Sharpshooter

by Dusty Richards

  “Oh, that would be awful.”

  “I agree, but they were driven there, I bet, by superior tribes into a desolate land situation they couldn’t escape.”

  She nodded that she heard and understood.

  At the noon break low clouds came in overhead and the rain they shed was more a drip than drops. Still, the two of them wore raincoats and the train pushed on. Chet decided they would still be a day away from the ferry when they camped for the night. He’d either misjudged the distance or they’d not pushed as hard as they usually did. No matter, this trip was supposed to be pleasure, not work.

  The next day they crossed the Colorado River via the ferry barge and Chet spoke to Lee’s English wife when he paid her.

  “You come after them no-account Logans?” she asked, counting the money.

  “No. We are sightseeing.”

  “Hmm. When will that worthless sheriff down there send some deputies up to round them scallywags up?”

  “They doing anything wrong?”

  “Only robbing and murdering folks. Folks disappear all the time and are never heard of again. I keep my guns loaded all the time.”

  “I am not on law business coming here.”

  “You need to be. You used to be a U.S. Marshal, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. But today I am a rancher looking at empty land.”

  “Look all you want but them no-accounts may murder you.”

  “I will be very careful. Thanks.”

  When they were back on the road headed west, Lisa asked, “You think the ones she calls Logans are that bad?”

  “I think there may be some bands of outlaws up here. There is no law up here I know about. And it has to come out of Preskitt to have any authority.”

  “That would be impossible.”

  “I agree but I had nothing to do with drawing boundaries.”

  “Where will we stop tonight?”

  “There is a good spring west of here some ways at the base of those Vermilion Cliffs on the right side of us. This vast sagebrush plateau on the left is House Rock Valley.”

  “Good. And the mountain range in the west is our goal tomorrow?”

  “Yes. That is Kaibab North. We plan to go down it to the North Rim and spit in the canyon from there.”

  “I always wanted to do that.” She chuckled at his words.

  The “good spring,” like the rest of his estimates, was farther west than he thought. They had to use lamps to set up camp since the sun had long before set.

  In the process, two men rode up and asked for some information.

  They both wore suits and one man had his bloody arm in a sling. Chet invited them into their camp and learned their names: Arron Carte and Joseph Hammer—Hammer was the wounded one. Both were dressed as businessmen, and they appeared to have been in a scuffle. Carte told their story.

  “We were coming down from Salt Lake to start a business in Arizona. Four tough strangers tried to rob us. Well, they robbed us but I managed to shoot one of them before they left. He dropped part of the money but they all got away.”

  “You know their names?” Chet asked.

  “Just what the three called each other. I didn’t hear the name of the fourth guy. One was Hutch. Another was Knobby. And Samson. I shot Samson.”

  “I told him we needed to telegraph the law,” the wounded man said. “Is there a telegraph at the ferry?”

  “No,” Chet said. “It is a three-day ride south of there on the Little Colorado Crossing.”

  “My arm may rot off by then.”

  “No,” Salty said. “We are going to redress it for you. You guys were packing that much money in cash and you had no guards?”

  “Peaceful country, someone told us.”

  “Mister, this no-man’s-land is far from being that.” Salty busied himself redressing the man’s gunshot wound, sending for alcohol and fresh bandages from the wagon.

  The man’s wound was soon cleaned and wrapped. He thanked Salty and his helper. Supper was beans, and they learned some more about the two men and the business they planned for Flagstaff.

  Chet finally asked if they thought there would be enough business in the start-up there to survive until the train tracks came to town.

  “Why, we were told they had the tracks already graded through town. How far away are the end of the tracks?” Carte slapped his forehead. “And those bastards got most of our money.”

  “A lot closer to Santa Fe than Flagstaff. They made those graded sections to sell the land they own beside it and pay for more tracks clear over in New Mexico, where they end right now. Not counting the tracks to still be laid over in New Mexico, they lack over two hundred miles in Arizona to get to Flagstaff. At the current rate, I’d say it will be four years before you hear a train whistle down there.”

