EIGHT
VACATIONS ALWAYS END. When the weekend was over, Guthrey and Cally drove back down to the desert heat that hit them in face with oven-hot winds. She kissed him on the cheek when they reached the bottom and hung on to her straw hat when a small dust devil passed close by.
“I guess that was the chaparral welcoming committee.” She laughed. “Hard to believe a few hours ago it was so cool up there. The Apaches used to live up on those mountains and the others when it got hot in the summertime.”
He’d heard and understood that was their way of life, interrupted by the white man’s push to the Pacific Ocean. And the Apaches were in that path. The white man called it progress; the red man called it intrusion. That war was still going on. With so many soldiers stationed on the border, the Apaches did not even consider going back and forth from here to the Sierra Madres down in Mexico. They still posed a danger to white people, but so far incidents had been minimal, except for the theft of horses. But that was an ongoing problem with white men and Mexicans as well.
Guthrey’s return meant he needed to check on things across the district in the morning. Time to get back to work, and he wanted be sure everything was secure in Crook County. They arrived in midafternoon at the ranch. Cally opened all the windows and mentioned it would be nice to have a squaw shade someday to live under in the hot weather and give them more airing out, plus the thick shade would stop some of the sun’s intensity on the hottest days.
“That’s all some folks have for a house,” he said, hauling inside the things they brought back.
“I don’t think I’d want to winter in one,” she said. “I’d be under the covers all the time.”
“That would be where I’d find you, huh?”
“Oh, Phil, that sounds bad.”
“Where’s my wife? Oh, I know, under the snow-covered blankets in the squaw shade.”
“That’s right. Was that thunder?”
“Yes, I think so. We may have a good rain coming. I watched those clouds gathering all day coming home.”
“We can use it for sure.”
“I’ll unhitch the team and put off going into Steward’s Crossing if we’re going to have some rain.”
“Probably two inches,” she said, busy getting ready to cook supper. “Two drops apart, huh?”
“Oh, one can be hopeful. Could we hire someone to build the shade? We can afford to hire a builder.”
She agreed. “I’m certain I could find someone. If you want one, we can get one built by fall anyway.”
“Good,” he said.
“You spoil me. I can recall counting my money just to buy groceries when Dad was alive. Between the gold and your cattle sale, we can do what we want.”
“We’re past that.”
“Worked out well. That is a big concern, making enough income to survive. Have you ever thought about another ranch? I think in time my brother will settle down and he can expand this one. I’d hate to move anywhere, but I know when you marry a man, you belong where he belongs. I worry about you making so many trips to be certain that things are being handled right over west in Soda Springs.”
“I stay over there in that place I bought for me and Noble. That’s all we need for now.”
“When you get time, tell me the plans you have for us in the future.”
“Aw, Cally, I share my life with you.”
She fell in his arms and he knew she was crying. Things one minute were fine, then sad thoughts must have swept her. He’d never hoarded any secrets from her. Holding her weight in his arms, he realized some of her efforts to please him left him seeming outside her reach. He’d have to do better whenever the hell he figured out what was really upsetting his wife.
“I’m sorry, Phil. I guess things must be balled up inside me. I missed my monthly session this week. It may be late or going to happen, but I . . . well, I may be pregnant. Too early to tell but—” She chewed on her lower lip. “That’s what we wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Oh yes. Has that been bothering you? That I wouldn’t accept a child?”
She crushed his head to her chest. “No, no, I just didn’t know how to tell you we might have one.”
“My lord, I am excited. You need to see a doctor?”
“No. Not yet anyway.”
“Wow.”
“I may only be late. But I can count and it may be or may not.”
Thunder sounded like artillery. It even shook the dishes in the cabinets on the wall, and the smell of rain swept over them, followed by the pounding of hard drops of rain on the shake roof.
He hugged and kissed Cally, rocking her back and forth and feeling more happy than he could ever recall. The sound of the storm grew greater, like an angry woman fighting a swarm of hornets with a broom.
She peeked out at him. “I wonder where Dan and Noble are at.”
“Probably heading in and looking like drowned rats or maybe holed up under some roof someplace watching the water flood off eaves.” There was more roaring outside and strikes of lightning. Cally managed to close two windows where the rain was blowing inside.
Then she got busy making coffee and lighting a lamp before she filled two cups on the table. Looking recovered, she took the pot back to her stove. The rain-cooled air made her scrub at her arms. “Cold feels good anyway.”
Guthrey agreed, blowing on the surface to cool the coffee enough to sip on. Still too hot. The rain continued. The clouds must have parked over their ranch. Good, it would refill the tanks and bring on some quick forage. And they might be parents next spring—it was bound to happen with a man and woman. And the notion pleased him.
* * *
NEXT MORNING HE headed for Steward’s Crossing before the purple-pink outline of the sun came up from behind the Chiricahuas. The air felt cool and the rain had settled the dust. In places it was even muddy. Neither Dan nor Noble had come into the house that evening on their return, and Guthrey and Cally discovered, before dark, the cow wasn’t bawling because the men had turned her calf in with her. But they never left a note. It was too late then to know where they’d gone, but Guthrey expected to find them in town or at the county seat. Something had to have come up to draw them away like that. Guthrey simply didn’t know what.
