“My father was very upset. He said you would help us.”
“Yes, we will get your horses back. Which way did they go?”
“To the Papago Reservation, like they always do.”
“That means west,” Jesus told Chet.
“This is Tomas,” Cole said. “We met him and his father yesterday, and we already have business, huh?”
Jesus nodded. “They said then that they worried all the time that someone would steal their horses.”
They all sat down to eat Maria’s breakfast.
When Ortega joined them and learned what happened, he asked, “Any of you ever been on that reservation?”
“No.”
“I could go there with you. I have been all over it looking for stray livestock. Ranchers pay by the head to recover their stock that drift over there.”
“If she can spare you. Should we take a packhorse along?”
“Sí. It is a big place. Not many stores.”
Jesus spoke up. “I will set up two panniers to take and that horse can haul our bedrolls as well.”
“Do that,” Chet said, and turned to Ortega. “We leave shortly.”
“I will be ready.”
The others nodded their approval. In forty-five minutes, they were ready and left their camp. Tomas road in front with Chet.
“My father really hopes you can find his horses.”
“I do, too, Tomas. We’ll try.”
“This is the only one we have left.”
“Well, we better find them then,” he said to the boy.
Standing in their stirrups, they trotted their mounts through the rolling desert dotted with thirty-foot tall saguaros. He could smell the flats of pungent creosote brush, then giant patches of pancake cactus spread across the land, with bunch grass all over. The flour-like dust rose from the road and gave him an acrid taste in his mouth. They reached the ranch and Chet spoke briefly to the father while Ortega and Jesus checked the rustlers’ tracks and soon had their direction fixed and headed out south. Chet lingered to thank the boy and tell his father they’d try to get the horses back, then left in a short lope to catch up with his posse.
When he joined them, Ortega reined over close. “They think they got all his horses, so they were in no hurry last night. We may catch them.”
“I hope so.”
They’d reached some hilly country when a few shots rang out. Chet reined up and saw someone blasting away from up on the hillside. Too far away for his .44 pistol to ever be effective. Chet jerked his .44/.40 out. His shots made from the back of the excited roan horse were all around the shooter, sending off dust puffs until finally the outlaw went down holding his leg and screaming.
“Those others are getting away,” Ortega told Cole.
“We can handle this one,” Chet told him. “Ortega and Cole, you two try to stop them and not get shot. Go after them.”
The two rode off in a pounding of hooves. He jammed his rifle in its scabbard and charged up the hillside with Shawn and Jesus. Colt in his fist, he wondered about the man that shot at them. Obviously, his plan was to stall them while the others tried to get away with the horses.
“He was foolish to shoot at us with a pistol,” Jesus shouted as their horses struggled up the steep hillside with a stretch of girth and leather in the pull. Hooves clattered on rocks, but they soon gained the crest and found the downed man and his horse.
“Don’t shoot me! I’m bleeding to death.”
“They must have found the others. I hear shots,” he said to his men as they stood over the shooter.
They both lifted their heads and nodded indicating they heard the shots, too.
“Who do you work for?” Chet demanded.
“No one.”
“You look like you’re going to die. Confess now or roast in hell.”
“My name is Jose. I live in Sonora. My wife is—” The man keeled over.
“You must have shot him in an artery,” Jesus said, looking puzzled. “He is already dead.”
Shawn looked pale. No doubt his first time to participate in a scene like this.
“He came to do us harm and he died in his boots. Catch his horse, then tie him across the saddle. I’m going to see what those boys need.
“Get the gun he dropped, too.” He swung on the roan and took off down the steep slope, dodging cactus as he rode hard until he hit the flat, then spurred the horse on.
Ortega was still on his horse, taking shots at the shooters in the brush. Cole had his rifle out, firing at them and made a good mark on one of them that shouted he was hit.
They only made an occasional shot in return. Then Chet reloaded his rifle and joined Cole on his belly.
“How many are left?”
“I don’t know. They won’t give up.”
Ortega joined them. “Everyone hangs the horse thieves they catch. So they might as well fight to their death.”
“If I offer them prison time, would they surrender?”
“No. How is the other one?”
“Dead. I must have hit an artery in his leg.”
“Let’s all three shoot at once,” Ortega suggested.
They did, in a barrage of rifle shots, and then they stopped. In the near silence, only the topknot quail called out with its whet-whew cry.
“Be careful, dying snakes can bite,” Chet said as they advanced toward the bandits.
With no further resistance, they moved in but with their guns in hand. They found the three men dead or dying. Beyond help, those dying were soon gone.
With Jesus’s and Shawn’s help when they arrived, the bodies were soon loaded and all the horses gathered. They rode back to Tomas and his father’s ranch with the four dead rustlers and eight horses recovered. He’d file a report for Blevins. The task force was doing its job, but they were far from the end.
Antonio knew none of the dead. He said that he, his son, and his helper would bury them. His wife wanted to feed Chet’s bunch, but he told her they needed to get back to their camp at Tubac.
Antonio was in great spirits, poured them all cups of red wine in celebration, and raised his to them.
After they all drank, he said, “I knew they were coming. I was one of the few they had not raided. I will share their horses with a few of my neighbors so they have something to ride, if that is all right?”