  Both men looked sick to their stomachs at Chet’s words.

  “What will we do?” Carte asked his partner.

  “With this throbbing arm, I can hardly worry about our situation except I can hope some surgeon, when we find him, won’t cut it off to save me from dying.”

  “I understand your concern. But we have to continue, after all.”

  Chet had no answer for them.

  * * *

  The next morning the men rode on. Chet told his wife he felt bad they’d lost their start-up money but Flagstaff wasn’t ready for business, either.

  She agreed.

  They made it to the small settlement of Joseph Lake in midafternoon. A new man owned the store, and the lake, Lisa later told him, was hardly more than a cow tank. Rory Lincoln was a tall man with a slightly bent back. He and Chet hit it right off.

  “You met that pair got robbed on the road coming down from Utah?” Lincoln asked him.

  “Yes, and they thought the rails were at Flagstaff.”

  “I heard them say something about it and wondered how the train got that far that fast.”

  “They are not halfway out of crossing the Rio Grande and the western border of New Mexico.”

  “I bet business isn’t much better than up here.”

  Both man laughed at his joke.

  “From their description, do you know who held them up?”

  The tall man surveyed the open area to be certain his response was private. “More than likely the Logan bunch. There ain’t room for many outlaws up here but they kind of lead the crime we get.”

  “Mrs. Lee, over at the ferry, thought I’d arrest them or wanted me to do that.”

  “I’d help you.”

  Chet shook his head. “You have to have proof. Good witnesses. A lawyer will get them off. Hearsay won’t put them in prison.”

  “I understand, and Preskitt is over a week away from right here.”

  “Yes, a long way away. Nice to meet you.”

  “Yes. I’d heard about the big rancher Chet Byrnes and I am proud to meet you.”

  “We are headed south to look off in the deep trough and then ride over some of the country.”

  He laughed. “Don’t fall in.”

  “I aim to avoid that.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The next morning, Cole shot a big buck with a beautiful twelve-point rack. He had the rack packed to mount when he got home. They dressed the deer and headed south. The country on top that they rode through was like Flagstaff, mostly ponderosa pines.

  Hampt rode horseback alongside Lisa and Chet and mused about how pretty the country was they were crossing.

  “No market up here, either.”

  “And there won’t be one for years, will there?”

  “You have the answer right there. You couldn’t afford to ranch up here even if they gave the land to you,” Chet said to him.

  Late that day they reached the last jumping-off place, as Cole called it, and stood on the North Rim to take in the vast canyon of the Colorado. There was so much to see on the clear day that they shared with buzzards drifting across the vast sky, it impressed both Lisa and Chet.

  They rested around camp. T
he next day Cole, Salty, and Hampt were going off to some side canyon they said led down to the river. Lisa and Chet were going to ride off east into House Rock Valley.

  In the morning, the two parties went in opposite directions. In a few hours, Lisa smelled woodsmoke and reined up. Chet nodded that he smelled it, too. They rode into a valley that contained a new log cabin, the source of the smoke.

  A pretty blond woman with two children on her skirt came to the open doorway.

  “Howdy, folks. Welcome to the Bar Double O Ranch. I am Jeanie Meadows. Those bashful kids are Mark and Sally. My husband, Michael, is gone checking on the cattle we have here.”

  “I’m Chet and she’s my wife, Lisa. We have some ranches over in the Verde River country and Preskitt Valley.”

  “Oh, you own that lovely place in Preskitt Valley?”

  “I can tell you’ve been by our house,” Chet said.

  The young woman nodded. “I sure admired it, too, ma’am.”

  “Jeanie, I have only been there a few years. I am proud you liked my house. It’s a big one, and takes three maids to keep it looking nice,” Lisa said.