In Steward’s Crossing, he found his deputy Sweeney again on his front porch drinking coffee in the big rocker. Guthrey dismounted, and Sweeney’s wife must have heard him talking to her man because she brought him some coffee.
“Noble and Dan are gone. You know where they went?”
“There was a stage robbery yesterday on this side of the Pima County line in that dry wash. They shot the guard, and Baker sent me word to send you word. I went up there and told them two. They said not to bother you, that you were up on the mountain with your wife, resting.”
Guthrey narrowed his eyes, listening to his man. “They went off to see about it?”
“I couldn’t stop them—”
“Here, take my coffee. I better go see where they went.” He also thanked Myrna as he was leaving.
He unhitched his horse, swung into the saddle with a hold on the horn, then sent him off in a lope for Soda Springs, shouting thanks to the two openmouthed people on the porch.
No telling what those two were up to. Chasing outlaws and him not there. Noble was an old veteran, but Dan was the one who couldn’t keep the gun in his holster seven months ago. Maybe longer than that, there was no telling. Anyone desperate enough to hold up a stagecoach and shoot a guard was liable to be too tough for those boys to handle.
He reached Soda Springs and rushed into the courthouse. Zamora was already there behind the desk.
“Where are the boys? Noble and Dan.”
“They’re after those bandits. Baker went with them. They thought they might catch them.”
“Where were they headed?”
“I think
north.”
There wasn’t much north Guthrey could think of except the Apaches. Zamora shook his head. “That’s all we know. Of course, they could have circled back. This time the robbers got lots of money and gold coins, I understand. I thought you might be with the Wells Fargo men. They always rush in and out. Did you have a nice break on the mountain?”
“It was cool and peaceful. Not one horse was stolen up there while I was on the mountain.”
“Great. I can’t say that about down here.”
They both laughed.
“So how will I find their trail?”
“Ask Tom Aiken at the livery. He rode some of the way with them yesterday and came back late last night.”
“I’ll check with him. Take care of things here. I’m going to try to catch them. Send word to my wife I am going after them. I’ll be home when I find them or they come back.”
“I can do that. I’m sorry, someone needed to stay here.”
“You did the right thing. I’m glad Baker is with them. We need to maintain this office. Having a sheriff means we have a place people can go to report crimes to the legal arm of this county.”
“Baker and I had talked about that too.”
“I’m headed for the livery and will ride on. Thanks.”
He spoke briefly to Tommy Glendon at the telegraph key. There were no messages concerning the holdup. He left the county building to find Aiken in his livery office. The man was going over his books at a desk.
“Oh, sheriff, have you heard from your deputies?”
“No, where did you leave them yesterday?”
“Almost San Carlos. They had the robbers’ trail and those outlaws had a pack train to haul the gold coins. That slowed them down some. But it was no small deal. They had military-like precision. They sure knew what the hell they were doing.”
He heard the man’s words. Obviously Aiken had seen enough to be impressed by what he saw. No simple bank robbers. That made him shiver despite the one-hundred-plus degree heat. If they were ex-military men, they knew how to ambush anyone trailing them.
Where in hell could they go in that direction? Word would get out. They were too obvious. He’d have to trade this horse for another en route—he must push hard to catch his men and hope he reached them in time.
NINE
AS DAY FADED into night, Guthrey crossed into the San Carlos drainage. The bay had weakened by morning, when Guthrey saw a ranch in the early light. He headed for the headquarters, and a woman outside the house shouted. Soon a man with a rifle appeared.
He reined up the bay and shouted, “I’m the sheriff.”
“Come on in. We’re just jumpy.” The man set aside his rifle. “I’m Tad Bowlin. My wife, Esther. What are you doing out here?”
“Two days ago, there was a stage robbery, and three of my men are trailing the outlaws.” Riding up, he’d looked over the man’s horse stock and they looked as weary as his horse was. There were none in his corral worth considering a trade.
“Yeah, they came by here. Name of Baker, an old man called Noble, and a boy named Dan.”
“When were they here?”
“Yesterday. They’re about a day behind the robbers they want was how I figured it.”
Guthrey frowned at the man. “You saw the gang too?”
He nodded. “Oh yeah. They’re a tough bunch. I thought they were an army unit when they rode up and helped themselves to watering their stock. But I went into the house with Esther and barred the doors when I figured out they weren’t that. My old rock house has held off Apaches. I was concerned that they might blow us up, but after they watered their stock and fed them out of my grain bin, they simply rode off instead. My woman and me were ready to blow them up. I have explosives planted all over the place, and in a case like that I could of blown them up.”
“Shame you didn’t,” Guthrey said. “Get any names?”
“One’s called Clancy.”
“Anyone else?” he asked the man’s silent wife with the gray-streaked hair.
