“You look wrung out, Marshal Green,” his wife said with a warm smile. “We better get you over to the house in town. Some food, a bath, and a few hours’ sleep, huh?”
He held his hand up. “No food. What do we know about Taylor?”
“If he gets on the stage in Nogales, we will get a telegram,” Pedro said.
“From who?”
“Oh, a cousin, Alandro. I promised him five dollars.”
Pedro gave him a questioning look as they started for the buckboard.
“That’s wonderful. I’ll pay him.Where’s One-Eye?”
“He rode to the border. There is word about Deuces coming back.”
“All we need. Taylor and Deuces at the same time.” Then he stopped and looked her in the eye. “Your party?”
“Oh, well, if worst comes to worst, then I’ll have it without my very busy husband. Let’s get you some rest,” she said, heading him for the rig.
“I’ll stay and watch for a telegram and look out for him,” Pedro said.
“Good.What was the word on Deuces again?”
“One-Eye heard something about him taking Geronimo’s place and leading off all the young hotbloods from the reservation.”
Burt shook his head, wishing his upset stomach was in hell. He heard his deputy. “Be careful with Taylor. I don’t know how he’ll act when we arrest him.”
“I will, señor—ah, Burt.” Then a smile stole across Pedro’s face. “I’ll watch things here.”
Burt agreed, then helped Angela up onto the spring seat, climbed on himself, and undid the lines. “I’ll check back in a few hours.”
He realized Angela was making signs to his deputy behind his back.When he turned to look at her, she had stopped and looked very demure.
“I can’t sleep all day.”
“Part of it, anyway.”
He clucked to the team and set out up the narrow street. Only two deputies, and both were spread way too thin. Taylor’s arrest had to be his primary goal. If he had him behind bars, then he could show something for more than a month’s expenses. They might get tired up there in Washington of putting out money without results.
“Nice that Pedro had a relative in Nogales,” he said to her, reining up for a goat herd to divide and let him by.
Angela chuckled and shook her head.
“Sorry,” he said. The way clear, he clucked for the team to go on. “What’s so funny?”
“He sent that boy down there for the five dollars to watch and wire you.”
“I see,” he said, and more unpleasant roiling in his stomach took his mind off his worries for a second. “I’m lucky, I guess, to have all three of you. Pedro knows how to handle the Mexican side, One-Eye the Indian problem, and you, my love, know how to handle me.”
She hugged his arm and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “Oh, Burt, I must say my life with you is no end of variety.”
“That ain’t all bad.”
“No, I rather enjoy it. Most of all when I have you to myself.”
He looked off toward the Catalinas and nodded. Should be more of that time, too.
Chapter 25
DEUCES SQUATTED IN THE DARKNESS AND STUDIED the picket line of mules outlined by the red light of the packers’ campfire. The .44/40 balanced across his bare legs, he wondered how many bucks Chako and Mica would bring to the meeting they planned. He wanted no more than fifteen. That might be more than he could successfully lead around and stay out of both the armies’ way. His mind should be more on the packers, the three men he’d seen in the distance earlier. Actually, he saw their dust and wondered about their business.Were they taking supplies to some remote mining operation? They took valuable items to such destinations, made for easy pickings.
If he decided to lead a band—he would always need lots of supplies. Deer Runs and he could hardly eat all they had stashed in the cave. Still, there would be times of need. Also, he could use a few mules to pack what they might need. He promised Deer Runs that she could visit her family when they went up there.
He closed his eyes; better to agree to such a concession than hear her complain for six moons. They said Cochise, whom he’d never met, had several wives. How did he please all of them, or did he not try?
The packers’ low voices talking in Spanish carried on the night’s breath. He caught small parts of the conversation. One was about some redhaired puta in Cannonia. Another spoke of someone’s sister, and that drew some loud laughter. In a few hours, he would have to slice their throats and then load the mules by himself—be better if they had them loaded, but he could not fight three of them awake with their rifles.
