“I understand. Is anyone else up besides the two of us?”
Don Seville shook his head. “Ortega and his brother, Bronc, are already out scouting to see if the army is around. I sent my best men with them to look.”
“Thanks. They’re good men.”
“Yes, they are. Tell me about your life. You mentioned Texas, but you have extensive holdings now in Arizona.”
Chet told him about the feud in Texas and leaving there. How he bought a distressed ranch and later turned it around. Then about Heck being killed and his brother, Dale Allen, the boy’s father, who was killed in Kansas on a cattle drive by the feuding Reynolds family. Then, his life in Arizona and building the family empire, that he simply called their ranches.
“Why do you lead this Force, getting people like the Higgins woman back?”
“Arizona will never become a state until we end this lawlessness. The separate county sheriff system is not working well enough.”
Seville smiled at him. “No offense, but the bad guys in Mexico call you a mean bulldog sumbitch.”
“Good.”
“Yes, it is. They fear you. Here you are, sixty or more miles from the international line, and you are simply concerned citizens returning a man’s wife safely to him.”
“With a hostage.”
“A man the Federales can’t find.”
Breakfast being served interrupted them. There was food for many, he decided, at first glance. Platters of everything were delivered and held for them to choose, then set on the table.
“We can talk more as we eat.”
Chet agreed.
The coffee was cool enough to drink. He sipped on it, then turned back to his full plate. The tall clock chimed four times, early morning yet.
Eggs, flour tortillas, fried ham, refried beans, lots of fruit—peaches, mangoes, grapes, three kinds of bananas, and citrus. Other dishes he was unsure about, but he tried some, imagining they would be fiery hot. But they were only spicy hot, no tears on his part.
“What else do you need?” Don asked.
“Room in my belly.”
They laughed.
“If I came to Prescott, could I find a wife up there?”
“Those folks up there call it Preskitt. But I don’t know. I haven’t been looking for one. My wife, Marge, knows a lot of people, and if there’s one available, I bet she’d introduce her to you.”
“I may come with the mares and see.”
“You can stay at our house. We have lots of room. Of course, the baby may cry.”
“You know how lucky you are to have one to cry?”
“Pretty damn lucky for a man who waited thirty-two years to get married. My wife had been widowed twice before I came along, and had never carried a baby full term. Yes, I feel real lucky.”
“That will be a pleasant trip. I can see all your operations. If you had time, I’d show you mine. But we may exchange visits after that.”
“When we get this big ranch’s title straight, I may send my nephew down here to learn the desert farming ways.”
“Anytime.”
They talked more about ranching practices. Seville shipped a lot of citrus fruit to Mexico City and they sold wine they made as well. His cattle operation was mostly beef for the ranch’s consumption.
“Markets are what make cattle work. We have a contract with the Navajo Agency. Until we get a railroad into northern Arizona, we’ll all struggle there.”
Seville agreed. “And Old Man Clanton has the south part sewed up.”
“He has all those contracts. Several others tried supplying the Navajo, but it’s too isolated to get beef there in good enough flesh.”
“Can you supply all their needs?”
“No. We have to buy many head from other ranchers, but that helps us all.”
“Oh, yes. A market is what makes it work.”
“Can you wake up my people? We need to get going.”
“Lupe,” he said to the girl who served them. “Have them wake up our guests and Señora Higgins.”
“Si, patron.” And she was gone.
Soon his crew filed in and all looked as draggy as he’d felt.
“Good morning,” Cole said to both of them. “Where are Ortega and Bronc?”
“They’re scouting for Montoya’s army.”
Cole nodded. “That’s good. I was concerned.”
JD joined them. “What did you learn?”
“The brothers are out looking for Montoya’s army.”
“Good.” He turned to Seville. “Thanks, sir. We sure needed the rest. Your people have been wonderful.”
Their host nodded. “Your uncle says you may come back to see me and look closer at our farming operation.”
“Oh, yes, I’d like that. Thanks for that opportunity.”
