Brothers in Blood Read online

“Is there a neighbor boy can take a message to the telegraph office for me?”

  “I can get one to do that. Write it out.” He turned to his wife Nell.

  “Honey, get him some paper and a pencil.”

  When she brought a stub of a pencil and a half sheet of penciled tablet paper, he wrote:

  Bailey.

  They went east. I imagine to Fort McDowell or places north. I will leave word at the Fort where we went.

  Marshal Byrnes

  “Don’t fret. I’ll get this there in no time.”

  “I know you will.” Chet shook his hand and patted Nell on the arm. “Thanks. We’re off again.”

  They forded the shallow Salt River, only knee deep on their horses, and went up the steep bank on the other side headed for the road and Red Rock Mountain. The sighting of the gang by Holmes was all they needed. Jesus knew their tracks well by this time and easily found the direction they took from there.

  Looking at the far off Four Peak Mountain, towering to the east, Chet felt pleased. They trotted toward it on dusty wagon tracks. If nothing happened, they might catch up with the outlaws before they reached the Mogollon Rim in the north. He hoped so anyway.

  Past noon, they sidetracked to the Fort McDowell reservation. Chet spoke to the lieutenant in charge. The five men hadn’t stopped there, nor had anyone seen them on the road that lay over a mile south of the camp and agency.

  From there, they went on to cross the Verde and ride north toward the mountains. This was the road to Rye from Hayden’s Ferry and they were soon in the desert-mountains, winding their way on a narrow road over some steep climbs and descents. They watered their tired horses in a few trickles and potholes they found in some of the nearby dry creeks that bisected the road.

  A man driving a pair of mules pulling a wagon headed south reined up for them, and Chet rode in close.

  “Afternoon. You pass five men on horseback back there coming down today?”

  “I know you. You’re the law from Preskitt, ain’t you?”

  “That’s me. US Marshal Chet Byrnes. Did you see them?”

  “Yeah, I seed ’em. They was five.”

  “How far back?”

  “Above the cutoff goes to Globe. They got a fair start on you. What did they do?”

  “Robbed a bank in Tucson. Shot some people.”

  The man nodded his head. “Yep, they looked tough.”

  “Two had white horses?”

  “Sure in the world they did. Two white ones. They just rode past me and I wasn’t displeased one little bit. You tie into them, you’ll have your hands full.”

  “There’s a posse coming behind us with Marshal Bailey. Tell them we talked to you and you saw the bank robbers and us on their trail.”

  “Be proud to do that. I hope you get them scallywags. I recall you did good on them damn pig farmers before. Keep your head down.”

  “We will. Thanks.”

  “No problem, boys. Hee yah, mules.” With a flip of his reins, the mules moved off.

  Jesus halted them a few miles north of the Globe cutoff. The sun was getting low in the far west. “They turned off here.”

  “I wonder why, unless they aimed to find a ranch for food and to rest their horses. Let’s ride on up north. These horses need a drink and we need to make camp. I saw a sign said Sunflower two miles. So we should be close to it and can take up the chase in the morning.”

  The Sunflower Store and Bar wasn’t much. A mustached man in an apron came out of the store and showed them a corral for their horses with hay and water. He charged them twenty-five cents a head. His wife would cook them supper for the same price and Chet paid him for that, too.

  The owner, Willie Jackson, was all business. His price for most anything was two bits. He was six feet tall and had coal-black hair that kept falling down in his face, which he’d push back. From his drawl, he was a Texan.

  “She’ll have your vittles ready when you get unloaded, boys. Nice to meet y’all.”

  The winter sun was about to vanish. Concerned about the bandits’ plans, Chet knew they couldn’t do anything in the dark. There were candle lamps burning in the store where its interior smelled of dry goods, leather, and beer.

  The storekeeper’s wife was a tall lean woman with her light hair braided and piled on her head. The dress she wore would have fit her and someone else.

  In the midst of it all, she set a table and brought them a kettle of stew. She filled their bowls with a cup and told them if they needed more to holler. By Chet’s standards, her coffee was weak and the cornbread cold. But they ate good and thanked her.

