Pray for the Dead

by Dusty Richards

Eating the great meal by the firelight settled his bunch down.

  “How far ahead is the posse, do you think?” Spud asked.

  “Thirty miles, give or take.” Chet shook his head. “And by now, they’re probably down to about half the number of riders they had to start with.”

  “Spud,” Cole explained. “The boss man hates posses. They are usually made up of storeowners and clerks trying to chase down criminals. They’re not real horsemen, don’t do much riding, and aren’t outdoors men.”

  The youth chuckled. “I was camp helper up on the rim a while back. Worked for an outfitter who took two fat businessmen in bush helmets hunting for bears. They each shot a yearling black bear apiece that my boss called a grizzly. He told them they’d tan the hides and ship ’em to them. When those dudes went back east, we ran all over hell for six weeks finding two small real grizzlies ’cause he said some college professor would tell them they’d been lied to, seeing black bear hides. So I asked him, ‘Why didn’t you just take them shooting grizzlies?’ ‘Oh, hell,’ he said, ‘those dudes might have gotten ate up by a momma grizzly and my outfit business would be ruined!’”

  Busy cutting up his steak, Chet asked, “Spud, do you know what he charged them for the hunt?”

  “Yes, sir. He got five thousand dollars apiece from them. I got paid ten dollars for my part.”

  Holding up his tin coffee cup for Liz to refill, Cole couldn’t help but laugh. “Jesus, you, me, and Spud need two hunts a year like that, don’t we?”

  “Maybe just one,” Chet said.

  Jesus said, “If it’s like hunting that old stinking cow grizzly Chet and I burned out of that cave up north on the Verde Ranch, that ain’t enough money.”

  Still laughing, Chet said, “I agree, it’s not enough money.”

  “I want to hear that story,” Liz said.

  “Sometime when I have all night, Jesus and I will tell you the whole thing.”

  “But, Liz?” Jesus said.

  “Yes.”

  “That bear smelled so bad they could smell her clear up at your house.”

  “Oh, Jesus, you’ve been here so long you tell stories taller than Chet.” She was laughing so hard tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t smell her.” Jesus shook his head and went back for cobbler.

  They slept till just before dawn, then saddled up the horses while their mounts ate cracked corn from feedbags. They’d water them at the river and ride on after a cold breakfast of the leftovers and hot coffee.

  “First night we’ve had enough sleep.” Cole yawned and stretched his arms over his head.

  “Speak for yourself, amigo,” Jesus said. “I could’ve slept all day.”

  They rode through St. David again, where only the farm wives were awake, busy milking their Jersey cows. They passed their informer’s house, after which the posse’s tracks went on toward Tombstone. An hour later they met two businessmen in suits, haggard looking as their horses. After a quick introduction, they told Chet they had left the posse the night before in order to get back to their stores.

  He asked how many men were left. The older man shook his head. “Probably not even a dozen. I think some broke off and went to Tombstone last night for libations.”

  When they’d ridden on, Spud leaned in close to Chet. “What the hell was that he said they went for, sir?”

  “Libations, son,” Chet told him. “Whiskey, and such.”

  “Oh, you mean to get drunk, huh?”

  “That’s the idea. ”

  “Oh. I understand that. I never heard it called that before.”

  “You aren’t alone,” Liz said. “I just learned what that word meant, too.”

  “That’s what you call it when you can afford it,” Cole added.

  This set the whole bunch to laughing.

  Short of Tombstone, the posse tracks turned south instead of off toward the border. Chet picked up the pace, heading for the army fort at the base of the mountains. Noon came and went, and they ate dry jerky in the saddle, washed down with water out of their canteens.

  Chet thought about stopping at the fort but decided to cross over into Mexico, instead, in the same place Coronado had crossed decades before. He told Liz of the explorer and how he’d come to this land looking for the fabled cities of gold. Poor man. Instead of riches, he’d fell into disgrace for his troubles.

  “I hope we don’t do likewise,” Cole muttered.

  “Me, neither.”

  “Wonder what they’re eating?” Jesus mused thoughtfully.