“We will love to show you.”
“Is Mrs. Higgins getting up?” JD asked, looking around.
“They are probably fixing her hair,” Seville said. “Be seated, more food is coming.”
“Good. Do we need to see about our horses?” JD asked Chet.
“No, his men are handling that, too.”
“Boy, we need to stay here more often.” They all laughed.
Mrs. Higgins soon joined them in a new divided skirt-dress. She spoke to Chet. “His servants found me a new outfit. I am so grateful, not only to you and your men but to Señor Seville for all his generosity. I am about to cry. I never expected to be saved from my hell.”
“Chin up, Burnett. In a few days, you’ll be home. We all owe our host. For all his generosity, I’m offering him the use of my Barbarossa stallion.”
She turned to Seville. “Thank you, sir.”
He rose, took her hand, and kissed it. “You are most welcome.”
“Yes, but I won’t forget you, sir. This past night’s peaceful sleep was the only one I’ve had in two months.”
Cole moved her chair in behind to seat her. She used a cloth napkin to blot her eyes.
The meal went well. Chet got up and went outside to meet the returning brothers.
“Breakfast is ready inside. What did you find?”
“They must be a half-day behind us, his army and the guns. But I bet he has a smaller band made up to stop us from crossing the border. They might be somewhere ahead, or close to us and not in sight. I think the rest of his army is only a distraction.”
Bronc, tight lipped, with a head nod, added, “We couldn’t find them in the dark. But I’m like Ortega. I think they are out there.”
“Then let’s finish up. Grab some food. We’ll ride like hell for the border. Our horses will be fresh, so we should be there with no hitches in twenty hours or less.”
They both agreed with him.
Some kitchen help brought them tortilla-wrapped meals and everyone mounted up. He shook Seville’s hand and told him to write when he could come, that he’d try to be there. As they started out, leaving the hacienda in a short lope, the Morales brothers took the lead. JD and Cole followed, accompanied by a refreshed looking Mrs. Higgins. Then came Montoya, guarded by Shawn and Roamer, and Chet brought up the rear. They soon reached the road. When they swung north, there was no sign of any army or dust, and they were soon well on their way to Nogales.
Chet knew the Morales boys could be right about the bandits attacking them. He made them pull their horses back to a trot. They couldn’t afford to wear their mounts completely out short of the border. That would leave them pinned down. The desert country they crossed through was mostly flat and distorted with heat waves on all horizons. Chet felt it would be a hard place to ambush them. But ahead were more small desert mountains for them to cross. That would be the place where the bandits might set up an ambush.
Ortega talked to some people in a small village where they watered their stock and took the opportunity to dismount and stretch. With a toss of his head, a hatless man asked who their prisoner was. No one had recognized him, but when one of the crew told him who Montoya was, they all quic
kly left their company. That amused Chet. Soon, they were in the saddle and the Force was moving again in a trot.
When he used the scope, there was no visible cloud of dust on their back trail. The skin still crawled on his neck as he watched the back of the outlaw chained in the saddle riding ahead of him. His outfit would risk his life if they tried anything. Mrs. Higgins wasn’t worth that to Montoya’s gang, but if their leader ever did get back and they hadn’t helped him escape, they wouldn’t want to face his ire.
They had to try something. But unless they rode all the night before, they couldn’t be ahead of them, and if they had, their stock would be done for. The Seville hacienda stopover had been a godsend for him and the whole bunch, but until they were in an American settlement with more guns to back them, they could face big problems with his gang.
Chet shifted again in the saddle and glanced back, but the glaring hot sun showed no dust marking the sky. By late afternoon, he saw a sign that said THIRTY KILOS TO NOGALES. Most of those markers were made by estimates and not accurate—but their host had said it was better than thirty miles, and he probably was more accurate having traveled it often.
Ortega dropped back and rode in close. “I think if we keep on we will be in Nogales in a few hours. I read that sign, but I have made this trip many times.”
