Blood on the Verde River Page 21

  Chet nodded. “Write your father. Invite him out here. We can pay his way. He might freeze to death coming now, but he’s welcome here any time.”

  “With him snowbound in Iowa, he may want to come here right away.”

  “I’ll be hooked up in fifteen minutes,” Chet said to Marge as he put on his heavy coat, scarf, and hat.

  “I will be ready then.”

  He kissed her and ran outside. The cowboys saw him coming and set in to hitch up the buckboard before he could.

  Cole stepped in and stopped him. “We’ll get you fixed up. Your last deal was a tough one, but if you need a hand, remember me. Other than losing Leif—it was a helluva good deal to be rid of those rustlers.”

  “I’ll have you in mind, Cole. I get into more things without even trying, but I guess that is life out here.”

  “You’ve solved lots of them. I am still shocked they rustled cattle and butchered them to sell to the freighters. Oh well, anything to get out of work.”

  “That was their work,” Chet said as one of the younger boys drove his team up.

  “You are right. I’ll see you, Chet, and thanks.”

  “Anytime, Cole.”

  Chet drove to the house, the sharp wind in his face, tied off the reins, and jumped down to load his wife. She was smiling, despite the wind. “What a morning.”

  “A whopper of one.”

  “I met the second son of a German family once, before I remarried. He always said ‘Bully, bully’ about such days.”

  “Was he a rich remittance man? Some of those get large allowances?”

  “Large or small, I did not want him.” She wrapped up in the extra blanket she’d brought along. “He was so fussy and such a baby.”

  “You could have been rich.” Chet slapped the reins and they were on their way.

  “I am rich. I have you. My, my, I never expected what happened back there. But your sister is like you—a spade is a spade. I couldn’t believe Sarge ever considered himself a peasant.”

  “A farm boy from Iowa joined the army. Worked up to Sergeant in maybe ten years. They don’t usually give that rank in less than twenty years even if you were a hero in the Civil War.”

  “There is no telling what he has seen, is there?”

  “No, ma’am. But thanks to you, Susie found marriage was a good place to reside. And I think we know the story for those two.”

  “Yes. Now, if you had JD back and in the fold, you’d be more settled.”

  “I would. But I have the places and jobs will be assigned. I must go tell Reg and Lucy what happened to Leif.”

  “They probably know already. But do what you must. I will curl up at the fire and sleep. I think being with child is the most work I’ve ever done. I could curl up and sleep on our way home, right now.”

  “You all right?”

  “I am fine. Tom’s wife Millie agreed that being with child is exhausting. Whew. She never lied about that. Maybe I am a baby. I have seen farm women working in the fields, stop, and deliver right there in the field.”

  “My heavens. We don’t have to do that.” Chet shook his head, driving the team up the steep grade.

  She began laughing. “I am only complaining about myself. Oh, Chet Byrnes, there is never a day without excitement in my life since I married you and I do love it. The brothers and sisters I never had, I have now. The excitement of you chasing down killers and the like. Range wars. Oh my heavens, what a world we live in. And our baby is going to see it all, next spring.”

  “It ain’t easy,” he said, making the team take the center of the road rather than the edge so he could see the whole road for a good distance before it ducked to the left again. Easier to see if someone was coming down. He didn’t want to meet them head-on. The air was not warming, but the front side of his body was heated by the sun. Grateful for the coat to shield his back, he clucked to the horses to move them along.

  They reached the ranch and Jesus, who had ridden home after the services the day before, met them.

  “A man is waiting to see you at the house. He is a lawman. He wants to see Chet on business. Monica said she would make him comfortable.”

  “You did good as usual,” Marge said to Jesus as Chet herded her inside.

  “Come back. We’ll talk later,” he said to Jesus.

  “Ah, sí. Thanks.”

  “He’s going to be a good hand someday.”

  “He is now.”

  Monica met them and whispered. “A U.S. marshal—Paul Sipes—is here to talk to Chet.” She shook her head like she knew nothing more.