  “Who?”

  “Crawford and the girl,” he said. “No one knew much more than that they stole horses in Benson and rode away.”

  Chet considered it. “I figure Crawford knows this land better than most. He knew better than to show up in Tombstone and thought he was untouchable back at that farm they were at.”

  Jesus agreed. “I agree. He may have a larger plan than we can imagine.”

  That afternoon, they caught up with what remained of the posse down below the border. They were stopped at a small cantina eating, drinking, and looking haggard.

  One of them, a big man who Chet sized up immediately as a fellow rancher, came over and introduced himself.

  “Hiram Adams. I know you. You’re Chet Byrnes. How did you get down here?”

  “We rode hard,” Chet told him. “Do you know when Crawford went through here?”

  “The man who owns the place says about twenty-four hours.”

  “You sure it’s him?”

  Adams nodded. “Big man traveling light with a pretty, redheaded woman.”

  “That’s him, alright,” Cole confirmed.

  “I’m afraid these men are all worn out. We expected to overtake them long before now.” He took off his hat and shook his head. “He’s smarter and tougher than I thought he would be.”

  Chet snorted. “We know. He lost us in our own backyard, just as smooth as you could believe. Any idea where he may land?”

  “A Mexican man back in Arizona told us he’s headed for Rio Deloris.”

  “Why there?”

  “He thought Crawford had some mining interests there.”

  “That’s a day’s ride south of here,” Liz said.

  Chet nodded. “Any of your men want to ride on?”

  Adams shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’ve about eaten all the dust we want. Nice to meet you though, Mr. Byrnes. I want to thank you and your men for making the territory a better place to live. Men like Crawford should have been drowned when they were born. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Do you know the dead marshal’s family?”

  “Yes. He had a wife and two married daughters.”

  “Would you see that his widow has what she needs? Liz and I live at Preskitt, but we’d do anything to help. You can’t handle something, just write me. I didn’t leave those two there to get him killed. But the cell doors have been left unlocked before—I made sure he wouldn’t do that this time.”

  They shook hands, then went to meet Señor O’Leary the cantina/storeowner whose women had waited on them.

  “So good to meet you, señor! And you too, señora,” O’Leary said. Then in Spanish, he told them how his Irish father years ago started the cantina, and how glad he was they had stopped there.

  The man was a good storyteller and they enjoyed his family yarn. The food and wine were good and the man repeated that Crawford had mine interests in Rio Deloris. He told them there was no river there, only a dry riverbed.

  No doubt Crawford must have friends or something there. But why didn’t he go there after the robbery instead of staying in the Mormon settlement? It didn’t make sense.

  “Señor, if you go down there, I know he will run. I know some tough men who can go and locate him for you if he is there. If you ride in there he will only run some more. Say for five pesos a day, I send some of them down there and you may stay here. When they find where he stays, you can go arrest hi
m, no?”

  He looked at his men for their opinion.

  “Sounds good to me,” Cole said.

  “Worth a try,” Jesus added.

  “I go with you whatever,” Spud said.

  “Let’s try it,” Liz said.

  When Chet told him to go ahead, O’Leary sent some of his working girls off to find the men he listed. He offered them hammocks to sleep in and a bath for Liz, who gladly accepted the offer.

  O’Leary’s teenage sons fed and watered the horses. Then they let them roll in the dust of the corrals, after assuring Chet it was quite free of goat heads.

  In a small adobe casa, they set up the bathwater for Liz and told him he could bathe, too. He accepted the woman’s generosity. It would all be on his bill, but who cared? Roamer and Shawn arrived in the night to join them. They had a real team now. If this man O’Leary’s spies found the outlaw as he promised—they’d be able to take both of them. Time was on their hands.

  His men caught up on their sleep and even took baths and relaxed. Chet had a leather-bound book to write in, and he put down some more notes about his plans for the buckboard mail run.

  O’Leary’s men returned that evening. Seated at a scarred table, the lead man, Alfredo, told them where Crawford was—staying with a gringo businessman named Coats. Coats was well known in the area. His house was a walled fortress, and he had armed guards and big mean dogs.