Satisfied, Deuces turned and went back to the draw, where Deer Runs waited.
Squatted down in the wash, he nodded to her in the starlight. “Much food and supplies. We will have the cave full after tonight.”
Seated on a Navajo blanket with her back to a large rock, she nodded. Deuces knew the boulder still gave off the sun’s warmth, why she was seated so close as the night wind turned the day’s heat to cool. Dressed in her new buckskin skirt and blouse, she looked very attractive to him. No wife of a chief-to-be should look like a poor Mexican’s wife. He smiled, reached out, and squeezed her knee. She nodded with a sly grin; she knew his meaning. He thought about making love to her muscular body underneath the leather clothing. Time for that later—even doing that with Deer Runs, he thought of her, and that was bad medicine all the time gnawing at him. To think of the dead anytime was bad, but he could not clear his mind of her. They had planned on such a garment for her too.
“When I finish with them, we will load the mules,” he said.
She nodded.
“You may sleep now. They have no idea we are here.”
She scooted down the blanket, then curled in a ball on her side, and he left her.
In the wash, he picked up a smooth rock as big as a tomahawk head. During the last ambush, he bashed in two of the packers’ heads with such a weapon, then cut the third one’s throat.
He crept back to listen to them. Their fire’s flames licked the black sky.
“Holy cow—”
Listening, Deuces’s heart stopped.
“You boys got enough damn fire going to signal the whole damn world to come down here!”
He recognized Horn’s voice.When did he join them? A frown and growing anger rose in his thoughts. Horn must have ridden in while he went back to see her.What was he doing there?
“You boys want them bandits or renegades that got the last train to get our asses, then keep building these gawdamn big fires!”
No doubt, Horn was there to guard the dumb packers—from themselves, maybe. To hear his old friend ranting at them made him feel warm. But what should he do? No questions. He must ride back to their camp. No mules. No raid this night.
Deuces hurried back to the wash. He jerked her roughly by the arm. “Come on, we must go. Now!”
“But—”
He pulled her to her feet by the arm, swiped up the blanket, and towed her to the horses.
“But I thought—”
His open-handed slap across her face silenced her. Then he jerked her face close to his with a fistful of hair. “Get on the horse!” He saw her shrink back from him, and he knew she understood.
They rode in silence back up the mountain. He paused several times and listened for any pursuit.When there was none, he tossed his head for her to go on, and he followed. To be so close to his old friend left him thinking many bad thoughts. Should he have killed him, too? If he started a new band of Apaches, would Horn lead the army to his camp?
He knew the answer. Horn would bring them. He should have killed him back there when he was unaware. When he did not have his guard up. To kill Horn would have been hard.With those packers, he could have done it swiftly and never flinched.
They dismounted as the first spears of sun shone on the peaks. Deep in thought, he bumped into her.
“Why did you take me all that way, and you
did noth-ing—”
Her words struck him like lightning does a dead snag. Anger raged through his body. He tore the riata from his saddle and began to beat her to the ground with it. His arms raised high each time, he smashed her with the coils. She must learn respect—he said it over and over in his mind as he swung the rope. When he was through with her, she would never question his command. The sharp slap of the rawhide strands lashed her leather dress and her flesh and echoed like a shot across the canyon.
He beat her until his arm grew numb. Then he tossed aside the rope and stared at her huddled in a ball on the ground with her hands covering her face, expecting more of the same treatment, but not crying, not whimpering. Numb to the core, he dropped to his knees, roughly jerked apart her legs, and raised the skirt. Then he tore aside his breechcloth. He was not through with her yet.
Chapter 26
“WAKE UP, BURTON. PEDRO SENT WORD HE’ S ON THE stage.” Angela was on her knees, and her face shone above him in the shadowy bedroom.
“Taylor?” he asked in a sleep-crusted voice, trying to open his heavy lids. Damn, he could have slept two more days at best.
