“Marge can make you a scholar. I want you to learn all you can about banking. You may have to read some kid’s books before you get to the tougher ones. You’ll have to practice numbers, night and day. But she can make you a banker.”
“Do you think so?”
“They are going to need Hispanic bankers. Even down at Tubac, those brothers couldn’t borrow money to buy cows. They would be great ranchers. But they’d need a Hispanic banker.”
“I know what you mean. I will apply myself.”
“Glad that’s settled. After this meeting, let’s go by the mercantile. Then we can go home after that.”
“You getting tired?”
“I will be by then.”
Jesus smiled. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Good.”
His visit with Tanner took a while. The cattle money account was bulging. The banker was pleased, but he thought Chet should invest some of it in stocks and bonds.
“I’d invest in some young rancher you thought would pay me back.”
“There are some loan applications like that here.”
“Find some. We can go over them, say, on Friday morning?”
Tanner agreed. “Yes, that would help me, as well as the community.”
Chet and Jesus went by the store and he spoke to Ben Ivor and his pregnant wife, Kathrin, who was working at bookkeeping.
“I should of ordered a hundred mowing outfits,” Ben said. “But, I’m learning. I’ve found several. They’re shipping them, but the hay season will be half over before they get here.”
“Sounds busy.”
“How is your wife?” Kathrin asked Chet.
“Doing fine. I’d say, any day now.”
“I bet she’s ready.”
“Oh, me, too.”
“Glad to see you’re back in one piece. I guess you’re taking a long break from that work?”
“Not very long.”
“Sounds like you.”
The men shook hands, then Jesus drove him home.
“We can go see Tom tomorrow. Monica will have an early breakfast ready.” Chet climbed down from the buckboard.
“Need anything else?”
“No, it was a good day.”
“I’ll be ready. Get some rest. I can tell you are getting stronger.”
“I’m getting there. Thanks. We better take the buckboard tomorrow.”
Jesus nodded and drove toward the barn.
After Chet washed up on the back porch, his wife hugged him.
“Everything in Preskitt is fine.”
He smiled at Monica. She was putting out lunch. He’d rather have gone to bed for a few hours than eat, but he couldn’t. Her black coffee woke him some. But he didn’t have much to say to either woman, and then excused himself, intending to sleep for a while.
“Did you get the mail?” Marge asked.
“No—forgot.”
Marge shook her head. “Get some sleep. I can tell you’re ready to do that.”
He kissed her and waved at Monica. In a short while he was sound asleep on top of the bed quilt. When his wife came by and threw a blanket over him, he hardly stirred and went right back to sleep.
By late afternoon he was downstairs, but barely awake, when he received a wire. The young man who delivered it stood by, waiting for a reply.
THE FEDERAL TASK FORCE WAS AMBUSHED IN THE MINING DISTRICT SOUTHEAST OF PATAGONIA YESTERDAY. SEVERAL MEMBERS HAVE BEEN WOUNDED – ROAMER – COLE – JD. THE REST HAD MINOR WOUNDS. THEY ARE AT THE FORT HUACHUCA ARMY HOSPITAL. ALL SHOULD RECOVER. SEVERAL OUTLAWS WERE KILLED. THEY TOOK SEVERAL OF THEIR WOUNDED WITH THEM TO MEXICO. ROAMER THINKS THEY WERE WITH OLD MAN CLANTON. SHAWN.
“What is it?” Marge asked.
“They attacked the Force. It sounds like up in the live oak country east of Patagonia. According to Shawn, several were wounded but all should recover.”
“Shawn sent that?”
“He’s a good man. He says our crew killed several of the ambushers. He thinks Old Man Clanton was responsible for the ambush.”
“What now?”
“I need to go back down there and get things straight.”
“I imagined you’d say that,” she said, looking disappointed. “But you aren’t a hundred percent yet.”
“Marge, I have to get there. I’m sorry to leave you, but that Force is mine and those men are mine. I may have to raise a few more men. Clanton, if he’s the one ambushed them, will pay.”