  Alfredo said they must poison the dogs and take out the guards. There was only one way in or out and that was through the two thick wooden gates.

  “You’re certain he’s in there?” Chet asked.

  “Sí, señor. We saw him come out with a woman in a buggy. They went to shop and then drove back in.”

  “How often do they do that?” Chet asked.

  “They did it today very open-like.”

  Does he have money here? Chet wondered, but had no answer.

  One of the other men in the group piped up. “I saw him go into the bank and come out smiling.”

  “Good,” Chet said. “That answers my next question. Can we move in close unobserved? I’d like to take him outside of the rich man’s casa if at all possible.”

  “There will be less to tell the authorities, heh?” O’Leary asked.

  The man was fast. “Exactly.”

  “We have a place we can conceal your horses and wait until he rides out,” Alfredo said.

  “Good.”

  “Tonight, we will move you there.”

  “You don’t think someone will warn him, do you?”

  “No, but we don’t know for sure. They might. We will try to get you in place late at night.”

  Chet agreed. “We really need to arrest him and get back to the U.S.”

  O’Leary smiled. “I am helping you?”

  “Yes, what do I owe you right now?”

  “Is a hundred pesos too much?”

  Chet smiled. “Not at all. If we get him in the next two days, I’ll double it.”

  “Will we?” he asked his man.

  “Sí.”

  That evening Chet, Cole, and Jesus rode out with Alfredo under a million stars to Rio Deloris. Once there, they put their horses in a small corral hidden behind a tall adobe wall that surrounded a deserted house. One of Alfredo’s men who met them there left on foot about dawn to keep an eye on Crawford’s activity.

  Chet did lots of pacing as the sun grew higher and warmer. He looked up and his guide was smiling. “Good news. Your gringo drove out to shop a short while ago. Get your horses.”

  Cole and Jesus were already moving. Chet followed. They swung up in their saddles and followed the man who led them on foot. He entered an alley, dodging piles of brown bottles and garbage, and scattered some half-wild cats. He raised a hand for them to halt. Chet dismounted and saw the redheaded woman sitting with a man at a table in an outside café.

  He signaled to the others. On foot they came up the alley, guns drawn. Crawford saw them at once. He started for his gun, but Chet’s pistol in his face stopped him in his tracks, despite the desperation clearly written there.

  Jesus disarmed him.

  “You can’t arrest me in Mexico,” Crawford said as Jesus handcuffed him.

  “You keep telling us what we can’t do,” Jesus whispered in his ear. “Yet here we are.”

  Still seated, the woman reached for her large purse. Chet caught her arm. “I’ll take that.”

  “Gawdamn you!”

  “Lady, he may damn me, but you won’t shoot me with this peashooter.” He chuckled and put the Ladysmith. 22 revolver in his belt and the purse on his shoulder. He raised her out of the chair and shoved her forward. “Head for the alley.”

  She snarled but obeyed. Alfredo set off to procure a wagon to haul the pair. Chet and Cole walked to the east end of the alley, while Jesus brought their horses.

  A wagon and team arrived. Jesus brought a pair of ankle irons for her.

  “I don’t need those,” she said.

  “You ran away,” Cole told her. “I told you what would happen if you ran away, didn’t I? Put them on her, Jesus.”

  She broke into a stream of cussing as they loaded her into the wagon, leg irons and all.

  Alfredo was telling the anxious-looking driver not to worry he would be paid well.

  Seated in the wagon they left in a hard run out of town, led by shouting riders to clear the way. In three blocks they cleared the town and were crossing through the strange organ cactus desert, headed for O’Leary’s cantina.

  Spud had everything loaded when they arrived. Liz looked pleased helping him finish up.

  “Will you take them to the United States for forty dollars?” Chet asked the driver.

  The man smiled and nodded, though he looked pale.

  O’Leary and his crew came out to see them off. Chet gave each of the women ten dollars, and O’Leary himself two hundred for his efforts. Alfredo got another twenty. They all thanked him and waved good-bye.

