Sharpshooter

by Dusty Richards

  Malloy nodded.

  “Good, let’s go. Jesus come back yet?” he asked Vic.

  “No. I haven’t seen him.”

  “Come on. We can get the paperwork done.”

  All that complete, the banker aimed to wire the amount of any large expense checks for Chet’s approval.

  After that was settled, Jesus was there with loaded packhorses, so they went by the hospital and talked to the doctor.

  The physician shook his head while talking about Chet’s mine superintendent. “It will be a miracle if that young man survives. But he is very strong and maybe he will. The cowboy, Billy Bob, if he doesn’t have any infections, will recover. But it is a long, twisted path even for him.”

  “Were any of the robbers wounded, did they say?”

  “Billy Bob said with certainty that he thought he had hit two of the three men. But he was hurt and in a turmoil from their attack. He said he had trusted two of those men and they were the last ones he’d ever suspected of doing that.”

  Even as they stood outside at the hitch rack, the glaring sun reflecting off the sandy ground, Chet could still smell the ether’s and antiseptic’s strong fumes. Both victims were weak and their conditions stabbed his heart. If he’d known there was such a threat he’d never have left the pair by themselves. He felt knifed by the results of the attack on them.

  Greed like that stole men’s hearts and minds. But the fact was, these were his men lying under sheets as white as their faces, and he took the blame for their injuries. He wanted those bastards who did this behind bars or hung by the neck until dead.

  * * *

  They rode out of Goldfield on the dusty road that followed the Salt River into the mountains, on a crooked, steep, winding path eastward. He and Jesus could recall using it another time but he’d liked to have a guide or someone more familiar with the way.

  Miles ahead at the forks of the Salt River and Tonto Creek he could hope that the thieves left a sign or someone saw the direction they took.

  The descriptions of the individuals in the party were vague enough they might pass them on the way and not even know them. Several times along the way Chet removed his felt hat and wiped the sweat from his face onto his sleeve. The sparse desert vegetation left great, open spaces on the huge rock formations.

  Soon juniper brush began to replace the mesquite and fingerlike saguaros. A band of javelinas burst off into the brambles, snorting, disturbed from their siesta. Jesus’s spooked horse tried to buck. Jesus held him in check and they laughed about it.

  At the junction of the streams, they spoke to a young, pregnant Hispanic woman camped under a canvas sheet.

  Chet asked her to sell them some supper if he’d furnish the food. She agreed and told them her husband was supposed to be back. He had gone, several days earlier, to Globe to see about work in the mines. All she had to eat was the fish she caught, so they shared some of their food and ate some of her fish. Of course, she knew nothing about the pack train the robbers had taken through there earlier.

  After the meal, Chet sent Jesus to the small store close by to buy her some staples and to ask about the pack train. He returned with lots of food for her and word that the pack train answering his description went north from there.

  The girl was very grateful and cried. Chet dismissed her wanting to somehow repay them, but was suspicious as to why her husband left her there alone with not enough food. His men agreed with his concern. The next morning, they rode north.

  They talked to a whiskered old prospector coming south, riding a mule and leading a few more with packs. His name was Harris.

  “We are looking for three men with a pack train. They stole some gold from my mine and shot up my superintendent and guard.”

  The old man was packing his pipe. And went over the names, nodding his head. “Newman and Harte, huh?”

  Chet said, “That’s two of them.”

  “I ain’t found much color lately, but, by Jesus, I know where they are. What’s it worth to you?”

  “Name your price.”

  “Thirty dollars would get me a long ways.”

  Chet peeled off fifty. “Where are they?”

  “Two days ago, they were on Cotter Creek. Gambling with guys and showing lots of color.”

  “How far is that from here?”

  “Thirty miles.”

  “We are going to load up right now. You draw Jesus here a map in the dirt.”

  “I can sure do that.”

  Vic and Chet began loading the horses.

  “Can you believe that?” Chet asked Vic as he was cinching up his girth

  “I damn sure think that is a miracle.”

