Sharpshooter

by Dusty Richards

  * * *

  Chet easily found the man in the empty park. A few drunken drifters, lying prone on benches, snored away, but he was sitting alone at a table.

  Standing above him Chet asked, “You must be Yeffie?”

  The middle-aged man nodded.

  Chet slid in across from him. “Do you know anything about my rustling problems?”

  “Some.”

  “What will I get for my money?”

  “Do you have the Arizona brand for the Wagon Wheel and the Bar K?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, in June, July, and August around fifty head with one of your two brands on them each month were slaughtered at the All Right Slaughter House.”

  “Did the brand inspector report them?”

  “No. He never saw them. They were hurried in after dark and each time slaughtered at night and the carcasses removed before they made their normal opening time the next day.”

  “Where are their hides?” Chet asked.

  The old man smiled. “I imagine in the green hide stack. The inspector never looks at them.”

  Chet knew what he had to do. Get the county law to secure a search warrant, and if the hides were there, those people would have to admit who sold the cattle to them or face a long prison sentences themselves. He peeled out three twenties and handed them to the man. “You know anything else I need to know about my cattle or ranch?”

  “I understand a man that works for you on your Wagon Wheel Ranch is wanted for murder in Texas.”

  “Who did he kill?”

  “A Texas sheriff’s deputy that he found in bed with his wife.”

  “My Lord, man.” Chet shook his head in disgust. “What is his name?”

  “Frank Edwards.”

  Chet shook his head. “That all?”

  “Can I ask what you will do about that?”

  Chet looked around to be certain no one could hear him. “Maybe buy him a stagecoach ticket.”

  Yeffie waved away Chet’s offer of giving him some more money. “Give it to that man on the run. That deputy was a no-account sumbitch.”

  Chet put the money back in his pocket. “Thank you. I’d looked long and hard for those facts you gave me on the rustling. Gracias.”

  Yeffie made no effort to move. Chet left him and joined Jesus at the edge of the park. They went on to eat breakfast and on the way, Chet began to explain what the man had told him.

  “In June, July, and August he says that they slaughtered about fifty head of our cattle at night and each time they did it before the brand inspector got there and the carcasses were hauled away before the inspector came to work.”

  “How do we prove that?” Jesus asked.

  “Our man thinks the hides from our cattle were not hidden but stacked in the green hide pile, waiting for someone to pass through and buy them.”

  “Sounds like greedy people, huh?” Jesus’s smile beamed at the notion.

  “Yes. Let’s eat breakfast and then go see the county sheriff.”

  The meal of scrambled eggs, bacon, frijoles, and flour tortillas was done well and the coffee rich and good. When he paid the cashier, Chet asked where the courthouse was located, and the man making change suggested they take a taxi.

  Outside, Chet waved down one and the man reined up his single horse.

  “Take us to the courthouse.”

  “There is no county courthouse here yet.”

  “Is there a sheriff here?”

  “No, señor, but we have some deputy sheriffs.”

  “Go there.”

  They soon learned that New Mexico had so far not divided parts of that state into counties, but there were lawmen in the office and they listened to him. One of them set out and brought a state brand inspector back to the conversation. The inspector’s name was Morris Granada.

  He listened to Chet’s story about the cattle being slaughtered under the cover of night and the idea that those hides might be in the green stack. The man nodded that they could still be there if they had, indeed, been slaughtered there.

  “Señor Byrnes, I know about your work with the Navajos and how you tried to get them the coal sale to this railroad but did not get it in the end. I don’t need a search warrant to search their green hide piles. That is covered in my job description.”

  “Can we go along with you?”

  “Sure.”

  A deputy named August accompanied them. They took a buckboard to the slaughterhouse, which, in the hot near-midday air, reeked from the processing of animals.

  A big man sharpening a large knife met them at the door. He asked what they wanted, suspicion in his voice. During the man’s conversation with Granada he shifted his dark glares to Chet and Jesus.

  Chet didn’t know the man and felt he was suspicious of the entire foursome, not only himself and Jesus.