He sat up, threw the covers back, and ran his fingers through his hair. Needed a haircut, too. The yawn came close to unhinging his jaws and made his eyes water. He might never wake up. His arms went out and hugged her.
“When’s the stage arrive?” he asked with her in his arms.
“In one hour.”
“How long have you known he was coming?”
“A while. I tried to let you sleep.”
“I appreciate that, but I better dress. No time for—”
“Right.” She used her index finger to push on his nose. “Not this time.”
Another yawn about incapacitated him, and he scooted off the bed. “You have some coffee?”
“And food, if you want it. You feeling any better?”
“Too damn sleepy to know. Yes, I’m much better,” he said, buttoning his shirt.
In an hour, Taylor would arrive in Tucson. In an hour and a half, he’d have him before U.S. Commissioner Henry Lacey, charged with robbery and murder. After that, the mayordomo could rot in jail until they had his trial. His ex-boss would be responsible for the jurors, the courtroom, and the rest. The more he thought about his place as special marshal, the more he liked it. Let the locals handle it—they probably would do as good a job—but this case was federal, army paymaster robbed, several buffalo soldiers shot and wounded, and more than a hundred thousand dollars in gold coin taken.
“You ready to eat?” she asked as he pulled on his boots.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. It’s on the table in the kitchen.”
“Coming.”
“You look nice in a suit,” she remarked about his clothing when he came into the kitchen smelling her rich cooking.
“Depends. Out in the desert, I don’t. But in this case, it probably looks more official to wear a suit.”
“Will that count when you arrest him?”
He slid into a chair at the table. “No, but this guy somehow has been high-handing the law. He used a portion of the money to pay off mortgages for several Mormons. I mean, where would he get, say, forty thousand dollars in newly minted gold?”
“That much?”
“Only a fraction of the total. Then he hightails it to Mexico. Some say because he’s polygamous, but it’s damn funny he waits till after the robbery and after the bank payoff to do that.”
He began to fill his plate with the smoked chicken and beans. “This looks wonderful,” he bragged.
“Those people are very clannish.”
“I know. But crime is crime, and being a preacher don’t leave you out of the law.”
“They don’t have preachers, the laymen do that.”
“Well, a bishop, then.”
“Head of the ward, you mean. The church’s business is his job.”
“Angela, I could care less. If he stole that gold and killed those men, he needs to be locked up.”
She put her hands on her hips and smiled at him. “I agree, Marshal Green.”
“Good. Food’s good, too. Pedro send any word about One-Eye?”
She shook her head and filled his coffee cup. “You think he’s all right?”
“One-Eye can handle himself. He’s learning something about Deuces, or he’d been back by now.”
“The party is set for two weeks from now—”
“That should work,” he said, busy eating and planning his strategy for Taylor’s arrest.
“I know you’ll try to be there, but—”
“Angela, I’ll do my damnedest.Taylor in jail is one less obligation I have to fulfill.”
“There’s still Deuces.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky before then.”
She rushed over and hugged his head to her apron.
“I’m not complaining, Marshal Green, but I sure like it when you’re around.”
His arm encircled her waist, and he returned her hug.
“I agree, but right now, I have a job.”
Burt found a captain’s chair in the back of the stage office. He placed it a few feet from the passageway where the passengers coming off the Nogales stage would go by to get into the station’s food service. Pedro sat on a crate of freight in the center of the room and nodded at his boss. If Taylor offered any resistance, he would be behind him.
The telegram said, “Taylor on the 8:10 stage.” That was good enough not to let even Jack or Joe know much more information. Burt checked his pocket watch, comparing it to the one on the wall. The stage was due in Tucson four hours later, if it encountered no problems.
Eleven-thirty on both timepieces. He snapped the lid shut and replaced it in his vest pocket. It would not be long. Two rather matronly women with several parcels beside them on the bench were obviously waiting to take the northbound one. Both were talking rapidly and reminded him of old hens clucking.