“I’ve lost two men in my life. I don’t want to lose you, Chet Byrnes. But I do understand that tiger inside you. I’ve seen you go to great lengths to solve crimes and bring criminals to justice. For God’s sake, though, for the baby and me, please be careful.”
He hugged her. “I will.”
Jesus was there by then. Chet told them they were taking the night stage to Hayden Mills and then showed him the telegram. His man read it slowly.
“Do you need me to read it for you?” Marge asked.
“No, I can read it.”
“Good. You two are off again.”
“No idea how bad they are hurt, huh?”
“No idea, but in about forty-eight hours we’ll be there.”
“Yes, sir. I will be ready. Jimenez can carry us in there.”
“Right.”
Chet went upstairs and packed a war bag with Marge seated on the bed.
“I hate to leave you, but they need me.”
She nodded. “Old Man Clanton’s thrown down the gauntlet on you, hasn’t he?”
“I told Blevins I left him alone because I couldn’t prove he did anything illegal in the states. That twenty-eight-year-old, Israel, shot in their raid, was running around pulling off robberies and raping women. That was his nephew. If I can prove he had one thing to do with this ambush, he better go to wearing his best suit.”
“Just remember, lots of us depend on you.”
“I know that, Marge. When it’s settled, I’ll be home. You and the baby take care. I’m counting on the two of you.”
She shook her head. “Just watch where you step. I love you, big man. The ranches need you, too.”
He nodded, closed the drawstring closure, and swung the bag on his shoulder. “I’ll wire you when I find out how the men are doing. Tell Jenn and the girls they’ll get a report, too.”
“I just wish I could go along and help you.”
“You have your plate full.”
“Oh, yes.”
That night, he slept most the way downhill off the mountain, rocking in the stage, facing the back. A few times, the bounce was rough enough to bring him awake. A glance out at the moonlit silver night and he closed his eyes. There were saguaros out there and the night had grown warmer. They’d spill out soon on the desert floor. He’d gotten off and emptied his bladder at Bumble Bee. The Tucson Stage was supposed to carry them on after they got to Hayden’s Ferry. He and Jesus talked about getting some food from a street vendor and going right on. No one shared the coach that night, so they had no competition for the seats. No telling what was waiting for them down south.
The sun was up when they shifted their things to the new line. Jesus ran off to buy some food. The stage office man served him some coffee. “You and your bunch are serious customers.”
“Get Jesus some coffee,” he said, and put some silver on the counter.
“Put your money away. You and your men do more good for this territory than any men I know.”
“Thanks.”
Jesus handed him a tortilla-wrapped meal and took the coffee Chet handed him.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“That was him.” Chet indicated the agent was the source.
“Oh, thank you.”
“We’re all grateful.”
Chet laughed.
“You must feel better,” Jesus said to him quietly.
“Tell me that tomorrow.”
Jesus nodded. “Does your shoulder still hurt?”
“Not much. I know it’s
there. I get jarred on that side, I damn sure know it’s there.”
“Let’s load up,” the driver said, standing in the door. His lifted his hat and scratched his long, gray, unkempt hair.
They finished their coffee, thanked the agent, and, food wrap in hand, made their way out. A full-bodied woman clambered up and about overturned the coach to get inside. When the rig settled down, she’d taken the backseat and left the back-facing one for them. Last on, a skinny drummer in a striped suit and bowler hat saw he had a small portion of the rear seat and managed to sit in it by un-planting her until his butt was on the leather. She cleared her throat and sniffed her nose at him. He looked pretty sour at Chet, but that was his luck of the draw.
The day’s heat was rising. Dust rode the wings of the hot breaths of air propelled off the greasewood desert, and the two teams of horses raced eastward for Bentsen under the whiney voice of the driver. No shotgun guard on top, so there must not be a thing valuable in the coach. After passing through the giant forest of saguaros, they rocked out into the chaparral country. With purple mountains on the left and right, rising like loaves of bread, the road headed east. Horse changes were precise and they rolled on to Bentsen. There they left the fat complaining woman, who was obviously going eastward.