“We came across some hills where I suspected they might be waiting. No sign of them. Maybe we overestimated them, Ortega.”
“No, they are military, not dumb outlaws, like we usually chase. I can’t believe they don’t have a plan to jump us ahead.”
“What do you think?”
“We shouldn’t ride straight in to Nogales, Sonora. We need to go east and cross like we did coming down, when no one saw us.”
“Can our horses stand it?”
“It will take an hour or more, but I feel it will be safer going that way.”
Chet gave a head toss for Roamer to come closer, and he rode over beside them.
“Ortega thinks we should skirt around Nogales and come in from the east.”
Roamer considered the sun’s position. “Be dark soon.”
“He’s worried they may be set up in town to ambush us.”
“He knows this country and the people better than we do. We should do what he says. I’ll pass the word along.”
“Good.” Chet looked down at the shiny wet shoulders of the roan horse under him. Hang on Red. We’ve got a few more miles to go.
CHAPTER 8
The sun had set. Horses grunted, snorted wearily, and saddles creaked. Once in a while, an iron shoe clanged on a rock. Under the starlight, single file, they passed the border post and headed up the dark trail, trusting their mounts to carry them in the near darkness. A few coyotes howled a lullaby on the ridge to the east, and an owl made a silent swoop down the canyon to check out the invaders riding up it.
The skin on the back of his neck stopped itching. They were home. They were U.S. Deputy Marshals again. He recalled his last deal with the Santa Cruz county sheriff.
Never mind this man was going to be a federal prisoner, he’d have to hold him in their jail until Marshal Blevins sent some deputies down to take him to Tucson. Part of his crew could find beds somewhere and sleep the night. They’d take Mrs. Higgins home in the morning and then get back to their base at Tubac.
He still had a lot to do, and no telling what other crimes had been committed while his crew was gone. But getting some sleep would be the thing he would enjoy the most—sleep in the United States. He was ready for it. When they came off the hillside he could see the lights of Nogales, Arizona territory.
“We have him here. What say we charge him with kidnapping?” Chet asked them all.
“Hell, yes,” went his gang.
They stopped at the jail. Cole and JD took Mrs. Higgins on to the Rio Hotel with plans to meet them in the morning. The other members unchained and unloaded the grumbling Montoya and shoved him inside where a sleepy official asked who he was.
“He’s a federal prisoner. His name is Montoya. He kidnapped an Arizona rancher’s wife, Mrs. Higgins.”
“I thought they took her to Mexico?”
“They did,” Chet said. “She’s fine and at the Rio Hotel right now. Lock him up and then chain him. He’s pretty jail shy.”
The man looked upset and mad. “How did she get back and him get back here?”
“Don’t worry about that. Lock and chain him in the cell. He’s the most dangerous man you ever have had in this jail. You might call in some extra guards. He has an army out looking for him right now.”
When the jailer had Montoya chained to the metal bunk attached to the wall and locked in the cell, they left and walked the block to the Harris Livery. Their weary horses snorted in the dust and stumbled along as they walked and led them. The liveryman said he had some boys to rub them down and feed them—for them not to worry, they’d be well cared for.
Chet thanked him and they went on to the hotel.
“Is she safe enough in her room?” JD asked.
“Are our rooms around her?”
“Yes, all on the same floor upstairs.”
“I think so. Is she up there?”
He and Cole both nodded. Chet paid the hotel man for everyone. “Anyone bust in here, you raise hell and we’ll be up to help you.”
“I understand. Thank you, sir.”
Chet nodded to his men it would be okay. “Go sleep.”
In bed at last, sleep escaped him. Too many concerns bothered him about his ranches, wife, and the baby—at last he slept, but only for a few hours.
Morning came. Ortega had gone to the Mexican side to see if there was any threat over there. He returned without much information, but felt they had avoided any interception. Chet trusted his judgment, so he assigned Cole, JD, and Shawn to take Mrs. Higgins home. That way, he had Roamer and the brothers if anything went wrong.
