Blood on the Verde River Page 6

  Whittle swallowed hard and nodded. “Some of Ramaras’s men took her that night. I swear I don’t know where she is now.”

  “He’s the one who lives in Sonora?”

  Whittle nodded.

  Chet grew anxious standing on the porch making too loud talk. They’d soon have an open forum. Several housewives were out gossiping at a distance about what was going on.

  “Let’s go in the backyard. We’re drawing a crowd here.” No need getting any more attention.

  JD and Jesus herded Whittle around behind the house where a board fence shielded them from prying eyes. Chet strode forcefully behind them.

  “May I sit down?” Whittle asked, looking around.

  Chet nodded. “Yes, on the steps.” He stood in front of Whittle. “I want you to send Ramaras a message to come up here and meet you.”

  Whittle looked aghast. “Why he would kill me if it was a trap.”

  “I didn’t get you in this mess. How will you send it?”

  Whittle put his index finger on his lip. “By a boy, I guess.”

  “Listen, you contacted him before. You better do it right or I’ll do you in.”

  Whittle said, “I understand. He contacted me and said he needed a certain kind of female for a certain man. Bonnie Allen fit that. This man is not mistreating her. She’s living in a palace.”

  “No, she’s being held against her will.” Thank God, she might still be alive.

  “Who has her?” JD demanded.

  “Oh, I can’t say.”

  “By God, if you don’t tell us, I may put that damn cactus needle in your eye,” JD said. “I’m out of patience right now.”

  “His name is—Manuel Baca.”

  Chet looked at Jesus. “Is he real?”

  “Baca is a powerful man and owns much land. He has a grande hacienda in Sonora.”

  “That sounds great. How much money did they pay you for her?”

  Whittle shrugged.

  Chet nudged his leg with his boot toe. “Answer me.”

  “Five hundred dollars.” Whittle sat with his face in his hands.

  “Don’t act like it bothered you to sell her. You’re a damn slaver like the rest. You’re a scummy, sorry sumbitch. Guilty of the worst crime I can think of—selling a human being. I’m about ready to hang you. You get word to Ramaras to come in here and meet you now.”

  “What if he won’t come?”

  “I may hang you. JD is going to be your houseguest and stay here. You try to escape him, warn someone, or run off, and you’ll be dead. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s go. Leave word for me at the O.K. Corral, JD.”

  JD nodded, not happy about the situation, but he understood they were moving on the possible recovery of the girl.

  That fact made Chet a little happier about the whole business of trying to find her. Still, getting her out of this Baca guy’s hands might be tougher than any part of it so far.

  When he and Jesus reached the top of the hill and the main road, a wagon passed them. At the sight of Chet, a man in back with his head all bandaged jumped up and pointed at them. Next, he was trying to get the driver to give him his pistol and making loud noises as the wagon went on.

  “Who the hell is he?” Jesus asked.

  “A man with a busted jaw, I guess,” Chet said and chuckled.

  “Good thing that driver didn’t let him have his pistol.”

  “Good thing.” Chet and his man went on to downtown and lunched at the stew palace. He’d write Marge a letter to share with Jenn about some of the information he learned from all their work. There was some hope. That was the best news. While walking all over town bothered JD, not having his wife to hug and kiss was a much larger longing for Chet.

  He missed her and not just a small part, either.

  CHAPTER 4

  Mid-afternoon, Chet sat on a stool in the stationary and print shop with a quill pen and paper to write on. He dipped the pen in the inkwell.

  Dear Marge,

  I hope you and the one inside are doing well.

  The boys and I have been busy. Today, we learned where Bonnie Allen may be held. This all sounds real. But there are still many things that need to be resolved.

  I imagine Valerie is with Jenn by this time.

  I miss you more than this pen could ever tell you. I think about everything—you and the ranches’ operations, you and the cattle sales, you and the wind in the pines. I miss them all.

  I will be home as soon as I can solve this mystery. JD and Jesus are a big help to me.