  “Big a miracle as finding that Spanish treasure.”

  “I agree.”

  They had the animals loaded, and Chet couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. “Harris, there is a pregnant girl camped by herself down there at the fork in the streams. I want you to take her twenty dollars and be sure she’s all right. I have a deep concern her husband dumped her.”

  “What if she’s gone?”

  “The twenty is yours.”

  “Hellfire. What is her name?”

  “She’s a teen and pregnant. You can’t miss her.”

  “If she’s there, I’ll pay her.”

  “Good. I want those crooks.” Chet swung in the saddle and they pushed hard.

  * * *

  The Cotter Creek handmade sign nailed to a post was barely visible in the sundown.

  They decided that close they’d make a dry camp and hustle in there in the morning. Horses hobbled, they ate jerky and slept some.

  Before dawn peached the eastern horizon, they were in the saddle and headed up the deep draw headed for the camp. Over two mountain ranges, midmorning, they smelled the woodsmoke and soon saw the camp of tents and some shacks made of lumber taken from old buildings.

  Chet considered it a typical prospectors’ camp. The residents all needed baths, and many were sucking on crock jars of mountain dew as they staggered around. An assortment of Indian squaws and Hispanic women tended fires, made food, and dodged drunks anxious to kiss or fondle them.

  One of the females stopped Chet. “You need a woman, hombre?”

  He dismounted. In a low voice, he said, “I need Jack Newman. You know him?”

  She stepped right up to him. “What is he worth to you?”

  “Twenty dollars.”

  “For that I show you him and my body.”

  “Show him to me.”

  Both Jesus and Vic had their rifles out and scouted the crowd for any movement toward them. Chet gave them a follow us head toss and they parted the crowd, moving forward with their horses and pack animals.

  The crowd gave them dirty looks. A few of the women shouted offers of sex to them but the woman he’d hired kept walking, leading the way through the camp and woodsmoke. She gestured with her hand out. “Here is his house.”

  Chet dismounted and handed her a gold twenty-dollar piece and checked the rifle’s chamber. The crowd began to back away, realizing his purpose was not going to be a friendly reunion between him and Newman.

  Someone flung the canvas flap back, cussing about who the hell was out there while buttoning his fly.

  The muzzle of Chet’s Winchester stuck in his face. He gasped.

  “Jack Newman?”

  “Nooo. I’m Jewels Roberts.”

  Chet slashed him in the face with the rifle butt and he went down screaming. Jesus had spurred his horse around the wall tent and Chet heard him shout, “Stop!”

  Then the .44 caliber blast from back there made many hit the ground. Vic was there and had the screaming Roberts, spitting bloody teeth, by the collar as his other hand waved Chet aside.

  His gun barrel at his waist and cocked, Chet stepped into the tent. He saw the man on the cot reach for the holstered pistol on the floor as the naked woman, screaming, fell off the cot on the other side.

  The black-powder gun smoke boiled up in the room.
The woman was gone and the man lying on his back clutched his bloody wrist where Chet had shot him.

  Chet’s ears were ringing from the shot. The fumes burned his nostrils and smoke made his eyes water. He grasped the screaming Newman by the collar with his left hand and dragged him outside, next to the moaning Roberts.

  Jesus came around the tent on the side, walking his spooked horse, and dragging Rodney Harte by his belt.

  “Any more?” he asked Chet.

  He shook his head. “I think we’ve got them all.”

  “Where is the gold you stole?” Vic asked Roberts.

  “We ain’t got any gold.”

  “You want more loose teeth?

  “Hell no. It’s in the tent.”

  “Get your ass up and get it.”

  “I can’t. Hurt too much,” Roberts cried.

  “You are going to hurt worse than that.” Vic gave him a swift kick to his side, and the man, on his hands and knees, scurried inside the tent. Vic followed.

  In a minute, Vic stuck his head out. “Part of it is here.”

