,” Chet answered.

  “What do you think? That Franklin got mad ’cause you were looking for his friends or was he touchy that we got in his territory?”

  “I have to believe that he doesn’t know the guilty party. He’s a lawman.”

  “That don’t pay much. But thanks for hiring Haze and me.”

  “No problem, Lefty. I owe Roamer, anyway. You two have work?”

  “Day work is all,” Haze put in.

  “I have a ranch up at Hackberry. My nephew Reg and his wife Lucy run it. He needs some help. I bought nine sections. It’s good country.”

  Haze looked interested. “They have any headquarters?”

  Chet nodded. “They have corrals and a house. cook shack and bunkhouse are being built. Everybody will be inside before the snow flies.”

  Lefty rubbed his sleeves. “It is warmer down here than at Preskitt, but those days aren’t that far away. Me and Haze talked about asking you if you needed anyone.”

  “I do.”

  “We’ll go up there and try to please your nephew.”

  Haze agreed and they all shook hands.

  Chet turned their attention to the task at hand. “Now, we need to find that horse in case Roamer fails to get the sheriff involved.”

  “We ain’t deputies.”

  “Right, but we are citizens, and citizens can try to find and arrest criminals.”

  Jesus laughed. “So we will wait. But I can show you what his tracks look like. If they ride him into town maybe we can find him ourselves.”

  Chet agreed. “That is our only lead.”

  So their search continued. The two cowboys frequented the saloons and reported on anything that sounded like news. Chet visited both stores and sat around the unfired stove talking to ranchers and men who gathered there.

  Jesus spoke to the Hispanic people in the settlement. He came back to camp the second night and spoke to Chet. “Today I spoke to Ramona Chavez who is a puta. She thinks the men we should watch are the Cagle brothers. They own the Box B brand. She has no proof, but says they seem to always have money and never work much. I paid her two dollars for her information.”

  “That was good. Any names?”

  “Uele is the older.”

  Chet began to write their names down in his herd book. “He the head man?”

  Jesus nodded. “He sounds like the man who ordered the lady back into her house.”

  “Yes. You have the others?”

  “Tim is number two. Lyle has a bad left arm. I never heard anyone say anything about a one-armed man. Did you?”

  “No. We don’t know much about them, period.”

  Jesus continued. “Wallace is the younger one.”

  “Where do they live?”

  Jesus pointed over his shoulder. “North of here.”

  “We never saw the tracks in that direction, but they may have scouted around. Maybe we need to watch Franklin more and see who comes to visit him.” To Chet, it seemed strange no one had mentioned these brothers in the conversations he’d had with ranchers at the store. He turned to Lefty and Haze and asked them about the Cagle brothers.

  “I think they must have put fear in the ordinary folks,” Lefty said.

  “It’s something even the drunks won’t tell us,” Haze said.

  “Haze and I got a few men drunk, but they cut us off when we asked who they thought had robbed the stage.”

  “You never heard these Cagles mentioned?” Chet
asked.

  “No, but I bet that puta knows them,” Haze agreed and laughed.

  “Hey. Jesus may have found them thanks to her. We are all doing our part to find these—”

  Haze interrupted. “We’re jealous. We meet and greet the drunks and he gets the sweet jobs.”

  They all laughed

  Chet quickly made a plan. “I have a telescope. Two of you scout out this Box B deal. Then one of us can keep an eye on Franklin.”

  “We’ll take the brothers,” Lefty said.

  “I can go watch Franklin,” Jesus said.

  “Good. We may break this case open before Roamer gets back.” Chet hoped so, anyway. This dogged business of trying to solve the outlaws’ identification grew older and colder by the day.

  “I sure hope so,” Haze said. “I’m getting tired of listening to these no account drunks’ stories.”

  Chet agreed. “Even herding cattle beats that, I agree. But we are getting closer, I think.”

  They turned in and Chet had trouble sleeping.

  Before dawn, they rolled out, built a fire, and made breakfast. Cold air just short of a frost had them huddled under blankets while eating the hot sweetened oatmeal before they set out on their tasks.

  Chet went to see a rancher he’d struck up a friendship with. He felt Charles Hansen had some notions about who might be involved in the robbery.

  When Chet arrived at Hansen’s place, his newfound friend had a horse already saddled.

  His wife came out and spoke to Chet. “Charles told me your deputy friend went to Globe to see the sheriff. Hope he does better than folks up here got out of him two years ago when we had some cattle rustled. He came up here, promised us a few more deputies, then went back to Globe, and all we saw was Franklin, who is lazy as a fat hawg.” She shook her head hard.

  “Velma don’t like the man,” Charles said coming out of the house. He mounted up and was ready to ride.

  “Thanks, ma’am.” Chet tipped his hat. “I hope we do more than that.”

  She smiled and told them to have a good day.