  I love you.

  Your husband Chet

  He put the pen behind the small strip at the top of the desk. That was enough, he hoped, to hold her until he could get home. He handed the addressed envelope to the young man who worked the shop and paid for the stamp. The letter would get mailed from there.

  He met Jesus at the stables about five and they went to eat Mexican food in the barrio. A street vendor lady made them large flour tortilla burritos filed with spicy chili, meat, and beans. They sat on a bench made from a split log and enjoyed her food.

  “Did you know that crazy man we saw today in the wagon?” Jesus asked between bites.

  “Yes, my first day, I was in Big Nose Kate’s saloon and he was smashing a man in the head with his fist. I told him to quit. He threatened me and I gave him a haymaker and knocked him out cold. Must have busted his jaw.”

  “I heard the start of that deal. That was him? What was his name?”

  “An old-timer said it was Billy Bragg. He works for Old Man Clanton, which put me on his death list.”

  “I’ll watch for him. He must be loco. Will they try to kill you?”

  Chet shrugged. “I am more worried how to get the girl back than about them.”

  Jesus nodded.

  After supper, Chet sent Jesus to check on JD and see if he needed any help. If JD didn’t need him, Jesus was to ride to the ranch and spend the night out there. Chet went back to the Occidental Saloon, hoping to meet Wyatt Earp. Maybe the ex-lawman had some idea what to do with this bunch of slavers.

  Wyatt wasn’t there, but Chet talked to his brother Virgil. They stood at the end of the bar and spoke softly. The tall Earp wore a thick mustache and the black clothing that was a statement from his cow town days.

  “It’s hard to prosecute them. Harder to find victims to testify against them. What evidence do you have?”

  Chet shook his head, indicating not much. “I’m not a lawman. But they need to be stopped.”

  “I agree, but these bandits will only be replaced by more of them.”

  Chet nodded. “I know what you mean, but about six months back, there was a big story in the Globe Dispatch about two horse thieves and murderers that someone hung in a dry wash at Rye.”

  Virgil frowned, then he nodded. “Yes, at the time my brother Morgan and I were up in Globe and we wondered about that deal in the paper.”

  “It cured a problem. They’d stolen horses, murdered two good men, raped a woman, and beat up a man in front of his young children. They aren’t here anymore to do it again.”

  “You answered your own question. These lawbreakers only understand one thing—”

  “What do you know about this slaver, Ramaras, down in Sonora?” Chet interrupted, anxious to get the information he needed.

  “He’s tough. They say he’s protected by a private army.”

  That was what Chet needed to know. He emptied his glass and set it on the bar. “Nice talking to you. I appreciate your information.” He shook Virgil’s hand and left the saloon.

  No message had come from JD at the livery so Chet rode out to the Hampton ranch. When he was unsaddling, Ira came out from the house and spoke to him.

  “You doing any good on your quest?”

  “Some, Ira. We’ve found some good leads.”

  “That’s a miracle.”

  “I know, and there is a chance she’s alive, but getting her back could be a
tough deal.”

  “You have a hard job.”

  “I have been running the family ranch for near two decades. Comanche kidnapped my siblings. Three of them. My father invested his life to find them and came home broken down mentally and physically. My mother lost her mind over that very thing. I have been running down loose ends since I was sixteen or so.”

  “Then you came to Arizona?” Ira looked amused at him.

  “No, a family feud drove me here. They murdered my brother in Kansas while he was driving a herd to the stockyards. I had to move out. I couldn’t cover every one of us.”

  “Well, I hope you find her.”

  Chet nodded. He did too. In the shed, he dropped into his bedroll. It was not a good sleep but a troubled one. In his dreams, they had found her, but she disappeared from them into the fog. He woke in the hot night, his hair wet with sweat—he couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen. He shook his head and tried to sleep some more, but found himself awake and got up. He went behind the shed, took a cold shower, dried and put on his pants and came back around the shed.

