Blood on the Verde River Page 9

  They all shook their heads.

  He turned back to Chet. “Things are going fine, boss.”

  Chet nodded. “Let’s go outside. I have one more matter to discuss.”

  Out under the pines, Chet told him that Leif Times was going to be his new sub foreman, since Hampt and Sarge were gone.

  Tom laughed. “You have another family member, huh?”

  “Might as well work for the best outfit, hadn’t he?”

  “What will JD think about it?”

  “He’s got another brother, I guess. He’ll be getting back later this week.”

  “Boy, you had some adventure.”

  Chet agreed. He’d had a helluva time in Mexico. “Oh yes, a man named Sanchez will be here for the yearling yellow colt. I traded him for Bonnie Allen.”

  “We can handle that, too,” Tom said and they shook hands.

  The girls came out to the porch. They were ready to go.

  Tom walked with Chet to the wagon. “Drive easy. Good to have you back.”

  Chet agreed. He helped the women into the wagon and climbed aboard.

  CHAPTER 8

  Marge wanted to go with Chet so badly she almost cried when he left the Verde ranch on Sunday morning after the dance. But after a long discussion between them about how fragile they considered her pregnancy, in the end she sent him off with a teary smile.

  Past sundown, he reached the sawmill and the man in charge of his horse teams operation, Robert Brown. He had Chet’s horse put up and found George the cook to fix him some food. They sat under a coal oil lamplight and drank fresh hot coffee.

  “Things are going good up here,” Robert said. “We’re chopping logs and getting enough stacked up so they’ll have timber to cut when the snow flies. The books show we are making money above our expenses each month. We have fifteen horse teams and eighteen employees counting George and me.”

  “What do we need?”

  “Probably five more younger teams. Some of these horses are getting age on them.”

  “I will look for them. I guess these guys are selling their lumber?”

  “We have hauled a lot to Hackberry. I went once up there. Your nephew Reg is sure a hardworking guy and his wife Lucy is really funny. I’d never thought there were as many mavericks up there as they’ve caught.”

  “I’m going up to see how they are doing.”

  “Well, they’ve driven lots of nails on those projects. It will sure be a great place when you get done.”

  “Robert, you’ve done a great job here. As long as we can make money, I intend to keep hauling logs.”

  “Good. I’ll share that with the men. We are away from things up here and wonder sometimes what’s happening.”

  “Hampt has the Hartley ranch we bought. He says it’s coming back since we’ve have had some rains there. Sarge is handling the ranch we bought up on the high plains in the east. He’s shipping six hundred head of cattle every month to the Navajos at five delivery points and they are satisfied with our deliveries. That’s the best market we can reach until we get the railroad here.”

  “The mill people sure want the railroad here. It will open the lumber business with rails to ship it on.”

  “Oh yes, and more mills will move in and compete with them.”

  Robert agreed then changed the subject. “I met a lady the last time I was at the dance. I just want a nod that I can attend it more often. You won’t miss anything. These men work hard.”

  “What is her name if I may ask?”

  “Betty Jean Rhodes.”

  Chet nodded. He’d met her. The tall blonde reminded him of some of his sister’s choices for him among the German girls in Texas.

  “I wish you the best in that matter. Attend the dances with my best thoughts. I appreciate the way you are handling this sawmill operation.”

  The next morning, he met with the mill people. They were pleased with Robert and his men’s efforts. McKnight, the superintendent, talked about Chet’s needs and asked if he knew anything about the railroad.

  “Nothing. But it is coming, depending on financial things back east.”

  After the meeting, they shook hands and Chet headed north on the good roan horse he’d chosen back at the Verde Ranch.

  The San Francisco Peaks stuck out ahead as he followed the wagon tracks that joined the Marcy Road near their base. He smiled. His real estate man Bo Evans was supposed to be buying him land up there. He’d have to jar him loose again.

  A wagon train was camped just west of the junction. He reined up to talk to a few men standing near the road. He dropped out of the saddle and introduced himself. “How are you folks?”