  “Oh, I bet so. Come on in. I don’t have coffee but we can sip spring water and talk. I don’t get much female company or many men, either, to drop by.”

  “Would you drink coffee if you had it?” Chet asked, undoing the flap on his saddlebags.

  “Oh yes. We aren’t Mormons. We just ran out—well, a few weeks ago.”

  “Neither are we, and I have some.” He drew the cloth sack out and they headed inside.

  “Michael will be jealous he missed it.”

  “You can have the rest of it. We have more in our supplies.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  In their conversation, they learned Jeanie, her husband, and both their brothers had brought a small herd of cows and bulls up there the year before. They’d wintered well and calved out with low losses. They filed for a homestead claim and had it registered in Preskitt at the courthouse. Their brothers came up earlier and the three men and Jeanie raised the well-built cabin.

  Chet was impressed with their dedication to building a ranch. The children were bashful but polite. Mark was four and his sister, Sally, was three. They rounded out the family.

  After a nice visit, Chet and Lisa set out for their own camp and, riding back, Lisa asked him about how the children would get educated.

  “Either teach them themselves or send them to boarding school.”

  “Oh, Chet, if I had children like those two I would die if I had to send them to boarding school.”

  “There is no option when you live this far out. Educate them at home or boarding.”

  “I am so proud that Elizabeth and I enrolled all those ranch children up at the Cherry School House. She was so progressive and she wanted them to grow up and be citizens. I know you miss her and so do I.”

  He nodded to show her that he cared, but in a decade he’d lost four women who had touched his life, and that had been hard on him. Life was for the living and Lisa was the joy of his life, but it was hard to keep it all canned up inside him.

  They got back to camp before the adventurers returned and she started supper. Chet gave her a hand at peeling some potatoes. She felt they’d eaten enough beans at that point, and told him potatoes and flour gravy might be good change.

  Her observation amused him. Cowboys ate beans every day and any holiday they came to, in his book. But he wasn’t going to argue—it would be a good change.

  When the others rode in he read on their hard-look faces that his men were upset about something and it was serious.

  He caught Cole by the sleeve. “What went wrong today?”

  Cole stopped and shook his head. “We met this Logan bunch today. The leader told us we had no business up here checking around on things and if we didn’t go home he’d see we were eliminated.”

  “You men put up with that?”

  “Chet—I didn’t want any one of us shot. He had the canyon trail covered where we came out, surrounded with rifle-armed men.”

  “Chet, Cole did the right thing,” Jesus said. “They had over a dozen hardcases all armed with new-looking Winchesters and there was no doubt they meant business.”

  “We had a nice day in the canyon and went clear to the muddy Colorado earlier. I never saw a horse print going or coming out but our own,” Hampt said. “But they had the high card, Chet. Cole did the right thing.”

  Chet let out a held breath and nodded. “I didn’t want anyone hurt. Did you recognize any of his men as wanted criminals?”

  The crew shook their heads.

  “What do we do next?” he asked them.

  “Oh, they won’t ever get the drop on us again,” Salty said. “I promise you they won’t. Guess we thought we were too tough to be challenged. They made a big mistake today leaving us alive, and if they try again, they won’t survive the attempt.”

  “Thanks, men. We came to have fun. I am sorry this happened.”

  The camp crew nodded they understood.

  “Lisa has made chicken-fried venison steaks with mashed potatoes and gravy, plus sourdough biscuits. Brag on her for me.”

  Cole threw his arm over Chet’s shoulder. “We can damn sure do that.”

  And they ate like they were celebrating some major event. But Chet knew they needed to do something about Logan and his threat to them. He damn sure didn’t own the North Rim country, and his bunch needed to convince them of that fact.

  “We need to know more about Logan and his men. Their habits, strengths, and weaknesses.”

  Cole, enjoying the crisp meat, agreed with a nod. “Lisa, you did real good cooking this.”

  The men applauded.

  She blushed. “It was nothing. Just a change. I don’t want to upset the cooking and take that over, is for certain.”

