A Good Day To Kill

by Dusty Richards

  “I won’t.”

  “You heard him, Jenn—‘I won’t’?”

  “Hey, this will be fun. I have never been to one of these things before. Oh, Marge, he’ll be fine,” Jenn said to his worried wife.

  “Keep telling her that. Keep telling her that,” Chet said, going inside.

  When the taxi man came by, both women had on new dresses and straw hats to shade their faces. Chet wore a brown suit coat, pressed pants, and his dusted off hat. He also wore his six-gun for the first time. Not that he figured he’d need it, but it felt better strapped on than without it.

  When they reached the courthouse, a crowd had already gathered around his men and their captives. A funeral home hearse parked close by was, no doubt, there for the bodies. The Wells Fargo representative was a burly man in a tan suit—fortyish, and his name was Tom Dodge. At first, Chet couldn’t recall his given name—but he did when he saw his face and was satisfied that the man would handle getting the rewards for his men.

  No sign of Behan. Chet helped the women down and they moved to the boardwalk to stand aside. In irons, the four live gang members sat on their butts in the dirt. The dead ones rested on the ground in a row. A photographer was there taking photos of them. A puff of smoke and a flash and he would have a negative to print, a grim picture of the dead outlaws with their arms folded on their chest and their eyelids closed.

  Chet wondered which one was Clanton’s kin. The blond curly-headed one must be him; the others were Mexicans. He didn’t know any of the men seated in the dust. Roamer brought him a paper with their names on it.

  “That’s who they are.”

  “Thanks. Is Behan coming?” Chet glanced around for him.

  “They sent for him.”

  “Good.” Chet felt put out that Sheriff Behan was late, but Dodge did join him and shook his hand.

  “Great work. You’re healing?”

  “Yes, I’m doing fine. They brought in a large part of the outlaws operating around here.”

  “Yes. Your men have quite a stack of rewards coming.”

  “My men get that money. They’re the ones taking the risks.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know, but I’d say you took a big one in the shoulder getting the last bunch.” Dodge scowled at him as if still concerned about him.

  “Part of the job. This is my wife, Marge, and our friend, Jenn Allen, from Preskitt.”

  He swept off his hat. “My pleasure, ladies. I understand you two came down here to take care of him.”

  “He says he’s about well,” Marge said.

  “Well, he does look better than when I first saw him last week.”

  About that time, the sheriff made a grand entry. “Well, ladies. What a bright glorious morning to be in Tombstone. Nice to have you here. And may I have your names?”

  They introduced themselves and he turned to Chet. “What a lovely wife you have.”

  “Yes, I am blessed. But I need to get our business concluded so I can take her home. Here’s a list of the outlaws my men apprehended in the Mule Shoe Mountains last night. They robbed two stages and made various raids on small ranches that my men will elaborate on for you.”

  “Is that dead boy Israel Clanton?”

  “Yes, he was part of this gang and involved in the crimes that the gang committed. He could have surrendered last night. He didn’t.”

  “Oh, such a waste. Has his mother been notified?”

  “No. I guess she can read about it in the paper.”

  “His mother is Iris Clanton. She’s a sister-in-law to the old man.”

  “Behan, these men are to be held not only on these charges, but others that will surface now that they have been captured by order of the federal court. I expect you to keep them here in your jail.”

  “Why, of course.”

  “Several men have walked out of this jail because a cell door was not locked. Be damn sure they’re all locked in, and that’s an order from a federal officer.”

  “Of course. My deputies will jail them. I need to go tell that poor boy’s mother about her son’s death. Excuse me?”

  Behan left.

  A deep voice cut the air. “You tell him something bad?”

  Chet turned and shook hands with the Earp brother he liked so well. “How are you, Virgil?”

  “Better than you are.” He chuckled deep in his throat. “Glad you’re recovering. I meant to drop by but got busy. I see your bunch has got another gang rounded up.”

  “They did well. Now if the sheriff can contain them.”