  “Joe Andrews,” a gray-headed man said, sticking out his hand. “We’re pilgrims from Kansas, looking for new country. They say there is irrigated land available south of here. A place called Hayden Mills. You know about it?”

  “I have been there. They grow barley, alfalfa, Mexican field corn, and grapes. Some places have citrus and date palm trees.”

  “What about water?”

  “The Salt River and the Verde feed them with a year around supply.”

  “Is there room for more farmers?”

  Chet nodded his head. “I am not a farmer, but the land under cultivation looks like it is a garden of Eden.”

  “Have you ever taken this road west?”

  Chet shook his head. “No. I have only been part of the way to the Colorado River, crossing into California.”

  “They say it’s hell to cross to the California coast.”

  “I have never been there.”

  “We don’t know what to do. How far is Hayden’s Mill from here?” Andrews asked.

  “A week or so on horseback,” Chet guessed.

  The men discussed the matter among themselves.

  A tall man in overalls asked him, “Where could we park the wagon train while a few of us go to Hayden’s Mill?”

  “I have a ranch at the bottom of the hill in the Verde Valley. You would be welcome to leave your families there while some of you went to see that land.”

  “We aren’t beggars. Some of us can do blacksmith work, others are carpenters. If you let us park, we will respond in kind.”

  “Hey, I have a large ranch. I must warn you, the road downhill is steep and you will have to use logs to brake on the rear wheels of the wagons. We’ve hauled lumber for a while now. Stop at the log mill and see my man Robert Brown. He can tell you how to handle the grade.

  “After that, take the first road right to the Quarter Circle Z ranch after crossing the river. Tom is my foreman and my sister Susie Byrnes will meet you and show you a place to camp. Tell her I said you could camp there while some of you look at the Salt River land.”

  “That is very generous of you.”

  “This is the West. We can afford to be generous. We need settlers to build our economy.”

  “You have several businesses?” Andrews asked.

  “A couple cattle ranches, a log hauling business, and a contract to sell beef to the Navajo agencies.”

  “What do you have up here?”

  “A large cattle operation we are building on deeded land.”

  “Deeded?”

  “Yes. A man bought land that had been granted to a railroad company. He traded that land for several sections—sight unseen—of sagebrush and juniper-pine woods west of here. When he lost his backers and the government wouldn’t take it back, my land agent found it, bought it, and my nephew Reg is developing it.”

  “We’ll talk this over and talk to your man at the sawmill—”

  “He’s a good ride south. But he can tell you about the steep road down to Camp Verde.”

  “Good. We will do all this then we decide if we should go west. We thank you for your generous offer,” Andrews said, and they shook hands.

  Chet left them and rode on. The rolling open country held mule deer that bounded away at his approach and antelope that did the same, only faster. Big-eared jackrabbits bounded
off, too. The pungent sage perfumed the air and fat clouds gathered for an afternoon shower somewhere on the high country he crossed.

  By late afternoon, he began to doubt he could reach the high ranch before sundown and found a spring and made camp. A small pot of fire-boiled coffee and some jerky made his evening meal. He reflected on his time spent with his wife and her disappointment about not coming along. This was their honeymoon country, discovering the ranch with Lucy, Reg’s new wife.

  Before sunup, with the last coyote yapping at the setting moon, Chet had his horse saddled and the packhorse loaded. He squatted and drank the last cup of coffee before leaving. Satisfied the fire was dead, he climbed on the roan. For a long moment, he thought the horse was going to buck, but he talked him out of it. Leading the packhorse, he rode on. Taking a shortcut north, he caught sight of several cattle wearing a fresh Quarter Circle Z brand and two notches in the bottom left ear.

  The ranch house stuck out on the next horizon. A smile crossed his face as the sound of hammers and saws reached his ears. He had not looked at the ranch books in several weeks, but no doubt, it was a drain on the ranch reserves. But the high country was going to be great ranch land when it was developed, when tanks were dug, and windmills supplemented them.

