CHAPTER 32
Drew rode with Chet and Jesus. The wind out of the north was in their faces as they crossed the juniper-covered rolling country, headed for where Drew thought they could find the pair of assailants. It wasn’t bitter cold, but Chet had seen better days to ride across high country.
They had ridden several miles and Drew had talked to several people on the road about the pair. Some knew a little about them, and one rancher told him where they lived up in a canyon. Most just said they were worthless and not worth going over there for anything.
Chet silently agreed, but kept his opinion to himself. After a few hours, they reached the turnoff. Drew halted his horse and checked his six-gun.
He shook his head. “I don’t use this Colt much. I figured I’d better be sure it was loaded. I’m bad enough that I shoot at a coyote or wolf and then not reload it. Nope. It’s full to the empty under the hammer.”
Jesus smiled. “You ever go after outlaws, you’d know your gun was loaded.”
“I bet that’s so. You have much trouble capturing them?”
“We went to arrest some horse thieves and we shot four of them. The last one shot himself.”
“Why did he do that?”
“He couldn’t face jail time,” Chet said.
“Takes all kinds to make up the world.”
“We’ve seen them, too,” Jesus said.
They rode up the canyon they had been told about until the pole corrals came into sight. A shack and a pile of trash were beyond that. Jesus slid his Winchester out of his scabbard and levered in a round. Chet did the same and moved his horse in front of Drew’s.
“There’s lots of junk around that shack, Jesus. I don’t think you can charge around on that horse.”
“I’ll get off and go around.”
“Be careful.”
Jesus nodded and took off on foot. Drew spurred his mount to catch Jesus’s loose horse.
“Don’t worry, he won’t leave my mount. We better get down and walk up there. They go to shooting, get some cover. I got shot riding up to the front door down by Tombstone a while back.”
“I recall hearing about that. You think they’re here?”
“We’ll see.” Chet stopped, set the rifle against the corral, and drew his pistol. He fired it in the air. “U.S. Marshals, come out or else.”
Nothing happened. Jesus must be in the back. No one shot at him. Were they even in there? They kept closing in on the house. On the porch, they both stood opposite beside the door. No sound.
Chet pulled the latchstring and the old door creaked open. No sounds. Gun ready, he stepped inside. The house stunk—but he expected that from Kary’s words about them.
No one was in the beds. Spoiled food was on the table. They must not have come back after they attacked her. Where could they be? He opened the back door and waved Jesus over. “This place is empty. They haven’t been here for a while.”
Chet reloaded his revolver with a new cartridge and holstered it. “Drew, where can we look next?”
“Tomorrow we can go to Hackberry. Someone might have seen them over there. We can also put up reward posters. I’d bet they are within fifty miles of here.”
“Well, we need to find them before they rape someone else.”
“That’s for sure.”
* * *
“Drew, I wondered if you knew anything about my nephew’s problems before he committed suicide.”
“No, but you might talk with Lefty about it. He was closer to him than anyone but Lucy. He’s never said much.”
“Thanks, I’ll talk to him. May not be a thing there. I’m simply looking for answers.”
“It beat me. He was living my dream, Chet.”
“You never know. I sure wouldn’t have believed it could happen if someone had told me.”
“They must’ve headed out?” Jesus said, remounting.
“Drew thinks we should try Hackberry tomorrow.”
“Those guys aren’t smart. They may still be in the area,” Drew said.
They went back to the ranch. After supper, Chet caught Lefty on the porch smoking a corncob pipe. The sun was down, and the light from the living room window shone on the porch.
“How did your day go?”
“Aw, Chet, went like most of my days on this outfit, pretty damn nice. I had three square meals, wore clean clothes, got a warm bed ahead of me, and the weather ain’t too bad. This job gets tough when the snow comes, but we’ll sure appreciate those boys he’s going to hire.”
“No problem.” Chat sat down in another chair. “I’m looking for some answers about Reg. I know something was eating him up and I haven’t found that cause yet. You were close to him. Could you tell me anything?”
He took the pipe out of his mouth and leaned forward. “I only saw her once.” Lefty paused. “Now I don’t want you telling a soul. I ain’t absolute sure, but her name might have been Jeanie Downey. How he was hooked up with her, I don’t know. But they must have had an affair and broke up, but then I think they got back together. Don’t ever tell Lucy, though. It would kill her. Then they split and he had that bad wreck.”
“Lefty, thanks. I don’t need to know any more.”
“You and me knowed that boy and we loved him. He just lost his mind over that gal. He told me some things I didn’t need to know. But it ate him up. Told me it was doing that. I’d done anything he’d asked of me. But I sure couldn’t help him there.”