  Before they headed out, Chet looked back south for any sign of pursuit. No dust. Then he spoke to his friend. “Amigo, I hope you are safe from any revenge.”

  O’Leary shook his head to dismiss the concern. “We will watch our backsides.”

  Finally they headed back north, the driver jogging the wagon team. Chet could only hope they weren’t pursued by Crawford’s friends or partners. Once they reached the border, Jesus and Shawn set out to find two more saddle horses and saddles for the prisoners to ride. Chet gave them money and told them to be careful.

  “We’ll be back,” Shawn promised him.

  The short man who drove the wagon said after them, “May God help you both.”

  Liz shook her head. “What a mess we’re in.”

  Chet shook his head. “We’ve been in lots worse, Liz. Arizona is only miles away.”

  Roamer laughed. “One time, Liz, we found some bandits in a bar over in Mexico. We arrested them and forced them across the border, all while they were screaming for the border guards to come help them.”

  “We’ve had some real tough deals,” Chet said with a shake of his head. “We’ll take turns standing guard tonight, though.”

  She shook her head in the firelight. “Well, you guys certainly know this business. It still amazes me at times.”

  The boys returned with the extra horses and saddles after midnight.

  The next day, they reached Fort Huachuca and the Army welcomed them. Their prisoners were placed in the fort jail, and after a big meal, Chet and company slept in the officers’ quarters. Using the fort’s telegraph station, Shawn arranged for a buckboard with guards to deliver the pair to the Tucson jail. Chet wired the acting Chief Marshal that the pair was on their way. Meantime, he, Liz, and Cole would head to Tombstone and from there catch a stage. They would be in Tucson in twenty-four hours to straighten out the charges. That left Jesus and Spud to bring the horses and gear back home.

  Another buckboard was hired to take them to Tombstone, where they met the stage. Cole sat wi
th the driver on the top seat, with Chet and Liz in the second row as they made the sweeping ride across the desert and over the hills to the silver city.

  They arrived at the stage depot and bought tickets for the ride to Tucson. Fred Dodge met them and thanked them for catching and returning the pair. They ate lunch with him and visited about the new stage line being developed. He promised that the rewards on the capture would speedily be sent to Chet to divide with his men—with Norma Shields receiving part of reward too.

  They shook hands and climbed into the coach for the next leg of the trip. Chet was pleased that after this next stop, they would be going home to work on the buckboard delivery plan. They sent a wire to Monica and Valerie giving their expected arrival.

  Arriving in Tucson late the next night, they ate and took hotel rooms. After breakfast they met Chief Deputy Marshal Rick Sewell. He and two clerks went over the charges with two prosecutors. Chet told him about the Preskitt stage office man who interviewed Ruth Carlson and the two men after the stage robbery, as well as about the bank employee who testified he told Ruth Carlson the shipment schedule. Chet also reported the murders of Crawford’s gang members to silence them.

  The loot they recovered from Crawford and his partners was secured. The trials should be cut and dry, the prosecutor said. However, the court in Cochise County would also want to try the pair for murder of the marshal when they were in the jail.

  Sewell shook Chet’s hand and thanked him and his men for all their hard work.

  They climbed on the stage that evening and headed home.

  Liz wrapped, again, in a blanket against the night’s growing cold, hugged him. “We are going home at last, hombre. I am so pleased you allowed me to go with you. I never regretted it. And things went so smoothly. Those two thought they were so safe down there. They had no idea you were coming for them.”

  “Those kinds of people believe they live above the law without regard. And I always enjoy your company. But let’s push our brains into this stage line business now. We need to get it rolling.”

  “I will do all I can.”

  “I know that. We just have to get our sights on that project next.”

  Talk became difficult over the drum of the horses and the creaking suspension of the coach as they headed north under the stars. The sharp creosote smell of the desert was in Chet’s nose as they headed for Picacho Pass and the stage stop there. They drifted in and out of sleep on the run. Hours later, he felt stiff dismounting at the Papago Wells stopover.