With their things placed on the next coach in late afternoon, they climbed on. Chet felt pretty drained as the shadows began to lengthen on the settlements along the San Pedro River.
Jesus had bought them another wrapped meal and they ate it while rocking out for St. David, the next town on the route south. Later, they swept into Tombstone and then made the fifteen miles up to Huachuca City. It was near ten o’clock by the time they found rooms in the hotel and hired a taxi to take them to the fort hospital.
It was cooler up in the canyon. In the moonlight, Chet could make out tall cottonwoods and a row of officers’ houses lined around a large parade field. The taxi man let them out at the hospital.
“Wait. We’ll need to go back,” he told the taxi man.
“Sure.”
A guard stopped them.
“I’m Marshal Chet Byrnes. I wanted to check on some of my men here.”
“Yes, sir. Talk to the officer in charge inside, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The screen door creaked when Chet pulled it back. There, seated on nail kegs, were Roamer with his head bandaged, JD with an arm in a sling, and Cole, all of them playing cards with the officer in charge.
“Hellfire, the boss caught us,” Roamer said.
The whole bunch laughed, folded up their cards, and the officer had some chairs brought in for him and Jesus.
“A bunch of outlaws had begun raiding ranches down here,” Roamer said. “I had all hands out questioning folks about what they knew. We were thinking they came out of Mexico. They were vicious and moving fast. They cut a small boy’s ear off in one raid, for no reason but that they were simply damn mean. It pissed off every man in the outfit and that sumbitch is now dead. We made sure of that. They used this same route to go over the border several times. So we wanted to set up and ambush them, but it turned out like Skeleton Canyon did. They must have had us watched. We rode into a trap.”
“All hell broke loose,” JD said, shaking his bandaged head. “But they’d struck the wrong guys. We laid down some rifle fire and discovered that the only weapons most of them had were cap and ball pistols. We knew all about those guns from New Mexico. We spread out and they began to pull back. We were killing anyone who showed himself. Shawn was bringing us ammo from the packhorses. I’d look up and he’d be back with three boxes of cartridges and then be gone again for more. How he went back and forth unscathed, I’ll never know. But he let us shoot and we kept them pinned down and killed any of them tried to move. There was so much gun smoke in that canyon—you couldn’t breathe.”
Cole went on, “After a couple of hours, their reserves arrived, but we were dug in and we shot several of them before they got most of the bodies out. They didn’t want to fight us. They’d grab a corpse and run like hell.”
“Why did they take the dead men?”
“We figured it was so we couldn’t trace them to the old man’s ranch.”
“Are all of you recovering okay?”
“Hell, yes,” Roamer said. “The three brothers were only scratched, so they went home. But let me tell you, if we ever get in another ambush, I want these guys with me. Chet, they never took a breath, had loaded rifles and were returning fire. We soon learned our raiders were mostly armed with old pistols. That was the difference. Those 44/40 Winchesters were great.”
“Those three brothers fought like fierce tigers,” Cole said. “They went around their west flank levering rifles and mowing them down. They had no fear.”
Roamer agreed. “I wanted to shout at them to get down. They cleared out the west side of the canyon. Only got scratches. But the others were dug in on the east side and they weren’t going to be drove out that easy. Then the damn reserves came and they were shooting up everything. Luckily, they had mostly cap and ball pistols, too. It was obvious they wanted the bodies, so we used them for bait. That worked till sundown, then we let them have the rest.
“Shawn fed us. And he sent a boy to the fort for medical help, and the Army got to us right after sundown.”
“They’re a great bunch of guys,” the officer said about his crew.
“I think so, too.”
The officer shook his head. “We wished we’d been down there to help them.”
“I know about the rules. That’s why we’re here.”