  He dropped out of the saddle and Lucy appeared at the door wearing a dress and waist jeans under it. “Wow! Wait till Reg learns you’re here.”

  Chet removed his hat. “Is he around?”

  She reached for a rope attached to a bell and rang it hard. “He don’t hear that, we can try two rifle shots.”

  At the top of the new stairs, Chet hugged her ample rock-hard figure to him and kissed her cheek. “How did he get away from you?”

  She blushed. “I had to do some house work or move out. We love this house. It’s not finished, but Reg wants a bunkhouse for the hands before winter. He’s up there where they’re cutting hay around the trees and sagebrush.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Oh, yes, but it looks strange to see the areas where they mowed the grass and areas where they didn’t. Reg is set on having lots of stacked hay and he wants alfalfa planted, too.”

  With his arm on her shoulder, she showed him inside. “It needs lots of work to be a house. There is my fireplace.” Lucy pointed across the room.

  The large native-rock structure looked impressive. The hearth contained ashes.

  “It must work?” Chet asked.

  “Oh, yes. Works great. I can’t wait until fall and I can fire it up.”

  She showed him a bench and went for the coffee on her wood range. “My sisters are so jealous of my range. They only have an old sheet-iron thing to cook on at home.”

  “Maybe they need to marry a Byrnes.”

  “Oh, Chet, I never thought I’d find such a great guy as Reg.” She shook her head. “I am so happy. I think he’s coming in. I hear a horse on the run.”

  They heard the sound of boots taking the stairs two at a time, and Reg burst through the open doorway. “Chet!” He tossed his hat aside, hugged and kissed his wife before crossing to shake his uncle’s hand. They embraced.

  Reg grinned. “How in the hell did you ever think to buy this ranch? Man, it is pure heaven up here.”

  They sat down facing each other.

  “I’m sorry this was all I could find for the two of you” Chet teased.

  Lucy and Reg laughed as she hugged Reg from behind. Those two were lovers. Maybe more than him and Marge, if that was possible.

  “Any problems?”

  Reg shook his head. “The days are too short.”

  “Wait until winter. Everyone is fine at the main ranch. Sarge is delivering cattle to the Navajos.”

  “Marge’s letter said you were down on the border looking for someone’s daughter?”

  “Jenn, who has a café in Preskitt. She helped me find the crew and was so good to Heck and me when I was buying the ranch. Her daughter disappeared in Tombstone and JD, Jesus, who is Marge’s horseman, and I rode down there, looking for her. Busy place, but we found a trail south to a hacienda and made a deal and got her back—no shots fired.”

  “Wow.”

  “I found an influential rich man who wanted a Barbarossa colt. We made a trade.”

  Reg drew his head back at Chet’s words. “You must have wanted her back real bad. What would that colt bring in Texas?”

  “I said a million dollars.”

  Reg nodded. “What is she like?”

  “She knows she barely survived the experience, but what she will do next I don’t know. Her mother could not deter her before from leaving. I only know she is back and Jenn is appreciative.”

  “How did JD do?”

  “I worry about him. He’s not the boy who rode with us after the horse thieves. Oh, he was good help, but he doesn’t act like anything pleases him.”

  “Did that start when he helped that woman leave her husband?”

  “Near as I can tell, yes. He left that deal bitter and fell into a bottle and a bed of doves.”

  “What can we do?” Lucy asked, frowning and concerned.

  “Lucy, he needs to find himself. He’s near twenty years old. He can do anything he wants on our ranch. But nothing seems to appeal to him. He’ll have to find his own way. In the meantime, what’s happening here?

  “We’re still cutting hay. I know the men need to go back and cut the alfalfa on the Verde, but we can wind up here in a few days and let them go back.”

  “Good.”

  “How is Marge?” Lucy asked.

  “Did she hint she was expecting?”

  “Oh, yes, but I expected her to come with you.”

  “We are being extra careful. She has never carried a full term pregnancy before so we decided it best for her to stay home. She cried about not being able to come along.”

