A Good Day To Kill (13 page)

When Chet got off the stage and walked to the Congress Hotel to find a room, Tucson was in a sweltering summer heat. A lot of well-to-do men's wives had summer homes up on Mount Lemon. It probably was over twenty degrees cooler up there in the pines. More like the temperature Marge had up at the Preskitt Valley Ranch. He'd heard that in the old days the Apaches stayed up in the high country in the summertime, on Mt. Graham and the Chiricuhuas.

The lobby was stuffy. The clerk was a sharp boy and remembered his name.

“Mr. Byrnes, I have a corner room on the third floor for you. You should get some air tonight.”

“I might, and I appreciate you, Mark.” He paid him and went up.

The windows were open and some air was coming across the bed in the center of the room. He undressed and planned to go to sleep. In bed, it didn't come at first, but finally he slept. The morning came early and he was off to get some food from a street vendor, then bought a paper from a boy hawking them. “Former Mexican
Federale
is in the Tucson jail for kidnapping a rancher's wife. Read all about it.”

He smiled to himself and gave the boy a nickel and a second one for him to pocket.

“
Muchas gracias, señor
.” The polite youth smiled shy-like and shared a firm nod with him.

A shame Jesus wasn't there, he'd have conversed with the boy. Chet never felt satisfied enough with his own Spanish to talk it. Jesus was busy running down some leads on trouble in the mining camps. Chet felt there was no danger to him in Tucson, so sent Jesus on his way.

He made it to the office of his lawyers, Jensen, Craft, and Rosewood. The secretary, a young man, Neal Lindall, welcomed him. “Mr. Byrnes, how are you today? I will tell Mr. Craft you are here.”

“Thanks, Neal.” He put his hat on the tree and waited for his return. The offices were very neat, but dusty and hot even by eight o'clock in the morning.

Russell Craft was a short man and wore a white shirt and tie. He shook his hand and invited him down to his office. “I see you haven't been shot again. That was real serious.”

He turned back to look for Chet's reaction.

“I'm fine now. Thanks.”

He entered the office and Russell told him to take a chair.

“I have really been busy. They usually shut down court business during June, July, and August and wait for cooler weather to do things. This summer, they have been busier than they are in the winter. And the courthouse is really hot.”

“It's warmer here than down at Tubac.”

“Oh, well, we chose this place. I've spoken with Buster Weeks's lawyer, Jarman Townsend, about the ranch and livestock. They'll be here in an hour to talk about the situation. The judge's opinion on their illegal land holdings settles that. Townsend claims they have five hundred cows, plus calves, down there and wants thirty dollars a head.”

“Tell him to get a roundup crew. I wouldn't pay over seven-fifty for them. I can replace them for that. The only way I'll take them is a roundup. His own man told me there were two-fifty. Besides, his ranch foreman, Masters, hired three gunmen to kill me.”

“I read that in your letter and mentioned it to Townsend. He said that man is gone.”

“Where? To his ranch north of Tucson?”

“He's not supposed to be on the desert ranch down there.”

“I'll buy all the cows and bulls he can produce, but using a joint team to count them.”

Russell smiled and handed him a sheet from the Pima County Sheriff appraiser's report. Cow count one hundred twenty, bulls ten, horses twelve, and signed by ranch foreman, Larry Masters, as accurate. It was a copy of the original with Larry Masters's name hand-printed on it. The name of the deputy who accepted it was also on it.

Chet chuckled. “I'd accept that as the count.”

“I thought so. But I doubt Weeks will. And if we suggest that a deputy will be there at the counting, he might be easier to trade with.”

“You earn your money. I never even considered that.”

“I knew the deputies went around looking for cattle to count more than they did any law enforcement effort. Obviously, I'd suspect some of them receive under the table money to shorten the count. The sheriff gets ten percent of all taxes collected and uses county-paid deputies for agents.”

Chet agreed. “Exactly. I heard that Sheriff Behan received thirty thousand dollars in a past year.”

“It's true. He has gold and silver mines down there. But others do much better than ordinary lawmen elsewhere. They have a little known association that provides wine, dinners, and female escorts to all the legislators during the sessions in Preskitt.”

“I know about that, too.” Chet yawned, then stood up to pace the room. “That's part of the reason why I'm down here. Active law enforcement is lacking, and Arizona will never become a state until we get it done.”

“Hey, the real people appreciate that effort. I read the news this morning. There is no explanation for how he ended up on this side of the border.”

“Some citizens went down there and brought him back, as well as his kidnap victim.”

“I know it wasn't that simple.”

“That's the story.”

“Excuse me, but Buster Weeks and Jarman Townsend are here,” Neal said.

“We're ready for them.” Getting up, Russell set up two chairs for them.

Chet stood up, exchanged handshakes, and they took their places. Russell went back behind the desk.

“My client had no part in any false land records. He purchased that property in good faith and with a search of the records made by the Phillips and Stars firm. We are ready to leave the ranch, though, and get on with our business. Here's Buster's last count of cows in this log by his past foreman, Masters.” He handed it to Russell.

“I don't need to see it,” Russell said. “I have the certified count of cows on that ranch from the Pima County Sheriff's office's appraiser.” He handed the paper to Townsend. “It says you have a hundred cows on that ranch, and it's attested to by a deputy.”