  “When I walked up, I heard you set him straight there. He will have to, after that.”

  “Is Iris Clanton pretty?”

  Virgil shook his head. “But she does have some money.”

  “Behan sounded upset she had not been notified.”

  “Between you and me”—he dropped his voice to a whisper—“that might be worth a toss in the hay for him.”

  Chet agreed and thanked him. Virgil smiled, winked at him, and shook his hand to leave.

  “Have a nice day, ladies.” Earp tipped his hat to them.

  Dodge was talking to the news reporter—good, that should suffice his part. They tossed the outlaws’ bodies in the hearse like cordwood. He reckoned the county would pay the usual seven dollars and fifty cents for burying them in Boot Hill, but the Clanton boy, no doubt, would have a funeral. The funeral home would make some money on his services.

  “Ready, ladies?”

  “Yes, we are,” Marge said. They held their hems out of the dust and headed for the taxi.

  Still talking to the reporter, Dodge waved to him. “I’ll be by later to talk to you, Byrnes.”

  “Me, too,” Roamer said, and smiled.

  He acknowledged both of them and climbed in the taxi for the ride back. Seated beside his wife, she asked, “Did that wear you out?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Tell me about this Dodge,” Jenn said. “Is he married?”

  “Not that I know about. They say he has a good-paying job.”

  She sat back, facing them, with her arms folded and a smug set on her lips. “I want to meet him.”

  “You have a deal, my friend.”

  “You know those two girls have husbands now. I don’t have to slave in that café anymore to make work for them two if—well, if I had a good man to support me.”

  “It might work, Jenn,” Marge said with a grin.

  “Best thing is what Marshal Virgil Earp told me. The big man who came by to talk to me,” said Chet.

  “Yes, we figured he was law, too.” Both women agreed with nods to each other.

  “Virgil is a town marshal. Behan had a real problem with me that Israel Clanton’s mother had not been notified of his death.”

  “We saw the hassle he gave you.”

  “Anyway, I asked Virgil about Behan being so anxious to notify Mrs. Clanton about her son’s death. He said the information might be worth a toss in the hay with her.”

  The women shook their heads in disapproval and then laughed.

  “Behan is a real peacock,” Marge said, and Jenn agreed.

  Chet had made some plans he intended to tell them about later. He wanted to go home, rest some at the ranch, and in two weeks go back to Tubac to let some of his married men run home for a week. That should work.

  Back at the Doc’s house, he sent word by messenger to Dodge to meet the three of them at Nellie Cashman’s Restaurant for supper at six thirty. Jenn smiled, pleased, when he told her his plans. Marge agreed. Blevins’s telegram came after the light lunch the women fixed.

  CHET

  GLAD YOU ARE BETTER. SOUNDS LIKE THE TASK FORCE IS REALLY GETTING LOTS DONE. I AM COMING ON THE STAGE TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT A FEW THINGS. NO REPLY NECESSARY. THANKS. BLEVINS.

  Later that afternoon, they took a taxi downtown to supper. Tombstone’s boardwalks were loaded with prostitutes, drunks, filthy dust-coated miners, and muleskinners. It was no place for his two ladies to tramp through to get to s
upper.

  He told the taxi man to be back around eight thirty to take them home. The man agreed, and he told him he’d pay him then for both ways.

  They had not heard from Dodge before they left the house, but, all dressed up, he met them in the lobby. He was very attentive to both women, and they were shown to their table. Chet had a notion the tall blond-headed Jenn had intrigued him some. This could be interesting.

  The evening went fine and the two of them—Jenn and Dodge—were talking almost in private the last half of the meal. Dodge finally pulled himself away a little from her to tell them, “I plan to be in Preskitt in a week. I have some work to do up there.”

  “You must stay at our house,” Marge said.

  “The company pays all my expenses. I’ll take a room at the hotel.”

  “Then you must come out to the ranch one evening and have supper with us. I can send my driver, and Jenn can tell you all about the countryside coming out there.”