“Our secret, Lefty. You’re a true friend.”
“I hated that she thought it was her what was wrong. But I won’t ever tell her. She don’t need to know.”
“Amen. Amen.”
Chet left Lefty on the porch and walked a long ways under the stars and then back. Lots on his mind, and he, as usual, missed Liz. Maybe they’d do more the next day. He sure hoped so. This one had ended on a sour note for him. But at least now he knew—Lord, Lord let me sleep tonight.
CHAPTER 33
They rode into Hackberry the next day under steady cloud cover and a cool breeze. They dismounted at the store and went inside to leave a list of things Lucy wanted. The storeowner recognized Chet and came out of his office to talk to him. He spoke to Drew and Jesus, as well, and shook their hands.
“Mr. Byrnes, what brings you to our small town?”
“Supplies.”
“Oh, does Mrs. Byrnes need anything special?”
“I can’t imagine Lucy Byrnes needing anything special.”
The man laughed. “Well, if she did I’d find it for her if I had to go through hell and high water to find it. She pays her bills monthly and never misses a day on them. Extraordinary lady. You, sir, are very busy I suspect, running your many ranches.”
“They keep me busy. But I have some other business I have to deal with right now. Maybe you can help me. You know two characters named Gilbert and Lum? They killed a man over east a few weeks back.”
“Gilbert Tillman?”
“Scar on his face.”
“He was in here early this morning when I first opened.”
Chet narrowed his eyes. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know, but he didn’t have a horse. He left on foot.”
“Where do you think he went?”
“There are a few people have a camp south of town.”
“Drew, you know about that camp?”
“Sure do.”
“Good.”
“Here is Lucy’s list. We’ll be back later.” Chet handed the storeowner the paper.
Mounted on their horses they charged out of town. Drew led them down a side road. Before they even reached the place, Chet saw the ragged tents and campfires and they halted short of them. They dismounted, hitched their horses, and began searching for the two men they were after.
Jesus pointed. “There goes the guy with long blond hair.”
Chet put on a burst of speed. The man saw him coming and began to run hard out, but he was no match for Chet’s long legs. Chet reached
out and jerked him back by his collar, which proved rotten and came off in his hand.
But it threw the man off balance, and that was enough. Lum stumbled and plowed his face in the dirt with Chet riding him into the ground.
“Where is that other sumbitch Gilbert?”
“I don’t know any Gilbert. Why you want him?”
“We got him,” Jesus shouted.
Drew and Jesus had the other guy in cuffs. Chet saw the scar on his face and nodded—they had their killers.
Chet climbed to his own feet and Jesus handcuffed his prisoner. Lum was babbling about something that made no sense, as Drew dragged him to his feet.
“You two are under arrest for the murder of a man named McCrown.” He looked over the scowling crowd.
“Damn, let’s get out of here,” Jesus said softly.
“How?” Drew asked.
“Double them on my horse, you can lead him. Jesus and I can ride his horse double,” Chet said.
Chet tried to ignore all the filthy, rag-wearing people armed with hoes and rakes, complaining about the arrests. The prisoners were tossed on his horse and Drew caught the reins. Jesus was mounted on his own horse and Chet caught the horn and swung up behind him—that goosed the bay up a few feet, but he never bucked and they were headed in a good lope for Hackberry.
Chet looked back—no pursuit. But he noticed those two did smell bad even in the wind.
At town, Cole rejoined Chet, Jesus, and Drew, and Chet hired two wagons. One rig to carry Kary McCrown, her belongings, and her furniture. She looked very settled in the new long, wool coat he had bought for her. She was seated beside the driver, her head wrapped in a colorful blue silk scarf.
The second wagon carried the two grumbling prisoners in leg and hand irons under some blankets headed for the Yavapai County jail. Cole, Jesus, Drew, and Chet rode guard on them.
“We’ve been through lots of things to get here,” Chet said. “Cole is about to start building this stage line. We have things started. It looks to me like we are in for a big effort to get this job done.”
“Will it make money?” Jesus asked.
“You never know about that. Some things do, others don’t. But I think we have to make our money on this project before the railroad gets here. This territory is growing, and we’ll grow with it if we can get in. Cole got Kary’s farmstead sold and his new man is moving west to set up. That means in time Cole will have an individual that will build a stage stop and also have a business there.”
Cole agreed. “He says he will.”
“That’s good.”
* * *
Four days later, they were at their house on the mountain. Liz came out and hugged him.
“What do we have?”
“That’s Kary McCrown. Her husband was murdered. Those men in the second wagon did it. Here, Kary, let me help you down. This is my wife Elizabeth.”
“Oh, I must thank you. Your husband and his men have saved my life.” Her face beamed with her excitement.