  “Good. Thanks,” Chet said to the woman, his guide, who was wrapping up Newman’s bloody arm. When she had his arm wrapped, she rose and held out her palm. “Twenty more.”

  He paid her. “Now, get us some food. A couple of you boys, here, round up our horses and packhorses.”

  Then he shoved his rifle in the boot.

  “Come back up to my tent.” She kissed his cheek. “I like working for you, mister.” With that complete, she sashayed off to the other side of the camp.

  There was quite a lot of the gold left. His men filled the panniers on the packhorse with it and stuck the rest of the stuff into bags on their horses. The job completed, Chet spoke. “These three men robbed my mine office and shot up my men. I aim to take them back to Goldfield for trial.”

  “Hang their asses.”

  “Men, I did that one time. Not that they didn’t deserve it. Not that they weren’t as bad an outfit as these outlaws, but prosecution and prison sentencing shows Arizona has the right to be a state. I want that to happen. My name’s Chet Byrnes, I live and ranch at Preskitt Valley. You need a meal or a cot to sleep on we never turn anyone, with manners, away.”

  “Didn’t you find some Spanish treasure in the Grand Canyon?”

  “Yes, my men and I found it.”

  “Ha. All I found up there in those caves was bat shit.”

  They laughed.

  “That’s all I found, too, except in one was gold and jewels.”

  The old man threw down his hat and stomped on it. “By damn, I forgot to look in that one.”

  They all laughed.

  * * *

  After they ate, they loaded the three handcuffed outlaws on their horses and rode back to the main road and south. They took the left fork in the road to check on their friend down where the streams forked. Chet wanted to be sure she was all right.

  She met them about sundown.

  “No husband?”

  “No. I guess he left me.” She dropped her chin. “I thought he loved me.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Maria Conswaylia.”

  “Maria, these men work for me on my ranch. Come to us. I will send a wagon for you. I have many single men who need wives. Don’t worry. They will love your baby, too.”

  “I have had enough fish.”

  Back in Goldfield, he hired a man with a wagon to get her and bring her into the town. When she arrived, Chet had the doctor check her. The doctor told Chet she was doing well. That night, Jed died. On crutches, Billy Bob stood in the cemetery and with wet eyes said, “I wish it had been me instead. Jed was such a smart man.”

  “No, he wished for you to become one of my grand ranch foremen.”

  Chet liked his new mine superintendent. The mine was really putting out the gold.

  He thanked the man, told him he’d be in touch, and to send a wire if he had an emergency. With that fixed they took a buggy back to Hayden’s Ferry.

  Chet wired his wife they’d be up there at midnight and bring two buckboards.

  They made it to the ferry. The night was cool compared to the desert temperatures they were getting used to.

  When he introduced the new girl, Lisa kissed her and hugged her. Renny was along and told him, aside, she had the fastest horse in Arizona and the race was Sunday.

  * * *

  Sunday at the fairgrounds they all had lunch at their pavilion. Several of the ranch family members were there for the noon meal. Bo, his wife, and kids. Tanner, wife, and babies. Cole and Val came with Rocky, and Adam came with Victor and Reba. Plus, half a thousand other folks. Toby and Talley even came down. Tom and Millie, too. Jesus and Anita were there, and Vic brought Maria.

  Chet teased the three teens that he dare not cheer for any of them.

  At the end of the second race, the announcer said the next race coming up was a simple, friendly, family affair. Everyone laughed.

  The starting pistol set them off. All three horses came out of the gates like professional steeds. Rocky had it by the nose at the halfway post. Then, as Chet watched, Renny leaned over and whispered in her horse’s ear. Next, Chet saw her mount speed away and she won by a length.

  Afterward, when it was all quiet and the horses had been cooled down, as Chet was fixing to let the ranch boy lead her winning horse back home, he turned to Renny and asked her what she said to her pony to make him run so fast.

  “You won’t get mad?”

  “I won’t get mad.”