  “Shucks, Lisa,” Hampt said. “We thought you were about to open an eatery up here.”

  “Aside from you guys and a few black bears I’d be awful thin on customers.”

  Everyone laughed and agreed.

  CHAPTER 4

  When the sun came up the next morning, Chet was no closer to having an answer about what to do about Logan than he’d been the night before. After a breakfast of hotcakes, homemade syrup, and crisp bacon they drank coffee and discussed the matter.

  Cole and Salty offered to try and scout them out. Chet agreed they’d be the best two and said for them to be careful but learn what they could. Hampt had seen some mustang tracks, and while two men stayed in camp to keep an eye on things—the rest planned to go wild-horse hunting.

  The party of six left in search of the broomtails.

  Midmorning, they had them in Chet’s field glasses. The riders were parked on top of a tall sand dune to view the band from a distance.

  “Some nice-looking mares.” Hampt shared the glasses with Lisa.

  “Chet, you see any you like?”

  “Couple of red roans might make good horses someday.”

  “They’re close to weaning, aren’t they?”

  He nodded to agree.

  “Well, let’s shake loose some lariats and capture them. No need to go home empty-handed,” his wife said.

  Did she rope mustangs? Not too much she did shocked him but he saw right off when she made a loop to catch one, this was not her first trial at it. What a woman he had married.

  They divided forces. He followed her, and Hampt went with them. The others, including the horse wrangler Eldon, set in to catch some older colts.

  The lead mare made short work of rounding up her band when she discovered them as onlookers. The herd went over the rise between some juniper groves. Lisa and her hands fell into hot pursuit, ropes ready to swing wide and catch some horseflesh.

  Pounding after them across some purple sage patches, they were having lots of laughs. One of the camp boys’ horses spilled and Billy Bob was tossed into the grass. He quickly rose and shouted, “I’m fine. Don’t let them get away.” />
  “We won’t,” Chet promised him over his shoulder, grateful the youth was okay.

  In the confusion one of the roan colts found itself blocked in by some fallen dead cedars, and Lisa closed in on the panic-stricken critter. He started to dart back past her but she threw the lariat over his ears and then she jerked the slack. Like a large fish on a hook he settled into having a walleyed fit. But she had him on her rope and was keeping her mount looking at him and not giving him any slack.

  Chet ripped a denim shell out from behind the cantle, bailed off his horse to cover his head, and hoped, when he was blinded, it would settle him down. He could see they had two more colts caught out in the next sage flat and were having a fight, too, with them.

  The jumper was over his head and big Hampt had him caught around the neck, and the three were laughing hard at their wild horse’s antics.

  “Where did you learn to rope like that?” Chet asked his wife, who was holding the rope they had the colt caught with.

  “Chet Byrnes, I never was some charm school graduate. You just never saw me at roundup before.”

  He guessed he had that coming. Keeping the fighting young horse on his mind he’d sworn that damn colt wasn’t a broke livery horse, either. He had to duck a flying hoof or he’d be clubbed with it. “Whoa, pony boy. You are going to be her next horse to break.”

  A halter was formed and slipped over his head, with Hampt holding him around the neck so he had little chance to get going on a wild charge or jump.

  Recoiling her lariat, Lisa, looking, a little triumphant, came to where Hampt held the colt.

  “He’s going to become a great horse,” she said, and the others all agreed.

  Chet shook his head—still amazed. He damn sure never expected her to catch the colt but she did. He took the reins of his returned mount from the hand who’d caught him and thanked him. In a short while they were headed home with four soon-to-be-willing-to-be-led colts.

  Making camp later, he knew by their absence that Cole and Salty were still out there checking on Logan. He hoped those two were all right. He was pretty well convinced that, before it was over, they’d have to do something serious about Logan and his gang. Those outlaws were no different than the rest of the lawless elements and in his book they all needed to be stopped or Arizona would never become a state.