Liz hugged her.
The two women left him for the house, talking up a storm. His men would care for her furniture and haul the prisoners in to be jailed. Cole and Jesus could handle that matter. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and Chet went and sat on the front porch to simply think about things.
He’d made a full circle one more time. This emerging stage business looked like a viable way to make money. Time would tell, but it wasn’t like if it didn’t work he’d end up penniless. Far from it. But it was no time to spend a fortune on a dead horse if this turned out to be one.
Raphael joined him, sombrero in hand.
“Have a seat, my friend.” Chet patted the end of the bench.
“So you return from the rim. They told me those prisoners murdered that woman’s husband.”
“They did and will pay for their crimes.”
“They have a saying in Mexico about seeing it all. You have seen it all, haven’t you?”
Chet made a grim face before he said, “No, mi amigo, but sometimes I see or learn something. This trip was no exception.”
“Could I ask what you learned on this journey, my friend?”
“How some men can lose their mind over a woman that turns his head. He can be big and tough enough to whip several men. But a bad woman can spoil his brain and turn him to do things he’s been taught to avoid. Then in the end, she would spurn him and break his will to even live anymore.”
“That was a powerful lesson you just told me. I have known such real stories about some powerful men who fell madly in love with some wrong women and when they could not have them—they went mad.”
“Yes, well, I guess I better go find supper. Everything alright here on the ranch?”
“Oh, fine. We have a new baby. A big boy. We still have lots of hay to feed and spring is coming. Things are good here. Soon the new calves will come. Many of them will be twice from the shorthorn bulls, mi amigo.”
“They should be great ones.”
“They will be.”
Chet pounded his shoulder. “I appreciate all you do. All you do.”
“Gracias.” Raphael rose and left the porch. He put on his sombrero and went to check and see what chore someone forgot to do.
“You alright?” Liz asked, opening the front door to check on him.
“My love, I am fine now that I am back with you.” He kissed and hugged her.
“Come have supper. Mrs. McCrown is a very nice lady. Your other woman arrived two days ago—Jill. I took her to Jenn’s today to work there.”
“And?”
“Chet Byrnes, you find these poor women like they were popcorn. Everyone has a big problem—”
“Yeah.” He stopped her. “If I hadn’t gone down in Mexico to recover Bonnie Allen, you’d never stopped in at my office in Tubac.”
She shook her head. “I know, big man. I know they don’t bother you. I just don’t know what I’d do if they did.”
“Rest easy, girl. I’ve got the best deal in this territory or Mexico.”
“Hombre, I knew that about you in Tubac.”
“You can keep on believing it. I’m not going anywhere without you or you in my heart.”
They went in the kitchen to eat supper with Mrs. McCrown.
Just another stray . . .
Dear Fans New and Old—
Hard for me to believe that this book is #8 in this series. In the past year or so my publisher reissued book #1, Texas Blood Feud, so you should be able to get the entire set now from your book supplier. Plans are for another book in the series that will be available down the road. Check my web site dustyrichards.com for more information.
Since starting this series, I have heard from many of you at my online personal address. I try to answer all of them and struck up some fine conversations with many of you with questions and comments. Like I have told you before in these letters, I must have read a thousand paperback westerns before I ever started thinking about writing my own.
Along about 1985, I met Jory Sherman in Branson, Missouri—God rest his soul—and he handed me a form to join Western Writers of America. I had sold a few short stories to some small publications. I didn’t believe I could qualify for membership. But they accepted me. Best outfit I ever joined. Of course I am still a member and their past president.
That June in San Antonio I went to my first WWA convention and walked through what I considered a Hall of Gods—people whose books I had read. They took me into the fold—I almost received a speeding ticket driving home, with me so high from meeting my idols. If bits of hay had not flown out of my wallet getting my driver’s license out and made that Texas Highway patrolman laugh—he gave me a warning instead.
Top of that list was Elmer Kelton, no greater individual ever lived. We became friends. Not only Elmer, but also a host of names that were on my marquee as superstars at writing sagebrush-scented pages. Sad but many of them have gone on. But new ones ride in and I try to answer their questions and help them down
this trail. I have so enjoyed spinning yarns about an era I have loved since I was a boy.
Early on in my life I once sat on Zane Grey’s original cabin porch on Mrs. Winter’s ranch atop that Mogollon Rim and spoke to his ghost. I told him that someday I’d be on the shelf with his books. He never answered me, but they are there. And I thank all of you for the honor of being a tale spinner you support.
God bless you, your family, and America. Western literature rides on.
Dusty Richards
[email protected]
saddlebagdispatch.com
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Pray for the Dead Page 30