  She wet her lips. “‘Get the hell out of here. We’re losing.’”

  He nodded. “You said the right thing.”

  Don’t miss the remarkable first book in the new series

  THE O’MALLEYS OF TEXAS

  by Western Heritage Award-Winning Author

  DUSTY RICHARDS

  As Civil War bloodies the nation’s ground,

  Texas Rangers Harp and Long John O’Malley

  patrol a vast, unguarded range, picking off the

  brutal Comanche while protecting the families

  of soldiers off fighting at the front.

  Bullet by bullet, the O’Malleys distinguish

  themselves as two of the bravest gunfighters to

  ever wear the Ranger’s star. At war’s end, the

  Rangers are disbanded, but Harp and Long John

  are not through fighting yet. They sign on with a

  cattle drive that will take them across the most

  treacherous and deadly stretch of the American

  frontier: the long trail from Texas to Sedalia.

  Beset by ruthless enemies inside and outside the

  camp, Harp and Long John aim dead straight for

  the future—where a great ranching fortune

  awaits back in a Texas they will change forever.

  “Dusty Richards writes . . . with the flavor of the real West.”

  —Elmer Kelton

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  PROLOGUE: THE LONG DRIVE TO SEDALIA

  Easter Coble walked through the cold dark night keeping the long wool coat tightly wrapped around her. The celestial sky projected outlines of the towering oak trees that cast long shadows and patches of starlight on the ground. A tall girl of seventeen, with blond braids coiled on her head, she was headed toward the man she loved—Norton Horsekiller. He waited for her in the log shed full of hay that her father called a barn. The snugly built cabin behind her was dark—her parents were sound asleep. They wouldn’t miss her during the short meeting with him.

  Her father never approved of Horsekiller as her suitor. Said he was too wild to ever be a real provider and would never furnish her needs as a wife and mother. But the six-foot-tall young woman had her own ideas, and, headstrong, she snuck out to meet her lover.

  In the barn’s darkness, he shocked her by sweeping her in his arms and kissing her. She swooned in his hug. After their kiss he went to quickly telling her how he and three others were going to
the buffalo land called the Cherokee Outlet that the tribe owned farther west. He would come back rich with wagonloads of hides and meat, and then he would marry her.

  “Tonight we can begin our married life. I will return shortly with many wagonloads piled high with meat and hides. Even your father will be impressed by my wealth when I marry you. Tonight I need your body for good luck on my hunt. It won’t hurt you, and we will be bonded as man and wife forever.”

  Beguiled by his words and skills at arousing her, she agreed and did as he asked, both of them wrapped inside the blanket he’d brought, lying together on top of the sweet-smelling hay. After he’d kissed her good-bye and was gone, while sneaking back into the house she wondered about his words. Once inside, she felt disappointed that her transgression that night with him was not as uplifting as she had expected. But she was to be his wife when he returned triumphant from the big hunt, so the path of her life after this night was cut and dried. She was to be Horsekiller’s woman for better or worse when he returned.

  From that day forth she prayed a lot for his safety and success. To escape her discouraging thoughts she read from the Bible, more to submerge her worries and the questions from her mother and father about where he went off to. But when morning sickness struck, Easter alarmed her mother, who sat her down and asked her if she had a baby in her womb—did she?

  Easter collapsed in tears and told her mother the entire story about her hopes and dreams. But her mother shocked her, saying no simple Indian like him could ever go out there and get rich killing buffalo without money and wagons. He had most certainly lied to her.

  That night she imagined that Norton’s son inside her belly kicked her while she was crying on her wet pillowcase. She sat up, stiffened her back, and decided, by damn, she’d have the baby and raise him, no matter what happened to her personally.

  Border gangs made up of both renegade Indians and outlaws raided settlers and small settlements up and down the Arkansas-Indian Territory line, striking fear in everyone during those years before the Civil War. The scattered families slept with their guns ready night and day. Her mother even became proficient with a shotgun that Easter could quickly reload for her.