“Fine with us,” Chet said, and the others agreed. It would damn sure be tough to be afoot out in this part of the desert.
Chet thanked them for their offer to feed them, and for burying the outlaws. His bunch, anxious to get back to camp, headed out.
It was long after dark when they got back. When Maria learned they hadn’t eaten, she came down and began fixing supper for them. Some of his worn-out men had to be woken up from a siesta, but her roasted goat, rice, and beans were good and she was cheerful. After the meal, they dropped in their bedrolls. Chet was settled enough by then to sleep, too.
At dawn, they enjoyed the hot oatmeal and coffee Maria had ready for them. Chet was amazed at her resilience and ability to get so much done. Along with breakfast, she brought him another telegram.
A man named Rudy Rayales was found robbed and dead on the road south of Tucson. No other information was available. Not much they could do about that. But he feared there would be more such incidents. So they rested their horses that day, bathed, and shaved. JD and Roamer arrived late in the afternoon from their Tombstone trip and did the same thing. While they were shaving, they told Chet about capturing the stage robbers.
“We tracked them up in the Whetstones. When we rode up, they went to shooting worse I ever saw. Well, that lasted about ten minutes and we had them shot up. I think one was still alive and that breed scout with us went over and finished him off with a bullet to the back of his head. Kinda chilling, huh?” JD asked.
“I guess it’s do or die among these border outlaws,” Chet said to him.
“Naw, these were white drifters. Probably had cowboy backgrounds. They were
losers. When one of the Earps turned one over with his boot, he called him ‘Texas trash.’”
“JD’s right. They weren’t border bandits,” Roamer said. “And they weren’t going to be taken alive.”
“We heard a rumor or two while there,” JD said. “If Wells Fargo learns you are planning to hold them up, they’ll shoot you first and tell God you died.”
Roamer agreed. “That’s tough. The Wells Fargo man is sending us checks for a hundred dollars each for helping catch them. Not bad, is it?”
“Not bad at all. After our chase and we returned the man’s horses, we got a nice thank-you.”
“Well, it was a different situation than I ever ran into,” JD said, and shrugged.
So far, they’d scored three hits at the outlaws and it all worked out fine. He had a tough crew and Ortega was all the lawman he thought he would be.
After a good supper that evening, the next telegram came.
CHET BYRNES
RANCHER NEAR PATAGONIA HELD UP AND SHOT.
BANDITS TOOK HORSES. SAM CRANE IS VICTIM. HE
RANCHES NORTH OF THERE. BAR C BRAND. YOU’RE
DOING GREAT WORK.
BLEVINS
When the delivery boy was paid and sent on his way, he turned to Ortega. “You know this Sam Crane near Patagonia?”
“I have met him. He is a tough old man. I bet he fought them.”
“He got shot, too. How far is it?”
“A long ride in one day.”
“We’ll get up early and ride over there. Jesus, get a packhorse ready for a three- or four-day trip.”
“Who all is going?” JD asked.
“You and Roamer rest up. The other four of us will go. We’ll send word if we need you.”
“They’re probably across the border by now,” Roamer said.
“We’ll check that country out. Ortega, you’ve been to his place?”
“I can find it.”
“Okay, plan to take us there.”
“Good. I was going to have to build fence for a man. Now my brothers can do that.” He laughed.
They rode out at dawn and cut across country to save time. Ortega’s knowledge of the land saved them a lot of time. By late afternoon, with one stop for directions, they were at the Bar C Ranch.
A gray-haired woman met them at the door of her adobe house holding a rifle.
“US Marshals,” Chet said, dismounting. “Can we speak to your husband? We understand he was shot by rustlers.”
“He’s inside in bed. I’ll ask him if he wants to talk to you.”
She called out in a loud voice. “They say they’re marshals. Do you want to talk to them?”
“Where in the hell did they get that many men?”
“Come in. He’s crazy. Wants to know where in hell you got all your men.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” Chet went past her into a room where a pale-faced older man was propped up on pillows in bed with his arm bandaged.
“US Marshal Chet Byrnes, Mr. Crane. We came to hear your story.”
“My story? What’s yours? I never before saw that many lawmen in one place in this county.”
“That’s part of the task force out to clean up the border bandit business around here.”
“Take a damn sight more men than that, I bet.”
“We’re working on it one case at a time. We’ve been here a little over a week and counting arrested and dead ones, I figure we’re close to two a day.”
“Well, by gawd, there’s hundreds of them.”
“Tell me about your encounter with them.”
“Well, tell him, Sam,” his wife insisted, looking bewildered at his reticence.
“They came busting in here about dawn shooting pistols off in the sky and whooping like mad men. Someone was already in my horse pen, running them out.
“I’ve got a .45 hog leg and I opened the door and shot two of them off their horses. Then they returned fire at me. Creased my right leg, got splinters in my eye when a bullet struck the door facing, and I went down. She had a .22 and shot them up, but they didn’t stop. They picked up one of their own and rode off.
“One man they left was dead. They got nine good horses. All had my brand and all were geldings, four to six years old. Prime horses I can sell for up to two hundred dollars. That’s a pile of money to me and her.”