  “Why you boys up here?” she finally asked.

  “Looking for some bank robbers.”

  “Oh, I hope they don’t stop here.”

  “Probably nothing to worry about, ma’am. Do you serve breakfast, too?” Chet asked.

  “Why, sure. When will you be up?”

  “Crack of dawn.”

  She made a firm face. “It’ll be here on the table.”

  After thanking her, they retired to their bedrolls.

  “We’re close to them,” Cole said. “Maybe we can run them down tomorrow.”

  “Sounds too easy, but we are close.” Chet rolled over and went to sleep.

  In the cool starlight of early morning, they scrambled around to saddle and load their horses. A light was on in the store, and Chet could smell smoke from the cookstove. Their hostess was no doubt up cooking.

  Breakfast was oatmeal with bugs (raisins) plus fresh biscuits and prickly pear jelly. Her coffee was stronger and Chet wondered if she might be a Mormon and didn’t drink it. The jelly had its own flavor, but everyone complimented her cooking.

  “You simply peel the ripe prickly pears, mash them, then stir in some jell and sugar?” Chet asked.

  “That’s about my only fruit on this place.” She laughed, and they did, too. He’d have to tell Marge about it. When they ripened in the fall, the ranch hands could pick them for her and Monica.

  They headed back south and took the side road where they’d seen the tracks turn the night before. Jackson told them the KT ranch was up that way. The owner, Art Kelly, had a wife and two kids. When they rode up the wagon track road, they soon saw the squaw shade and corrals.

  A woman with a rifle came out and challenged them. She looked distraught.

  “Ma’am. I’m a federal marshal. Is your husband here?”

  “No. They took him.”

  He rode in closer. “Took him? What do you mean?” He dismounted, feeling satisfied she was too upset to shoot him. “Could you explain?”

  “They took him hostage to make him show them how to get over Four Peaks last night.” A sob caught in her throat and her voice rose. “I fear for his safety.”

  He moved in and took her rifle. “Is there a trail over those peaks?”

  Through her tears, she nodded. “Oh, he will try to kill them, I know, for what they did to me. I know he will try.”

  “They assaulted you?” He put out a comforting arm, but she drew back.

  “Yes, I fought them, but it did no good.”

  “Don’t worry. No one will blame you. Those men are animals. We want to catch them before they hurt anyone else. How tough is that trail?”

  “Very steep and dangerous, but Art has used it a time or two. It goes over on to Tonto Creek.”

  “I see. And where would they go from there?” Chet asked.

  “To Young, and over the Rim, I guess.”

  “How will they go?”

  “Oh, take the ferry across the Salt, then go east and cross the Salt again, and there’s a road goes north to Young.”

  “Why did they take him?”

  “To guide them. They said if I told the law where they went they’d kill him.” She wrung her hands. “Oh, I’m sure they’ve killed him already. I have two small children, what will I do?”

  “Ma’am,” he spoke in a low soothing tone. “My name is Chet Byrnes. This is my man, Cole. My other ma
n, Jesus, is already scouting their trail. If we catch them, we’ll try to save your husband. Did they say they were being chased?”

  “No, but the leader said they needed a twist on their way out of this damn place.”

  “They never mentioned anyone being after them?”

  “No, but I think he was scared there was, and he cussed this spiny land. He must have got into some jumping cactus. His gun hand was bandaged.”

  “They left when?”

  “Before sundown.”

  He knew Jesus had probably already found their trail. “Ma’am, there’ll be others coming after us. Will you tell them we went on and they might better go around?”

  She said she would. “And if you can save my man—oh, dear God, I hope you can.”

  “We’ll do all we can. You take care of yourself and your children.”

  Damn, her husband’s situation got to him. He thought back to when those men took his nephew, Heck, after robbing the stage they were traveling back to Texas on. And how he found Heck’s body discarded with his throat sliced open. Silently, he prayed for her man.

  “Ma’am, we must be on our way. I’ll check with you later. I wish I could do more.”