  “What do you think of that?” Dodge asked Jenn.

  “Sounds like I have already been appointed as your tour guide.”

  “Wonderful. I accept.”

  Chet had to admit, though Jenn was a rather buxom lady, she still had lots of appeal. The fire had been lit. Might work. He sure hoped so. Onward, he must go. It would sure be good to smell those pines up there again. And be home.

  Marshal Blevins arrived in Tombstone the next day by stage. They met on the porch and spoke in low voices. “I know you knew that Clanton boy who was killed was the old man’s nephew. And when we delivered them, Behan complained that we hadn’t notified his mother.”

  Blevins nodded. “You know the old man has lots of political sway in the territory.”

  “I have no doubt. Are you telling me we have to step around him?”

  “No.”

  “Good, ’cause I was about to tell you to stick this job in your ass. I haven’t challenged him, because he was in Mexico. But I have some good information that the Skeleton Canyon murders and robbery were carried off by his men. If I had a worthy witness, I’d press it.”

  “I have to warn you, there will be some public complaints coming forth over these arrests.”

  “Let them come. Those men we arrested were stage robbers and had raided several small ranchers to rape and rob folks.”

  “Easy, easy, Chet. I came to tell you what I expected.”

  “Words won’t kill me.”

  “Good. I’m proud of your success. I’m certain it will blow over.”

  “Tell me, who is this that thinks our efforts weren’t right?”

  “Oh, I’d call them the idle rich in Tucson.”

  “Idle rich? Feed me a few names. I’ll invite them along when we make some of our arrests.”

  “Oh, Iris Thompson is the lead one.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Rich-blooded folks.”

  “I ought to bring one of these border killers to her house for supper.”

  “I wanted to warn you. You have the backing of all the men that met with you in Tucson. But there are some people suggesting we’re using dictator-like tactics.”

  “It won’t change my operation.”

  “You don’t have to. You just need to keep rounding up these bandits down here. I don’t believe what you and your men have done here could have been done better by anyone.”

  “Well, you wanted this region cleared of border bandits.”

  “Yes, and you’re doing a great job, but we’ll get some buckshot out of a few.”

  “My men won’t stop pressing to get these outlaws.”

  He was still upset when Blevins left to go check on the prisoners. He’d told Chet he planned to remove all of them to Tucson. His faith in Behan and him keeping the cells locked was about the same as Chet’s.

  When the Tucson newspaper’s latest edition reached him that afternoon, he saw what Blevins had warned him about:

  Citizens are concerned that the federal law enforcement agency in southern Arizona is taking a dictator role in enforcing their own laws. A recent arrest of some area ranchers ended with four unprosecuted individuals being shot down ruthlessly by the Task Force. One was Israel Clanton, the son of a prominent Arizona ranch family. According to his parents, their son was a hard-working ranch manager. His body was delivered belly-down over a saddle, like a common outlaw, to the Cochise County Courthouse.

  According to the representative of Wells Fargo Bank, these men had held up stagecoaches, and some turned state evidence to testify against the others. However, there is not a list of the names of the men who served in the posse. Are they real lawmen? How would anyone know? Their names are hidden. There is a petition being served to have a grand jury formed to learn all about them and discover any illegal methods they implemented in arresting all these untried individuals like they were common criminals.

  He put the paper down with a snap.

  “What’s upset you so?” his wife asked, stepping out on the porch to join him.

  “People who are questioning our efforts.”

  “How?” She frowned and picked up the paper to read.

  Jenn joined them. “What’s going on out here?”

  “Read this.” Marge shoved the newspaper at her.

  “Well, ain’t that sweet? A handful of men are out there doing what a half-dozen sheriffs can’t start to do, and they complain.”

  “Let’s go home tomorrow, and I can sulk up there,” Chet said.

  Jenn bent over his chair and squeezed his head with her arm. “I want to stop in Tucson and tell that editor what I think of him for printing such trash.”

  He shook his head, amused.