  “Oh.”

  “The baby has kicked her. She was so excited. She’s never had one do that before, either.”

  Reg stood up. “Let me show you the progress on the bunkhouse and then we’ll show you the haystacks. The house can be finished inside when the snow flies.”

  “I can put up the packhorse,” Lucy said.

  “No, we will. You can ride along with us,” Reg said to his wife.

  “No, you and your uncle have things to say to each other that I don’t need to hear.”

  “Lucy, we don’t say much that doesn’t include you. Come along.”

  “Chet, I just don’t want to become a bossy woman. Reg puts up with me, but you don’t have to, that’s for sure.”

  “Lucy, I wish you were a little more honest when you talk to us,” Chet said dryly.

  Reg hugged and kissed her. They all three laughed then headed outdoors, Lucy to put up the packhorse and the men to inspect the haystacks.

  Reg’s haystacks looked like giant teepees. He had lots of hay ready for winter. He explained how he’d need tall fences to keep out the elk when winter drew closer. Chet figured Lucy was behind that notion. She’d lived in that country and knew what problems to expect. The mowed land did look like a checkerboard haircut, but it had solved his hay situation for the year.

  The building projects were moving on. Reg showed where he wanted to plant alfalfa. He was going to rail fence it, then plow and clear the patches of sagebrush.

  How he’d become such a farmer, Chet blamed on Lucy. He sounded like someone else he knew and chuckled to himself.

  “Tomorrow we’ll go chase mavericks,” Lucy said when they were riding back. “We have some rank old range bulls that need to be cut and branded.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Chet said.

  “It will be,” Reg said. “Right now, I am planning to have about a hundred good cows on this outfit by next spring. Will any of your Hereford bull calves be big enough?”

  Chet laughed. “No, but we can buy some.”

  “I think we have a hundred fifty big steers, barren cows that we can sell this winter,” Reg said.

  “We’re delivering for O
ctober now. I think we’ll be all right for then. Tom and I bought some cattle at the dance.”

  “Things will get tight in the winter for buying cattle, won’t they?”

  “Not for a while. There’s lots of cattle we can buy in north Arizona and folks will be glad to sell them. But in time, we may need to import some from other areas.”

  “There are a lot of Mormon ranchers in the White Mountains. They may be able to supply some.”

  “I’ll have to find them.”

  Reg agreed.

  The next morning they set out to catch more cattle. As they rode, Reg told Chet how to catch them. “Rope the big guys around the horns—no small feat—and then ride past them, throw the rope over their back, and head south. That will flip them over. Lucy or I will use a pigging string to tie the legs up while the bull is stunned by the flip.”

  They located three older males in the brush and eased them into an open area. The bulls weren’t moving fast, but Chet knew that didn’t mean they couldn’t run and charge. He watched as Lucy and Reg caught the first bull.

  Lucy swung a large loop over her head and sent the blocky gray horse in for the kill. Her rope sailed from her hands and dropped dead center over horns on both sides. She jerked any slack then spurred the gray until he was running beside the bull. In place, she flipped the rope across the bull’s butt and turned her horse aside, wrapping the rope on the saddle horn. She was riding south. El toro was going west. When the wreck came, the bull did a somersault and Reg rode up to do the tying. Lucy had swung her horse around and was reeling up her rope.

  Chet rode up to them. “Nice job.”

  “It’s easy to do on these big bulls. They’re old and not hard to catch. Them yearling mavericks can really run,” Lucy said.

  “Oh. I can see that. JD told me you two were great at this business.”

  “He’s a good hand with a rope, too. He just hasn’t done as much roping as Reg and I have.”

  Chet shook his head. “No, you two are an unbelievable team at this job.”

  “Reg broke this gray horse for me. Dad bought him a few years ago, but I never could ride him. He threw all of us girls, but after a week of Reg riding him and roping off him, I got him back. He’s a great tough horse, but I’m still careful. I think sometimes he may try to buck me off again.”