After breakfast and ready to leave, she hugged him. “If my husband and I can ever help you, call on us. I’ll never be able to repay you or your men for saving my life. No one else could have done it. And when I get home, I may never, ever, ride another horse again.”
They laughed.
Cole, JD, and Shawn rode east to take Mrs. Higgins home, while Chet, Roamer, and the brothers headed north on the King’s Highway toward Tubac. When they got there, late in the day, he sent a telegram to Marge telling her he was fine, and another to Blevins informing him that Montoya was in jail in Nogales and to send deputies to get him.
Maria showed him two telegrams. One was from his wife and said Sarge’s horse fell on him and broke his leg. He was fine, but Victor had taken over for him and was taking the cattle on to Gallup, and all was under control. She missed him and the baby was cutting teeth.
Victor was a young man who cooked for him and Marge when they went on their honeymoon up on the rim. After that, he went to the Windmill Ranch to be Sarge’s cook. The second wire was from Blevins reporting two stage robberies around Tombstone. Not many details, so Chet planned to send Roamer and Ortega over there to see what they could learn.
“Well?” Roamer asked him. “What now?”
“Sarge had a horse wreck and broke his leg and Victor is running things for him. Sounds like he’s doing a good job. There’s been two stage robberies in the Tombstone area. Perhaps you and Ortega should ride over there tomorrow and check things out. Look up Dodge. Talking to Sheriff Behan is like talking into the wind.”
Roamer made a sour face. “Oh, yeah, I recall that scene at the jail. He’s a dandy.”
Ortega had heard him. “What did they get?”
“Didn’t say, but Dodge will know and he’ll work with you.”
“Do you think we’ve heard the last of those guys that work for Montoya?” Roamer asked.
“Maybe, but we’ll have to stay ready to meet them head on, just in case.”
“The others will be back here tomorrow. Jesus is moving those squatters to Nogales. That settled, I might go into Tucso
n and see my lawyer about the ranch title. I need that straightened out. JD and Ortega want that ranch working.”
“I don’t blame them,” Roamer said. “Then they can be in the saddle every day looking at cows switching tails, instead of messing with border bandits.”
They were all laughing. Plans were laid for Roamer and Ortega to take a few days in Tombstone to learn all they could about the holdups. Chet planned to wait until everyone was back before he left for Tucson.
Jesus came in that evening. “They were all excited in Nogales. Did you bring in that Mexican bandit?”
“Yes. It was a helluva deal. We really rode our asses off coming home.”
“They kept saying the Task Force did it. They all wondered how you had the authority to arrest him down there.”
“You remember the bunch we got out of that bar in Noco?”
“Oh, yes. That was funny.”
“We did him the same way, only it was a hard two-day ride.”
Jesus and him laughed. The lost women were off the ranch, settled, and not his problem anymore.
Solving the Diablo Ranch ownership came next . . . always something.
CHAPTER 9
When Chet got off the stage and walked to the Congress Hotel to find a room, Tucson was in a sweltering summer heat. A lot of well-to-do men’s wives had summer homes up on Mount Lemon. It probably was over twenty degrees cooler up there in the pines. More like the temperature Marge had up at the Preskitt Valley Ranch. He’d heard that in the old days the Apaches stayed up in the high country in the summertime, on Mt. Graham and the Chiricuhuas.
The lobby was stuffy. The clerk was a sharp boy and remembered his name.
“Mr. Byrnes, I have a corner room on the third floor for you. You should get some air tonight.”
“I might, and I appreciate you, Mark.” He paid him and went up.
The windows were open and some air was coming across the bed in the center of the room. He undressed and planned to go to sleep. In bed, it didn’t come at first, but finally he slept. The morning came early and he was off to get some food from a street vendor, then bought a paper from a boy hawking them. “Former Mexican Federale is in the Tucson jail for kidnapping a rancher’s wife. Read all about it.”
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