Pedro came over and squatted down on his heels. “What will you do about One-Eye if he doesn’t return soon?”
“I’m not concerned he hasn’t returned yet. But if we have to, we can go down on the border and try to find him.”
Pedro nodded and rose to his feet. He sauntered out onto the porch and looked up and down the street. The bright light outside about blinded anyone who looked that way. On the other hand, coming inside might do the same to Taylor.
The thirty minutes passed slowly. At last, the trumpet of the guard could be heard to signal they were coming.
Burt put away the jackknife he’d been cleaning his fingernails with.
The stage arrived in a clatter of wooden brake pads on iron-rimmed wheels and the driver’s “Whoa” to the double team. Lathered and breathing hard, the horses stomped about as the puff of their dust swept inside the office.
“Tucson, folks,” the driver said. “Be here thirty minutes and I’m leaving. You ain’t ready to go with me, catch the next one. Be careful there, ma’am, that’s a big step.” The driver wearing a buckskin shirt helped a nice-looking woman down first.
Next came a grandmother, a wary-eyed man under a bowler hat, and a businessman in a brown suit. Around thirty, near six foot tall, he had broad shoulders and blond hair. That was Taylor. His man was coming off at the rear of the others, looking around as if he expected to meet someone. The notion made Burt feel more on edge—did he have henchmen to meet him?
Taylor came inside and followed the others.When he was ten steps away, Burt stood up.
“Joseph Taylor?”
“Yes—” The man blinked his blue eyes and frowned.
“Put your hands out. You are under arrest for robbery and murder.”
“What—”
“Get those hands out!” Burt clamped the bracelet on Taylor’s left hand and reached for the right.
Pedro guided Taylor’s arm forward from behind, and the bracelets were locked in place. Burt removed a short-nosed .45 from Taylor’s shoulder holster and
brushed him down for any other weapons.
“You’re making a big mistake, Marshal. I’m a man of God.”
“I can’t help it. I have a grand jury indictment for your arrest.” With Pedro on the prisoner’s left and him on his right, they headed for the front door.
“My wife—”
Burt wanted to say, “Which one?” but caught himself. “You will be at the U.S. commissioner’s office. Then the Pima County jail.”
“No,” Taylor said with authority. “My wife, Jane, is in the restaurant. She needs to know what’s happening.”
“No tricks,” Burt warned. The notion Taylor might have allies going to meet him concerned him—he knew the LDS church would try to bail him out immediately, but in the case of a murder warrant, they couldn’t. “Pedro, go tell Mrs. Taylor in there that her husband has been arrested.”
Pedro nodded and looked at Taylor.
“She’s wearing a blue dress.”
Burt watched Pedro disappear. Anxious to get this over with as smoothly as possible, he begrudged the seconds ticking away.
“Robber?” she said in a shrill voice, and ran over to him, looking in disbelief at the handcuffs on her husband’s wrists.
“This is all some big mistake,” Taylor said. “Contact Bishop Monroe here and tell him. He’ll know what to do.”
She nodded in agreement. Then she looked with concern at Burt. “What are the charges?”
“Murder,” Burt said. “Excuse us, ma’am.” He directed Taylor to the front door.
“Tell him to bring a lawyer, too,” Taylor said over his shoulder. “You know, in an hour I’ll be bonded out and on my way. You have nothing to charge me with.”
“Grand jury felt there was. They don’t bond out people on murder charges.”
“All a waste of your time.”
“Get on the buckboard seat. I will warn you one more time, should you attempt to escape, my deputy and I will shoot to kill.”
Taylor laughed aloud. “Try to escape? No need. I’ll be free in less time than you can snap your fingers.”
Burt never gave him the satisfaction of an answer. He drove the team for the commissioner’s office, and when they reached there, he directed the swaggering man into Lacey’s office.
Deuces Wild Page 20