  “He can handle it. Help me get out of this blanket and coat, Monica.” Marge turned to Chet. “She can help me. You go see what the marshal wants.”

  Chet nodded and went through the kitchen and dining room to see a sharp-eyed man standing by the Morris Chair. Five-eight, frosted black hair, bright blue eyes, he looked like a man who had sat in the saddle for a good part of his life.

  “Marshal, I’m Chet Byrnes. What can I do for you?” They shook hands and Chet told him to sit in the chair.

  “Oh, I’ve been hearing about you for months. I decided I needed to look you up today, so I swung over here with a map drawn by your friend Roamer.”

  “He’s a fine man. He and I are good friends.”

  “He tells me you should have a deputy marshal badge, and from the reports I’ve heard, you do need one. The job has no pay unless you arrest a criminal. We pay ten cents a mile, four dollars for the arrest, and a dollar a day to feed anyone you arrest. The captured must be alive when you deliver him to collect any of this. You may hire deputies to assist you if you feel you need them. We pay them a dollar a day as posse members.”

  Chet held up his hand. “Marshal, I don’t need another job.”

  “I know that well, but with this badge you can demand things of people an ordinary citizen can’t. Local law is to aid you when you need help. If they deny it, they face charges of contempt with the Arizona judges. Sheriffs and deputies have to jail your prisoner or prisoners. You can look at their records and files without a warrant. These are all things you needed in the previous case you worked on.”

  “I don’t have time for this work.”

  “But you have been doing it in the past. Say a fugitive goes over a state or territory line, you can run him down wherever he goes.”

  “Marshal, I’m a busy man.”

  “I know. I didn’t come here to put you to work. I want you to have authority when you do go. Put the badge in your pocket and when you need it, tell them who you are. Roamer told me he had to do that at Rye.”

  “Yes, and it damn sure worked.” Chet dropped his head and nodded. “I can’t always come when you need me, but thanks for dropping by and asking me.”

  U.S. Marshal Sipes quickly said, “Thank you. Raise your right hand.”

  Chet did.

  “Repeat after me. I swear to uphold the laws of the United States of America, to be honest and fair in my judgment, protect the public from their enemies, and be respectful of all laws. So help me God.”

  Chet repeated the oath and Sipes handed him the star badge. Chet looked at it in his palm. It was a big honor. He hoped he had the time to serve his country.

  “Pin it on.”

  Chet did. “Once again, I appreciate your coming out here and accepting me as part of your team. I will do my best to get the job done.”

  “That’s why I came.”

  Marge stepped into the doorway. “Gentlemen. Monica has supper ready. Nice to have you here, sir.” She nodded at the marshal.

  “Paul is fine. So nice to meet you, Mrs. Byrnes.”

  “My name is Marge.” She took him by the arm to the dining room.

  All three laughed and sat down.

  “I haven’t heard a word about the Marconi trio, have you?” Paul asked.

  “No. We’ve been to the funeral of my brother-in-law,” Chet told him.

  “I understood that from your lady Monica. I am so sorry.�
��

  Chet nodded. “A very simple accident. He landed wrong. We tracked down and had a shoot-out with three men who had shot one of my cowboys while they were rustling our cattle.”

  “Why in the world did they rustle cattle up here?” the marshal asked.

  “They butchered them and sold the meat to freighters on the Marcy Road.”

  “I guess that was a good business.”

  “Free beef. It should have been.”

  “Untaxed liquor is a big problem. If whiskey and spirits don’t have a federal seal, they are illegal. I spend more time running down illegal stills than any other part of my job.”

  “I never paid any mind to that.”

  “Well, there are lots out there as you will discover. Kindly arrest them, bring evidence for the trial, and bust their still. If you like, I can leave handcuffs and a set of keys.”

  “I don’t know how many I’ll find, but if I do I will bring them in. The handcuffs will come in handy. Thanks.”

  “Is untaxed liquor a profitable business?” Marge asked with a frown.