  The deputy sheriff, August, then forcefully pushed Granada aside and he entered into an increasingly angry conversation when the big man said he would not let none of them into the plant.

  Between the giant flies, other flying bugs, and the sour spilled-guts aroma the voices became more heated than the glaring sun had been outside. Once inside, the deputy ordered the butcher to stand back. When he did not obey, the officer unholstered his gun and forced him back. “Go ahead, Granada. You two can come in, too.”

  While most of the conversation was in Spanish, Chet felt this man damn sure didn’t want anyone to look at his hide pile. Both the deputy and Granada insisted they must see the ones he had on hand. The lawman made him lay down the knife, and they hurried to the back into the warehouse portion, which stunk as bad as the rest of the plant. Granada pointed out the hide piles, which reached almost to the ceiling.

  “Each take a pile and restack them. You find your brand, keep the hide separate in a stack over here for reexamination.”

  “They will bear a Bar K or Wagon Wheel brand on ours.” Then Jesus took a deep breath and started on his pile. Chet had another large stack to look at.

  “Here’s one,” Granada said. “Butcher Man?”

  He directed his question at the disarmed butcher. “You realize that this hide could put you in prison for ten years?”

  The big man didn’t answer him.

  Jesus spoke up. “I have several here.”

  “That is enough,” Granada said. “I will have some jailhouse prisoners to get the rest out. I think you’re right, Mr. Byrnes. There may be a hundred and fifty of them in here.”

  “Good. We need this situation stopped.”

  “I am going to arrest several others who are working here and find out who knew about this illegal slaughter and did not report it,” the deputy said, slapping cuffs on the plant owner. “Wentworth, get to walking.”

  “Anything else you need of me or Jesus?” Chet asked them.

  “No, but thanks. We’d never have known this had happened without you telling us.” Granada shook Chet’s hand and Jesus’s, too. August also thanked them and shook their hands.

  Outside, Chet waved down a taxi. “Where is the best bathhouse? Me and my friend need a bath and our clothes washed. Badly.”

  The man wrinkled his nose. “You damn sure do. I know the place you need to do that at.”

  “Take us there.” He and Jesus climbed in the cab and the driver hurried his horse to the Shanghai Bath House.

  Chet tipped the driver a dollar above his charge and the pleased man thanked him. Inside the bathhouse office, he knew from the shocked look on the Chinese woman’s face that she smelled them before they reached her.

  “We both need a bath and our clothes washed.”

  “Be a dollar apiece,” she said like that was her top price.

  He paid her. She held her nose with one hand and pointed to the green door that went into the bathhouse.

  Both Chet and Jesus laughed all the way down, undressing along the way.

  “Most fun we’ve had in years.”

  “Jesus, do you realize we may have caught the rustlers, too?�
�

  “Hell, yes, I do. That is why I am laughing. Cole and Spencer will be back here tonight and they don’t know it,”

  Chet shook his head. Lisa, I’ll be home shortly.

  CHAPTER 13

  About seven that evening, the dusty pair entered the Mexican café. Chet and Jesus in their fresh clothes toasted them. “Here’s to the outlaw rustlers—half of them are in the Crossbar Hotel tonight.”

  Both men looked in disbelief at them.

  “You what?” Spencer asked.

  “We have six rustlers in the Gallup, New Mexico, jail. A posse will ride in the morning to arrest five more.”

  “Who are they?” Cole asked.

  “One is a big fat butcher named Wentworth. Him and five more who concealed the slaughter. We think he butchered about one hundred and fifty head of our stock. The outside men, who are at a so-far-undisclosed ranch, they will arrest tomorrow.”

  Spencer collapsed in a wooden chair, dropped his dirty hat on the floor, and swept his graying hair back. “You mean you two solved this rustler deal today?”

  Chet nodded. “They slaughtered about fifty head a month in June, July, and August. They did it at night, then hauled the carcasses away to the plant before it opened. But they made one mistake. They put all our branded hides in the same stack, in the back, with their green hides.”