  “I thank you for trying to find him. God, I hope he’s alive.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Me, too.” He remounted and nodded to Cole.

  “She’s going to be all right?”

  “Yes. In time. I bet Jesus has their trail.” Cole gave him Jesus’s reins and he led the two packhorses.

  “Trail look tough?” he asked Jesus when they joined him.

  He took his horse reins and mounted. “Not to a billy goat.”

  Chet laughed, but it wasn’t funny when they started up the steep narrow path. In places their horses’ hooves sunk into the crushed gravel. Other sections were exposed slick rocks. They wound up the face of the mountain on an angle. After a while, the climbing narrow trail looked hundreds of feet from the bottom below.

  “They came over this last night?” Jesus asked. “That was a helluva trip. If there was a place to get off my horse, I’d lead him.”

  “I agree. These horses are surefooted, but one misstep and we won’t have to worry about anything ever again,” Chet said, and booted his horse skyward.

  When they got to the top, there was no place to dismount, either. The trail plunged down the face as steep as the one they’d just come up. Their horses were forced to almost crouch on the turn-backs. Tonto Creek down below looked like a thin silver thread.

  No sign of anyone. One of their packhorses lost his footing, went to his knees. There was nothing Chet could do except watch his own mount’s heading.

  “He’s all right,” Cole called at last from behind.

  Chet nodded. Thank you, Lord. They continued on until they reached a flat where everyone could dismount and let their anxiety calm down. His legs about didn’t support him, so he grasped the saddle horn.

  “Watch your sea legs,” he said over his shoulder.

  “What legs?” Cole asked.

  Jesus laughed. “I am so nervous, my hands are shaking. I thought I’d been over some rough country. That ride over Four Peaks, or at least around them, is damn sure gut-wrenching.”

  “That was a bad way all right. I hope Bailey goes around.” In the thin air, his heart throbbed so hard it gave him a headache.

  “I say this, they’re damn tough to have gotten over that at night,” Cole exclaimed, and they mounted back up.

  Past noontime, from the base of the peaks, they struck out for the ferry. A man waited there with a wagon.

  At their inquiring looks, he said, “There won’t be any ferry. A little while ago they yelled over to me that someone cut the ferry loose and it went down the Salt River into a narrow canyon and was smashed. So there’ll be no ferry service until they can get another.”

  “The gang did that?” Cole asked. “This damn sure cuts us off from crossing. Mister, can we go upstream? Tonto Creek isn’t that big. Could we get across the stream and then go around to the Young road?”

  “I don’t see why not. With my wagon, I’ve got to go clear back up the road fork and then to Hayden’s Ferry, then around to Globe.”

  “You have a fur way to go,” Chet said. “A long way.”

  “Why’re you men going to Young?”

  “Bank robbers went that way.”

  “I hope you catch them.”

  “We do, too.”

  “I wonder what happened to that lady’s man?” Cole asked.

  “I was thinking the same thing. No sign of him so far.”

  Two hours later, they’d crossed Tonto Creek and circled around on the north bank to reach the Young road. There set the grounded ferry, and a man on foot was sitting on it.

  “Are you Art?” Chet asked.

  “I am. How did you know?”

  “Your wife told us you were kidnapped and is worried that they killed you.”

  “Them sons a bitches might have, but when I told them I couldn’t swim they laughed and cut the ferry ropes so I’d be stranded over here.”

  “We crossed Tonto Creek and rode around here. That isn’t too far across there to swim. We can take our lariats and swim over there and get it hooked up.”

  “I can do it,” Cole said, and began undressing.

  Jesus rounded up their ropes.

  “Let me tell them over there what we’re going to do.” Chet stood in the stirrups and called loudly, “We’re tying on the rope and my man is coming across with it.”

  “Yeah!” went up a cheer from the opposite bank.

  “How deep was your crossing on Tonto Creek?” Art asked.

  “Not much over our horses’ knees.” Chet stepped off his mount and hung his gun belt on the saddle horn.