  “Makes it easier to sell without the two dollar stamp to collect as well.”

  Marge shook her head, amused. “Where do you live?”

  “My home is in Tucson, but while the courts are in session here, I live in a boardinghouse.”

  “Offer him the cabin,” Marge said without hesitation.

  “Paul, we have a nice, small cabin out back. Snug. Jesus would keep the fire up when you’re gone and you can stay—for free. Monica likes company and she’ll feed you.”

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Oh yes you can. It’s a short ride out here. The crew will care for your horse. You need another, we have plenty.”

  “My wife Rita comes up sometimes for a few days and we use a hotel then.”

  “No need. We have plenty of buckboards to use when she is here. You need to move out here and stay when you are in Preskitt.”

  Paul smiled and looked at Marge. “Since he took the badge, I better do that, huh?”

  “Yes. I am glad that is settled.”

  Paul changed the subject. “I understand you two have a ranch up at Hackberry, as well.”

  “The ranches belong to the family. No problem. I am just the ramrod. But yes, we do.”

  “Do you go up there often?”

  “Not often enough. But yes, I go. Marge is looking to have a new one next spring so she stays home right now.”

  “Whenever you plan to go up there, I would like to accompany you,” Paul said.

  “Sure. I’ll do it in the next few weeks.”

  “If I am not busy in court, let me tag along, since I have invaded your privacy and all.”

  “You are part of us. Don’t fret,” Marge said.

  “Any reason?” Chet asked.

  “No, but I have never been up there and would like to see the lay of the land and meet the people.”

  “Summertime I love it on top. Being a south Texan, winter I don’t care for.”

  They all laughed.

  After the meal, they showed Paul the cabin and he made plans to move into it, then left. The two were alone again in the house.

  “He is a nice man,” Marge said.

  Chet unpinned the badge and slipped it into his vest pocket. “Yes, he is. I don’t know if I will ever need this”—he patted the pocket—“but it won’t hurt to have it.”

  She hugged him, standing before the fireplace. “Oh, it sure won’t hurt you to have it.”

  “When I was a boy, I wanted to be a Texas Ranger. But before I could be accepted, I had to become the manager of our ranch. I always had something that kept me home when others could ride off and see the world. I couldn’t. I was the boss.”

  “Well, you’ve seen a heck of lot out here, and you drove cattle to Kansas, too.”

  “Boy, that was headache. Swimming flooded rivers, horse wrecks, stampedes in the night, and gunfights with drunks in Abilene. Indians threatening us for cattle to eat. I must have been seventeen that first year. Flossies all over the place. I wanted to go home. But I sold the herd for a fair price and had thirty turn-back cattle. That made me mad. I sold them for five bucks a head to some pig famers and was lucky to get that for them.

  “I had over a hundred thousand dollars from the sale. That was at seventy bucks a head. Some of it belonged to our neighbors who’d sent their cattle along with me.”

  “Did you pack it back?”

  “Heavens no. I had Wells Fargo take it to San Antonio and put it in the bank there. When we got back, I paid the neighbors off right away and they all about died considering the amount of money they got for their part. I paid off the bank loan and still had lots of money. That was the start of building the ranch. I made three more drives, then sent my brother to Abilene and the Reynolds killed him. Heck rode night and day back to Texas to get me. That boy was tough for his age.”

  She agreed. “I never heard all of the story before. How did you find your way up here? You’d never been here.”

  “Joe McCoy—he’s the one who set up Abilene and the yards—said to go to the Red River crossing north of Fort Worth and follow the wagon tracks to Jessie Chisholm’s trading post on the Canadian River, then follow his tracks to the Salt Fork. He’d had men plow a furrow to Abilene and stack sod as markers. That was the second year of the trail, so there were lots of marks. We always pointed our wagon tongue at the north star each night in case it was foggy or cloudy.”

  “Were you ever scared?”