  “What next?”

  “We broke up a large ring of rustlers.”

  “I want to know how they got them off the ranch,” Spencer said.

  “They will be in jail tomorrow night when they bring them in. The deputy can tell you all about it later. I am going home in the morning, to your house.”

  After their meal, Cole and Spencer went for baths. The four planned to have breakfast together and to head home in the morning. It would take two hard days’ ride to do it but it made no difference. Chet wanted to be back with Lisa even if it took three days.

  Things went smoothly and the third day they rode into the Wagon Wheel Ranch headquarters. Fred Taylor and Josey, with Chet’s wife and Lucinda, were on the front porch, beaming at their return. Spencer’s two stepchildren ran to him shouting, “Candy?”

  He had pockets full for them and they knew it. Packing one of them in each arm, their dark faces puckered out, sucking on hard candy and beating on him happily.

  Lisa looked snug enough, running in for a hug and kiss. That was worth the two-and-a-half-days’ ride.

  “I really missed you.” Then she whispered, “Don’t you ever sell Preskitt Valley. I miss it, too.”

  He laughed. “I know what you mean.”

  “What’s next?”

  “They have the rustlers in jail. The chief deputy promised us a letter on what he learned from the rustlers that are now in jail.”

  “How much did they get away with?”

  “A hundred-fifty head over three months is the estimate.”

  “Lots of money, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but Spencer and Fred were doing all they could to stop it. They were pretty sharp rustlers at sneaking cattle out of here. I think a few at a time on horses with hooves wrapped in blankets and getting them over there and butchered. We decided they never took many at any time, which made it hard to track. But they kept the hides, which hung them.”

  “Where to next?”

  “Visit my sister and slip home.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Chet told Spencer that things looked great and he still had lots of steers to ship on the Navajo run in the fall. Things would work out and he and Fred had a great ranch operation going. Then Chet made Spencer step out on the back porch. “I don’t recall his name but word is out one of your men is wanted in Texas for shooting a deputy.”

  “Oh hell.”

  “Frank Edwards, that’s his name.”

  Spencer made a sour face. “Best damn man on the list.”

  “I heard the story. He shot some deputy for being in bed with his wife. My informant in Gallup must have liked Edwards, too. He asked that I buy him a stagecoach ticket west.”

  “What do you say I should do?”

  “Pay him a hundred and have him jump on the next stage goes by for California.”

  “Chet, he is a marvelous worker and I wanted him to be my number three man. He refused my offer but lots of guys don’t want to be the boss. Thanks, I’ll get that done. Who in the hell told you all this information?”

  “An old man named Yeffie, who lives around Gallup. He don’t miss much.”

  “Wish to hell I’d known this guy, huh?”

  “You still may need him sometime.”

  “Oh, I have his name down. I won’t forget it.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Chet told Spencer, “Tell Lucinda thanks for her hospitality. We better ride if we are to get to Sis’s by dark.”

  “Rustlers aside, it is sure nice to run a ranch and be out riding cross-country. No worries you’ll run out of nails or boards. Thanks.”

  “Now that the rustlers are in jail, I want you and Lucinda to take the kids to Gallup. Take two weeks. You need some time off. I want to pay the tab for all of it. Clothes and all. Don’t spare me. This rustler deal had both you and Fred exhausted. Then when you get back I want Fred to carefully bring Josey to Preskitt before she delivers. Lisa is concerned about this baby, being her first and all. He’s as tired as you are. Ranching can be fun but next time you get so worn down—write me a letter to come help. If I can’t come, I’ll send someone. Now, we worked hard getting to this point. It is time to step back and enjoy it. Savvy?”

  “Yes, sir. You know I’m serious. And Fred is, too, and in time he’ll be a great leader. We will settle down and do all that. Oh, Frank Edwards caught the westbound stage last night down on the Marcy Road. Damn, he and I both cried. I gave him a hundred and paid for the ticket. Fred felt like I did. A good man like that—no place to go—no wife—just shuffle on ahead of the law.”