  “Is Jesus coming back?” Marge asked.

  “Yes.”

  “The stage to Tucson leaves at ten,” she said, and looked at him and Jenn.

  He rose out of the chair. “Let’s plan to be on it.”

  The two women nodded in unison.

  It was set. They were going back home.

  CHAPTER 3

  One more long rocking stage ride ahead of him and his still sore shoulder.

  In Tucson, Chet faced the gold lettering on the coach door, ARIZONA TERRITORY STAGE LINE. The lanky driver opened the door and helped his ladies into the coach. His drawling voice flirted with them and they came right back.

  “Well, do you think we can get those ladies to Hayden’s Mill?” he asked Chet when it was his turn to climb in the coach.

  “We better.”

  He lowered his voice. “You ain’t turned LDS on me, have yuh?”

  “No. One of the ladies is a friend of ours.”

  The driver swiped his forehead like he was mopping sweat away. “You sure had me worried.”

  Chet climbed in, laughing about the driver’s referral to Latter Day Saints.

  “What’s so funny?” Marge asked.

  “He thought I’d changed religion on him and both of you were my wives.”

  Then they did laugh as the coach rocked out of Tucson. The trip was uneventful, and later they shifted to the Black Canyon Stage lines and headed across the Salt River at Hayden’s Ferry. Marge had wired Monica when they’d arrive home and sent a request for Jimenez and another buckboard to take Jenn home.

  It was dark and cool. His wife snuggled under his arm and he hugged her close as the rocking coach rolled northward. “You making it okay?”

  “Oh, yes.” She stretched her arms up. “I’m glad I went. I know you’re worried about me and the baby, but I’d have been crazy at home.”

  “I worried you’d get too tired.”

  “I’m not some baby, am I, Jenn?”

  “No, he knows that now, too.” Jenn laughed. “I wonder how bad my business has fallen off with those two in charge?”

  “Oh, I bet it went well. When is Dodge coming to Preskitt?” he asked.

  “In a few weeks. I doubt anything happens between us. But I like him.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Marge said. “I mean about noth
ing happening between you two.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He agreed. His plans included sleeping for twenty-four hours in his own bed. His men in southern Arizona would have to tough it out a few weeks without him. He’d seen his land lawyer, Russell Craft, when they stopped off in Tucson. Russell was convinced Buster Weeks’s so-called deed to the Diablo Ranch headquarters was an absolute fake document. He was to be in touch with him.

  Late in the night, the turpentine aroma of pines finally reached his nose. It sure smelled damn good to be back home.

  By that evening, his Camp Verde Ranch foreman, Tom and his wife, Millie; his sister Susie and Sarge; and Hampt and May and the kids were at the ranch house. A fine reunion that Monica had planned well for and no doubt spent all day fixing food to serve them.

  Things at the get-together went smooth. Everyone was satisfied he was going to be fine and talked about their own ranch operations to him. Sarge felt the Navajo Agency people appreciated all their efforts to make the beef deliveries on time at the various locations.

  “Getting six hundred head split up to five locations is not easy,” Sarge said to him, “but I have some great hands. We can split up and do it. We even did it twice last winter, in the snow.”

  “Indeed, they did. Marge said that the government keeps redeeming that script they pay us for them, so we’re on the move.”

  “Good,” Sarge said. “That crew is busy building our house up on the Windmill. They have it framed and they work hard.”

  “I can’t wait,” Susie said, hanging on his arm. Those two were expecting, also.

  The purchase of the ranch about a third of the way to the Navajo destination had been a big help in assembling those cattle and then driving them on from there. The income from the beef contract made his whole operation work, and would let them expand when he found the right places to do that.

  Tom ran the big ranch down on the Verde River that Chet bought to replace their family’s Texas operations. All he lacked there that evening was his nephew Reg and Reg’s wife, Lucie. It was a long ways from their new ranch up on the Mogollon Rim, plus she was expecting, too. The long ride would have been too much for her.