He nodded. “I can put you up in a guesthouse.”
“We rented a hotel room.”
“Have your man go get your luggage. You two can sleep in nice beds tonight.”
“I’ll go get them,” Jesus said.
“When you come back, my guard will show you where to go.”
Chet gave Jesus some money for the taxi and he nodded thanks, then left to get their things.
The soldier at the door showed Chet to a fine two-story white house in a row of similar houses and told him Shawn was sleeping there.
Chet thanked him and rapped on the door.
“Coming.”
“No need.” Chet opened the door and entered to see a rumpled Shawn coming toward him. “Just didn’t want to get shot. Jesus has gone back to town for our luggage. He’ll be along. I just need a place to fall down and sleep.”
“You doing alright, sir?” Shawn looked at him with concern.
“Fine, you’ve done a helluva job down here. I wanted to thank you. They said you kept them in ammo—a very important job.”
“Damn.” He swept back his hair from his face. “I thought they were eating it, sir.”
“I also appreciate your sending me word.”
“That was hard. Roamer said to tell you we were all alive. But it was tough.”
“You did good. Thanks. Where is that bed?”
“Coolest place to sleep is on the second floor on the porch,” Shawn said.
“It’s cool enough for me to sleep here.”
“Go in that bedroom.”
“Don’t forget Jesus is coming.” In the dark room, he shed his boots and gun belt and fell across the nice mattress. He’d overdone it the last two days. Things could go slower now. In seconds, he was sound asleep.
Dawn tried to peer into the canyon that housed the fort. Chet could hear troops marching to mess. They were black buffalo soldiers and they sang out cadence songs that rang in the cool air. These were Black Jack Pershing’s men and they were serious Indian fighters. He was getting his first taste of them.
“Should I wake Jesus?” Shawn asked, joining him.
“Let him sleep. Where do we get food?”
“Officers’ mess hall. Food’s better there than in the troopers’ tent.”
They walked to the officers’ mess, where a soldier saluted and opened the flap. They filled their trays, then a black soldier brought them hot coffee i
n mugs.
“Be anything else you’s need? Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, soldier. We’ll be fine.”
“Yes, sah.”
Fried eggs, German potatoes, biscuits and flour gravy, plus oatmeal if you needed more. He savored the coffee to wash out his dry mouth from sleeping so hard. Of all the forts he’d been to, this was the best located and best built.
“You must be Marshal Byrnes?” The captain, a man in his thirties, stood above him.
“Yes, I arrived last night. Have a seat.”
“Captain Evans, Marshal. I’m assigned to help you and your men any way I can.”
“Wonderful. They had a close call up in the canyons in that ambush.”
“My Apache scouts said that was no fight. These cowboys killed them.”
“I understand they turned the tables on them.”
“That they did. Go ahead and eat. I understand you’re healing from another raid.”
“I’m about well.”
“Your men are about healed, too. They’re a well-organized law enforcement group. But you don’t have to leave here.”
“They need to go home to check with their wives. Have some breathing room. Then we can come back later, fresh and ready to start this war over again.”
“I understand. Who cares for your ranches while you do this?”
“A set of top foremen who, like these men, are damn tough. They aren’t tough like a bulldog, they work with their crew. But they’re solid.”
“Folks say you’re building an empire.”
“A family one.”
“I was simply curious.”
“No problem. I get asked all the time.”
He wondered about Reg. Poor guy must think he’d gave up on him. He’d write him and Lucie a letter. Reflectively, he sipped on the still hot coffee and looked across the near empty mess hall tent.
Plans began to form in his mind. Take their horses to Ortega’s, then load everyone on stagecoaches and take three weeks off. Get his new ranch plans rolling in Tucson, as well. Poor Marge was probably having their baby all alone.
He gathered his crew midmorning in the mess hall. The men were all drinking coffee that Captain Evans ordered for them.
“What have you heard about the old man’s crew?” he asked Evans.
A Good Day To Kill Page 4