  “You can’t sleep?” The voice came from the shadows when he walked back to the bedrolls.

  “Bee?”

  “Oh, when I can’t sleep, I get up, study the stars, and listen to the crickets.” Wrapped in a belted robe, she stepped off the porch and motioned to one of the buggy seats on the ground for him to take a seat next to her. “Folks who can’t sleep must share some of the same haints.”

  “I was dreaming. Shocked me awake.” He buttoned his shirt, then sat down and rubbed his face in his hands. He still needed to shave when it got to be daylight.

  “Tell me about your wife. I figure she’s a special person.”

  “She is. Marge’s first husband was killed in the war. He must have been Union. An officer. She was very young. Her family moved to Arizona from Kansas and she met her number two. He was off riding by himself, got thrown and broke his neck. Then she met me. I had a woman in Texas at the time. Not my wife, but we were close. In the end, she had to remain in Texas and care for her parents. I had to come here.”

  “Sad?”

  “Yes, but there was no way I could stay in Texas. I had committed all of us to come to Arizona.”

  “So you married this women.”

  “Marge. Yes, a great lady who puts up with me.”

  “You wouldn’t be hard to put up with. She married a white knight. When challenged, you rise to the occasion. She knew you well enough to expect that from you.”

  He nodded his agreement. “I sent her a note today at the stationary store and the man there mailed it for me. Told her I hoped she and our unborn were all right.”

  “First one?”

  “Yes. She’s never carried one full term. We have our fingers crossed.”

  “Kids are wonderful. Ira and I lost our two children to disease after we came here.”

  “They tell you what it was?”

  “They guessed, I suppose. It didn’t help.”

  He agreed. “I better go and try to get some more sleep. Tomorrow may be a big day.”

  She rose and nodded. “I will sleep knowing you are here.”

  “That isn’t much.” He chuckled and they parted.

  Back in his bedroll, he drifted in and out of sleep. At Bee’s triangle ringing in the first pink of dawn, he got up and nodded to Jesus who was in the shadows, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “We’ll get some home-cooked food this morning.”

  “That would be good.”

  They ate a generous breakfast at the house and thanked her. When they went to saddle their horses, he noticed the two grave markers on the rise north of the house. Poor woman. He thought about Marge. Lord let that child join us.

  They rode into Tombstone and JD was at the livery waiting for them. In the street, they dismounted and Chet asked him what he knew.

  “Whittle committed suicide last night.”

  “Damn. That cuts off us from contacting Ramaras through him, right?”

  “I guess. She said we drove him to it,” JD said.

  “No, he committed suicide because he was caught red-handed and expected to go to prison. Of course, we had no final evidence to prove it, but he didn’t know that. We’re going to ride to the Baca Hacienda and make Ramaras an offer for Bonnie’s return.”

  “He’ll want lots of money, I bet,” JD said, looking troubled.

  Chet shook his head. “We have one chance. I think I have a key to open the door down there.”

  “What is that?” JD asked.

  “Some of the Barbarossa blood stock we have.”

  JD looked aghast. “Wow. He might exchange her for some of them.”

  “He can’t buy any of those blood lines anywhere. I have the only stallion and his colt that is outside that hacienda.”

  “It damn sure might just work.”

  “That is the golden stud I saw at the Verde Ranch?” Jesus asked. “Oh, he is a fleet one.”

  “If Baca won’t do it, I doubt we can storm his place and survive to get her out.”

  “What do we do right now?” JD asked.

  “We send him a letter and ask if he would trade her for a Barbarous stud colt and maybe a filly or two. There is no sense in us storming a castle.”

  “How in the hell will we find out his address?”

  “I think that could be done. Jesus, you will have to dictate the letter in Spanish.”

  “Tell me what you want me to tell him and I will simply go down there and tell him for you.”

  Chet shook his head. “No, I need to do that in a letter first and then go down there.”