  “No one said this job would be easy.”

  Chet joined the others and they rode west toward the Windmill Ranch with the meadowlarks singing and chasing bugs on the road all the way.

  CHAPTER 14

  Chet’s prediction was right. Despite the push they made, the sun was down when they finally reached Sarge and Sis’s Windmill Ranch.

  “Howdy,” Sarge shouted. He was holding up the lantern on the porch steps.

  “Just us, Sarge,” Chet shouted. “Lisa, Jesus, and Cole.”

  “It’s your big brother,” Sarge said over his shoulder to his wife.

  “I’m coming. I’m coming. Don’t let them ride off.”

  “Hell, darling, we’re too tired to go another mile,” Chet shouted, undoing his sweaty latigos on the girth.

  “Lisa, where are you?” Sis shouted, coming down the porch stairs.

  “Let them horses go,” Sarge shouted. “My men are coming. They’ll put them up for you.”

  Cole agreed and he shook Sarge’s hand. “How are you?”

  “Been a long time since you’ve been here. Do you miss the stagecoaches and the singing wire?”

  “Hell no, Sarge.”

  “I just wondered. How are you, Jesus?”

  “Good now that we’ve got here.”

  “Where did you come from, Chet?”

  “Wagon Wheel Ranch.”

  “That’s a pretty long ride.”

  “Going anywhere to another ranch is a far piece,” Chet said, and they headed for the stairs and the lighted door at the head of them. They went on into the house.

  “Cody Day and his wife, Sandy, with the baby ran over to the Verde Ranch to see Tom and Millie.”

  “Who goes to Gallup this month?” Chet asked.

  “I do. That’s why they took the break. Their turn to watch the ranch.”

  “Handy to have someone who can make the drive, isn’t it?”

  “You bet. That boy—well, he’s a young man—could run any ranch you have.”

  “With all the men that you tried to train I figured a
t the time I sent him to you he could do it.”

  Sarge laughed. “Tom didn’t.”

  “Tom didn’t want to give up his daughter.”

  “You’re right. Those two have made it good, too.”

  “So have you and Sis. We’ve been to see Toby and Talley first and they are doing great.”

  “Boy, he is a worker. We have plenty of hay, and people ask me who owns all these fenced homesteads and haystacks. If they want to buy hay I send them to Toby.”

  “He’s the hay man for us.”

  “They tell me they have the roadbed in at Flagstaff. Is it that close?”

  “I think they want to sell those high-priced sections. That train won’t be there for four years, if by then.”

  Sarge laughed.

  Sis came by then with a dish of food and kissed Chet on the cheek. “What is so funny?”

  “You know about the roadbed at Flagstaff that we heard about?” Sarge asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “Your brother says the tracks aren’t even halfway across New Mexico. Chet says it is so they can sell the high-priced land over there at Flagstaff.”

  “Dang them. They had me all excited we could get out of here.”

  Sarge and Chet laughed.

  Later in bed, Lisa asked him, “You and her ran the Texas ranch before you came out here?”

  “Yes. My dad lost most of his mind trying to get the kidnapped kids back from the Comanche and he stayed out too long. Texas Rangers found him and brought him back home. He never was right after that. I was fifteen. Our mother had been upset over the loss of them from the start. Her mind sank away. Sis and I ran the place. I bet she wasn’t twelve then. My brother was no help and he wouldn’t take any responsibility but he’d gripe at everything I did. I finally quit listening to him.”

  “No wonder you can manage all this—you’ve been doing it forever.”

  “I have big shoulders.”

  She snuggled in his arms. “I’m glad I fit into this tight bunch. I couldn’t believe that you’d ever marry me. You could have had anyone you wanted. But if I hadn’t been so dumb and ran off with that stupid rich boy—I’d never have meet you. You reckon God planned it that way?”

  “Call it fate or whatever. I’m pleased. You said that for days with those raiders you had little food or water while trying to escape my posse going up through that Four Corners country.”