  “Mostly about the river crossings. Some of them boys could swim like beavers, but a few, despite what they told me, couldn’t swim a lick. I lost two of them and that was a kick in the gut. Boys I knew all my life swept away in muddy water. I rescued two at different crossings, but the next year I made them swim rivers in Texas before I hired them. And still lost another one in a swirl of cattle halfway across the Red River.”

  “What about the other drivers? Did they take you serious?”

  “I could hit a tin can four out of five times in rapid fire with my old Army .45. Everyone knew that the Kid from Mason County, Texas, was serious.”

  “I can imagine you were. Let’s go to bed. I love your stories, Marshal Byrnes.” Marge grinned.

  Laughing, with his arm over her shoulder, they headed for the stairs.

  His story had brought back memories. Back then, those days were tough. He had it made in Arizona with all his family except JD in attendance. Chet said a silent prayer for him, climbing the steps behind his wife.

  CHAPTER 17

  Mid-November, Chet and Jesus took four packhorses and went up on the rim and made camp with skiff of snow on the ground. They could hear the bull elks bugling when they finished their tent set up and supper project.

  “They are calling to us,” Jesus said.

  “Have you ever shot one?”

  “Oh no. I only saw some running off when we were up here to get those rustlers.”

  “Neither have I. I hope we get two big ones. I have seen lots of elk antlers around Preskitt.”

  In the morning they rode out, rifles across their laps. They heard bugling and followed the noise about two miles until they found a great open meadow. Quiet as they could, they dismounted, hitched their horses, and crept up on the meadow where a large buck was chasing a cow elk.

  Chet used a pine tree for a gun stand, cocked the hammer back softly, and took aim.

  The bull turned sideways, testing the air.

  The wind was coming in from the north so Chet knew he couldn’t smell them. He waited.

  The bull turned broadside and attempted to mount the cow. Chet aimed for his heart and the echo of the shot rung out. The bull staggered to his knees and his love interest ran off.

  Chet shot him again and he spilled onto his side. He and Jesus clapped each other on the shoulder.

  “We got him.”

  “Sí and he is mucho big.”

  They walked across the grassy meadow and looked at the b
uck. Chet cut his throat so he would bleed out. When he rose, Jesus had counted the tines.

  “He is a ten point.”

  Chet nodded, dreading their job ahead. The animal must weigh 1,200 pounds. They would be hours dressing and skinning him.

  Jesus walked back across the meadow to get the horses. When he returned, they worked hard at the job of slaughtering the big elk. The blood dried on their fingers until they were stiff and had to be rinsed in precious water, only to go back to the task over and over. At last it was finished—skinned and gutted. With his nose full of the copper smell and sourness, Chet straightened. “Next time, we’ll bring more help.”

  “You bet we will.”

  “I think one bull is enough, right now.”

  “Me, too.”

  They hauled the carcass back to camp and hung up the quarters so no bears that might come by could get to the parts. They ate supper and fell into bed early.

  In the night, the horse acted up and Chet, in his underwear, got up and took a few shots at some retreating bears.

  “Any grizzlies in them?” Jesus asked.

  “I couldn’t tell. Just bears, is all I could see in the starlight.”

  “What now?”

  “The horses will warn us. let’s sleep.” Chet shoved more cartridges in his chamber. “I doubt they come back.”

  But two hours later, the horses woke him again. This time, he stayed in the tent hoping mister bear was close enough to shoot. The stars and moon were out and the open country was silver coated. The bear rose on all fours and sniffed the air. That was his mistake. Chet put a .44/40 in his chest and he fell backward. By then, Chet was standing outside and shot him twice more until he quit growling and clawing on the ground.

  His breath coming out in a fog, Jesus said, “He don’t look as big as that buck.”

  “I don’t think so, partner.”

  Late that evening, they reached the Verde Ranch. Sleepy cowboys soon met them and helped unload the packhorses and hung the bear and elk meat.

  “That’s a big rack,” one of the hands said about the elk antlers.

  “He was a big one to skin and slaughter, too,” Jesus told them.