  “You get in trouble, I’m coming after you,” he said to Cole who was down to his long handles, standing in water up to his knees. “I can swim good enough for both of us.”

  Boots off, his shirt shed, Chet dropped his pants and watched Cole swim for the far shore. The current took him a ways downstream, but not bad. Jesus threaded out the tied together lariats. The current was pulling on them, too.

  The four men on the far side waded out to meet Cole. They took the rope and tied it on a heavier one. Then they hauled it back and tied it so they could hook it up to the winch on board the ferry.

  “Launch it,” they shouted.

  The barge was well up on the shore and they had all they could do to inch it through the mud and, at last, in the water. Then they climbed aboard and winched it across.

  Chet redressed, and Jesus took a blanket and Cole’s clothes to him. He told Chet that Cole looked frozen over there standing huddled by the fire on the south bank.

  “You men are life savers.” The older man shook their hands. “None of us swim that good.”

  “Dry landers,” Cole said. “You’ve never drove cattle to Kansas like Chet and I have. You’d learn quick how to swim good or drown.”

  “What do I owe you three?”

  “Not a thing. Glad to help. They said you lost the other ferry they cut loose?” Chet asked.

  “I did for a fact, and I’ll be months getting another to replace it. Oh, we can cut down some pine trees in the mountains, I guess, and make a temporary one.”

  “Sorry we can’t stay and help, but we want those five men. Marshal Bailey should be coming along. If he does, you tell him we’re headed for Young.”

  Chet turned to Art. “In your condition, don’t you try to go over that dizzy mountain. Your wife needs you, but not that bad or dead. She’s powerful upset and told me what they did to her. Take your time and hitch a ride the long way home. You have a good woman there. None of it was her fault, and these outlaws need hung for their deeds. Get us back across, men. They’re getting away.”

  On the ferry, Art shook his hand. “I’m glad you stopped and saw her. I worried she might go crazy. People do that over like experiences. Tell them when you run them down that Art Kelly hopes they hang
.”

  “We damn sure will,” Cole promised.

  In a short while they were trotting their horses north on the wagon road. Jesus estimated the gang was four hours ahead of them. In these short winter days, by then it would be sundown.

  When the sun started to set, they found a campsite for the night. They unsaddled the horses and gave them all grain in the nosebags they’d brought along. Chet and Cole drug in enough firewood, while Jesus cooked.

  “It’s good to be sipping your coffee again,” Chet said, squatted on his heels. “That poor woman at the Sunflower store didn’t know how weak hers was.”

  “It sure wasn’t this good.” Cole took another swallow of the steaming liquid.

  “You should have seen that boy who brought Bailey’s telegram. I bet he never had tasted hot cocoa until Marge made it for him. But he sure smacked his lips over it.”

  “Folks don’t know what they’re missing.” Cole shook his head.

  While they turned in, Chet wondered how much longer this chase would continue. Would shutting down the ferry system make the outlaws feel more secure? Maybe they’d let up somewhat and drop their guard. He’d bet they were wanted all over, besides Arizona and New Mexico, so they’d be running scared.

  Sleep tight, Marge. I miss you.

  CHAPTER 13

  When they reached the little community of Young, it consisted of a small store, a blacksmith shop, a saddle and gun repair shop, and a Mormon church.

  “Welcome,” the burly blacksmith said. “What can I do for you three?”

  “We’re tracking five men who came through here today or yesterday.”

  “You the law?”

  “That’s right. US Marshal Byrnes.”

  He drew off his heavy work gloves and reached to shake Chet’s hand. “You’re about six hours behind them. I hope you catch them. They were thugs. Ordered folks around and shot at two people. Some of us would have shot them, but we were afraid of them shooting an innocent bystander. My name’s John Orr.”

  “Nice to meet you. Quiet town you have here. I understand it must have upset folks.”

  “This is too nice a place to put up with the likes of them.”

  “They sank the ferry that crosses the Salt to go to Globe, and they beached the one that comes up here. We got it back in the river and it works, but the other one is gone.”