A drab-looking woman in her thirties wearing a wash-worn dress, she said, “Lane was another name. I was so scared. My hands on that rifle were wet from fear. You know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do. But they didn’t take any stock?”
He shook his head. “No, they didn’t. You sure look beat, man. Stop and rest here.”
“No, I need to catch up to them boys. I doubt any of them have been up against this hard a bunch of men. Thanks. Nice to meet you two. If I can ever help you, call on me.”
“Nice to have a sheriff who cares. Damn sure was no law before you. Visit us anytime.”
“Keep your guard up.” He reined the weary horse around. Then he rode out the gate headed northwest for the San Carlos Apache Reservation headquarters.
The couple were tough people who’d somehow cut out a ranch in the chaparral and existed under fear of Apaches and outlaws on the fringe of things. Strong individuals. Guthrey could appreciate them and their efforts, but one steel-tipped arrow in the back from a short bow out of nowhere could close down their lives.
Guthrey rode on. Clouds were coming north. He doubted that it had rained any in this basin. Noble told him the climate at San Carlos and the surrounding country didn’t even grow saguaro cactus. A tough enough place located on the Gila River.
By early afternoon he reached San Carlos. Two blue uniformed Apache police guarded the porch as he dismounted.
“Halt,” one commanded. “What is your business here? This is the agency of the Apache. Only people on official business may enter.”
“My name’s Phillip Guthrey. I am the sheriff of Crook County, and I am here to see the agent in charge.”
“Let him by, Lone Wolf. He’s official enough.” The man on the stairs wore an old shapeless suit and no tie. He was nearly bald, and what was left of his curly gray-black hair ringed the open top of his head. He extended his hand to Guthrey. “My name is Woodrow Styles, sheriff. I am second in command here. Unfortunately my superior, Sam Butts, is in Prescott on business, where it is a damn sight cooler than here. How can I help you?”
“Three of my men passed through here in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, they did. They said they were pursuing some bandits. But I never saw those men they described. Later some Apaches told me they thought those men they were after had been with the army, who have no jurisdiction on this agency any longer, and rode on.”
“Were my men all right?”
“Seemed to be in good spirits and determined.”
“Good. I need a tough fresh horse. Mine’s about done in. I’d rent one or buy one but I want a good one, not some bangtail.”
“Corporal Wolf, this man needs a good horse. Would you trade him one of yours?” He turned back to Guthrey. “He owns a couple of damn good horses.”
“I would take sixty dollars and your horse.”
“He a stout horse?” Guthrey asked.
“Plenty. You want him?”
“I’ll sure look at him.”
“Go get him. This man needs to catch up to his posse,” Styles said, and the policeman ran off in a stiff, head-high gait to get the horse.
When the man returned, Guthrey’s heart about quit. He led a big, powerful stallion painted in splashes of white, brown, and black. That would never do, but Guthrey might have to buy him—whether he liked the coloration or not. The horse flared his nostrils, and Guthrey could see the muscles and power in his hind legs, no doubt from breeding mares. He was an Apache’s dream and a Ranger’s laughable stock. But he had little choice at this point. His ranch horse was done in.
But a damn stallion—why hadn’t they cut him? Not a typical Indian horse. He checked him over some more and decided he was stout enough. He looked at the policeman. “What side do you get on him from?”
The man pointed
to the right side. Guthrey nodded. He had no time to retrain a horse. He could do that later. Then he about laughed recalling the girl whose mother introduced her to him months ago as a future bride prospect for him and who had wanted a painted horse as her bride gift. Amused about that, he stripped his saddle and blankets off the bay and went to the right side to put them on his new mount. The big horse was sure anxious, but Guthrey had enough riding to do to take that edge off him. Whoaing to him, Guthrey set the saddle and cinched it down. He exchanged the bridle for his new one and then paid the man.
Before he mounted up, he thanked the guards and Styles as well. He swung on the horse from off the right-hand side and made the seat, found his stirrups, and christened him as Cochise, who immediately put his head down and went to bucking. Pretty much straight-line crow hops, but he had a helluva hump in his back, and the Indians were shouting and waving their hats to encourage him. At last Guthrey set him off in a hard run and decided he’d take some more edge off him for a few miles. He stopped at the ferry landing and waited for its return from across the Gila River. Cochise was a little less snorty at that point, but one thing Guthrey knew, he wouldn’t ride down the horse’s power for several days.
He passed through Florence, a sleepy adobe village, stopping only to get a bite to eat and to check if someone had seen the outlaws and his men trailing them. The liveryman nodded. He’d seen both parties passing by his location about a half day apart. At first he’d thought the lead outfit was an army deal until he spoke to the second group and learned they were the three lawmen in pursuit. They only stopped to rest their horses and grain them before they struck out on the outlaws’ trail.
“I was damn sure fooled by them outlaws. I wondered where they put the flag, then I thought they might be on a secret mission.”
“I think everyone else had been fooled too.”
The liveryman standing in his outside door asked, “Where did you get that big stallion?”
“Mine about caved in. Bought him off a policeman named Wolf down there at San Carlos.”
Once a Ranger Page 8