  “And by damn, we need to go with you,” JD said. “Surely to God, he won’t kill us if we have something he really wants every bit as bad as he wants her.”

  “Tomorrow we will head south—” Chet saw Marshal White coming toward the livery. “Morning, Marshal.”

  “I guess you know it. Whittle committed suicide last night.”

  “He don’t have any cactus needles under his nail from us.”

  “His wife says you three caused it. You can’t prosecute anyone for causing a suicide. But she’s got folks up in arms.”

  “He admitted to us yesterday that he lured Bonnie Allen to Ramaras, who sold her in Mexico.”

  “There will be lots of folks at his funeral.”

  “That no-good son of a bitch was not a nice little man. Bonnie wasn’t Whittle’s first one, either. He threatened another girl who quit the trade. He was a white slaver. He expected to be prosecuted and took the short way out.”

  “I understand. I appreciate you coming to me yesterday. He simply had many of us fooled.”

  “We’re going to Mexico in the morning.”

  White looked taken aback. “If you three are going to Mexico, I’ll pray for your souls.”

  “Good,” Chet said. “We’ll need lots of prayers. Plenty of them and candles burning at the altar.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Mexico wasn’t all blaring trumpets. Two days later, they were eighty miles of desert south of the U.S. border in a small village called Costa Something. All they could see was more Mexican thorny desert. There were lots of hip-shaking women in the cantina. Castanets were cracking and guitars were strumming like bumble bees in the background, then some would-be trumpet player would raise up and play the song Santa Anna had played for the Alamo defenders—“No Quarter Given.”

  Chet, JD, and Jesus drank red wine and watched the cantina activity as they ate fire-roasted chicken off the bones set in a big dish in the center of their table. The tortillas were hot and freshly made.

  “How much farther to Baca’s Hacienda?” Chet asked the bartender after they’d finished eating.

  “Another hot day’s long ride, señor.”

  “Good, we can finally get there.” Chet thanked him, paid his bill, and he and Jesus left. JD was in the doorway, kissing a lovely brown-skinned girl good-bye and promising her he’d be back for her one day.
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br />   Halfway down the street, Chet and Jesus were laughing about him. They turned in the saddle when he shouted, “Wait, I’m coming.”

  In a small village named St. James, they found a small cantina and a bartender who told them how to find the Baca Hacienda. Sitting on homemade benches at tables, JD and Jesus drank a local-made, thick beer and Chet had a glass of red wine. From behind the one long board on top of barrels for a bar, the man talked to them about the three whores who were sleeping and how much beer cost him.

  “I can wake them up if you want to use one.”

  “No, not today.” Chet waved his offer away.

  “But they are beautiful, señor.”

  Chet shook his head. They needed to eat supper and find a place to camp for the night. In the morning, they’d make the ride out to Baca’s ranchero.

  They left the cantina and found a place to camp along the small running river and bought a burro load of firewood for a quarter. About sunset, three riders stopped by their camp. They weren’t ordinary vaqueros and Chet noted they were well armed.

  The one who appeared in charge, said, “Good evening señor. I hear you wish to speak to my patron, Don Baca.”

  “Yes, if it’s no trouble. I wish to talk to him about a colt I have. I’d like to bargain with him.”

  The man shook his head. “Señor Baca does not need any gringo horses. He has some great stallions already of his own.”

  “My colt is a Barbarossa bred horse.”

  “You have such a horse?” The man with the thick mustache ran his finger under his nose and looked hard at him.

  “Yes. I have a great stallion from that ranch.”

  The vaquero shook his heavy sombrero in disbelief. “No one has one of those outside that ranch. They geld all of them they sell.”

  “A boy on a mare once outran their best horse in a race, winning the horse for service to his mare. He sold me this horse, the only one outside of the hacienda. Will the señor talk to me?”

  Very serious-like the man nodded. “I will tell him you are coming. Your name, señor?”

  “Chet Byrnes, Quarter Circle Z Ranch at Camp Verde, Arizona Territory.”