“Did anyone know the dead man?”
“They said his name was Estevan something. Come from over by Aqua Prieta.”
“Nothing else?”
“Naw. If I’d not been shot, I’d a hounded them down myself.”
“Good thing you were. They’d a turned around and killed you,” she said.
“I get my mail and telegrams at Tubac. My name’s Chet Byrnes. You learn anything, write or wire me. I want those bastards as bad as you do.”
“I believe you do.”
“Don’t fight them alone. If you get us any lead, we’ll find them.”
“When I get stronger, I’ll work on that.”
“Oh, thanks for coming by. I do believe you will make a difference in these border lawbreakers,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am, for letting me in to talk to him.”
“No problem. Sam ain’t the rustler chaser he once was, but he won’t listen.”
“You take care now.” Chet tipped his hat and headed for his horse.
Before they were halfway home, it began to rain and some thunder grumbled off in the distance. Ortega knew of a place to camp, so he led them to an abandoned ranch before the sun set.
When putting up the horses, Jesus found a pocket-worn letter on the ground. The rain had dampened it and made the ink run some, but he handed it to Chet.
“May be something worthwhile, someone used this place and lost it down by the corral.”
The two-page letter was in Spanish so Chet handed it back to Jesus. “Can you read it?”
“Some,” he said and shuffled through the pages. “His name is Alberto—she misses him so—she asks when will he come home to Los Riveria.”
“That is south on the Santa Cruz in Sonora,” Ortega said.
“I hope you earn much money so we can be married,” continued Jesus. “Then she says don’t rob any stagecoaches, ’cause they shoot those people. But she hopes he finds many rich men to rob. She asks him to tell her cousin, Rico Chavez, to write his mother who fears for him because a brujah—a witch—saw him dead in a dream.
“Then she tells who had a baby and who died in their village. Who messed with another hombre’s wife who was with him named Valdez. And she ends up saying for him not to lose his temper with his boss, Leo. Her name is Julie.”
“That letter could have been dropped there when they were up here looking to steal Sam’s horses.”
“Or they could be another gang,” Cole said. “We’ve got some names and a village in Mexico they may have come from. Good find. They sure ain’t pastoring no church up here.”
They were out of the drizzle, under the nearly dry squaw shade with a fire going to cook supper. Amused, Chet poured some fresh coffee in his tin cup and the aroma went up his nose. Maybe the trip over to see Sam Crane hadn’t been a total waste. He wished they’d had fresher tracks to follow, but too many days had gone by before they got there for them to do any good.
CHAPTER 23
They discovered a moonshiner without a federal permit and no tax stamps in a canyon up in the Santa Rita Mining District. An old Arkie named Chester Hammonds ran the still and was mad as a wet hen when Chet told him his operation was illegal and he owed a fifty-dollar fine. He told the man that if he wanted to save the mash in the barrels he’d better get a bucket and feed it to his hogs or they would turn them over and let the mash run out on the grounds. Then his crew went to taking his copper tubing and busting every crock jar that had liquor in it.
They sampled the whiskey and decided it was better than Charlie’s brand in the bottle that Chet brought back and what they only used for serious throat ailments.
Hammonds and his skinny wife slopped the mash to the hogs till they couldn’t grunt anymore.
“You can’t make whiskey less you get a permit and buy tax stamps,” Chet told the Hammonds. They paid him forty dollars of the fine—all the money they had.
Fines were an issue that deputy marshals handled in the field, and they collected the money for themselves. It was easier to fine them on the spot than to arrest them and bring them in for trial and have all that expense. Like they explained to Chet in Tucson earlier, most were like this small operation and were all handled in the same manner.
Glad to be away from the sour mash smell and stinking hogs, they rode back to camp and bathed. Laughing about the episode, they all sat down to one of Maria’s great meals.
Jesus told the brothers about the Hammonds’ moonshine operation over the wonderful food and they laughed about it. Tonight was another fiesta, music included. Chet was getting more antsy to see his wife, but he was letting the men go first. JD, Cole, and Roamer had stage tickets to go through from Tubac to Preskitt.
Jesus had a packhorse picked out and two panniers, ready to go find his love below the border. Chet wrote a long letter to Marge telling her he would be home in two weeks, unless they had more serious crimes break in the next week. His three men left on a Saturday morning.
He told Jesus to be gun ready, because he looked prosperous with a packhorse and his nice new clothes. Jesus was full of hope and looked forward to solving the mystery of why she hadn’t written him back.
Chet told him, “Remember. Sad things will occur in all our lives, but you have your faith that you grew up with. God will get you through those times.”
“Thank you. I savvy things happen. I will be back in a week. Let no one shoot you. You took a big chance taking me with you the first time. I will never forget that first time. One real scared Mexican boy rode with a big man. I do not feel like that now. Vaya con Dios, mi amigo.” Jesus rode off.
Ortega was there and he spoke softly. “He is no longer a boy, either, is he?”
“No, he is my good friend and very capable at his job.”
“Oh, I bet you can’t wait to go home.”
“No, I can’t. But I will.”
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