Chet saw Buster Weeks flinch at Russell's words. He was still in good control, but he'd bet he was about to explode inside.

“Oh—” Jarman dropped his hand holding the log.

“We moved more cattle down there recently,” Buster said.

“No problem,” Chet said. “We round them up and count them. I won't pay over seven dollars a head for them. You can take them home, and I'll ask the county sheriff to count them coming off the ranch.”

“Excuse us. My client and I need to confer.”

Russell stood up. “The office across the hall is open.”

The two of them kept a casual look on their faces, but Chet felt they were really upset inside. He waited until the door closed and Russell turned back.

“You ever play chess?” Russell asked him.

Chet shook his head.

“It is a game of cat and mouse, and when you have your opponent trapped with no place to go, you say, ‘Checkmate.'”

“When the land titles proved false, I think they knew they would lose this fight. But not this severe.”

Russell agreed. “I think when they come back we will get a better offer.”

Chet agreed, feeling much better about the whole thing, except for Masters's plan to have him killed.

Jarman came back without Weeks and said his client had other pressing business to attend, so had to leave.

He continued, “My client will accept twenty thousand dollars for all his assets down there and give you a title free and clear for them.”

“I want a letter from all his bankers that they will accept any such settlement,” Russell said.

“And my counter offer is sixteen thousand dollars, along with those points he said,” Chet interjected.

Jarman shook his head. “That's too low.”

“Yours is too high. I buy and sell thousands of cattle a year in my operations. We know his count is way too high. If he will pay half the cost, or provide half the roundup cost, I might pay more. But that's my final offer, and you have thirty days to get them off my land.”

Jarman was breathing out of his nose. Chet, standing taller, considered him as the seconds ticked by. He would either explode or accept the offer. The noise and voices of the street traffic outside became audible.

“When will you have the money?” Jarman finally asked.

“Friday. I'll have funds transferred down here by then. What bank shall we meet at?”

“The Arizona First National Bank at ten a.m. I will send the letters of release to Russell. You know you're a hard man to do business with?”

“Do you know his foreman, Masters, hired several men to go up to Preskitt to kill me?”

“I knew nothing about that.”

“When I find Masters, you and Weeks better not have had anything to do with it.” Chet knew he was glaring at the attorney.

“My client doesn't know anything about it, either.”

“If he did, I'll sure find out and I will catch him.”

“Good day, Russell, Mr. Byrnes.”

Russell nodded. Jarman nodded and left in a huff.

When he was gone, Russell closed the office door and smiled. “I don't want to trade for a horse from you.”

“When he agreed, I thought about what you said, ‘Checkmate.'”

“Let's go have lunch. There's a fine restaurant atop the Williams building. It's shaded and catches some breezes.”

“Sure. I'm busy thinking about all the things that lie ahead for me and my men.”

“Well, you know how to handle that. I can't help you.” Russell put on his suit coat.

“Do I need to be dressed?”

“No, you aren't a lawyer in this city. Eccentric rich people can do what they want and wear what they want.”

“Good. No doubt, my wife would dress me for such an occasion. I love her, but I've spent too much of my life in the saddle to dress up very often.”

“And the world is better because you do that.”

“Thanks, I feel shrunk by the whole thing.”

“No, you will rebound. Have you ever looked into all those
haciendas
in Sonora that have been abandoned because of the Apache?”

“No, I guess I never heard about them.”

“When the United States bought the Gadsden Purchase in 1853, we added on land that goes down to Nogales and took in Mesilla over in New Mexico.”

By then, they were out in the busy Tucson street full of burro trains bringing water, wood, and even goats for their milk to be sold to housewives. Wagons and trade vehicles all crowded the streets.

Russell continued, “For the most part, those places are still empty. Since the Apache trouble left the northern core of Mexico abandoned, Congress could have bought lots more land south of here.”

“My trips down there have all been hurry up to get there and then hurry home.”

Russell nodded. “All Congress wanted was a snow-free path for a railroad across the states. They did not want any more brown people or Catholics.” He laughed as if amused.

“I bet they regret that someday.”

“Of course, they will. Since Jefferson bought the Louisiana Purchase we have been land hungry.”

The restaurant was very high class. A nice-looking dark-complexioned lady took his hat and showed them to a table. There was some air blowing and it didn't feel quite as hot as the furnace blasts in the street.

The waiter brought them sun tea cooled in an
olla
. Lunch was braised steak strips with sweet peppers and onions, served with frijoles and fried bread on the side.

Russell said, “The cook is Hispanic.”

“Hey, the food is swell. I'm enjoying it.”

“Good. I bet you eat lots worse than this on the trail of outlaws?”

“A pretty steady diet of jerky.”

“What are your plans for the new ranch?”

“We have to appraise the water situation. Find the real number of cattle on hand. Build a ranch house for my nephew, JD, and his bride, Bonnie. Another home for his foreman, Ortega, and his family. Things will be busy, and it's a hard place to get supplies and building material to.”

“I'm glad all I have to worry about are law cases.”

“We both need to go fishing.”

“I haven't forgotten your offer. I bet it is cool up there?”

“Yes. Beautiful and cool. But I won't get there soon.”

“What's the best place you have for a ranch?”

Chet nodded and grinned. “Where they are.”

“You going back to Tubac this afternoon?”

“Yes, after I wire my banker about my money needs. I'll have him send it down here to that bank. Also set up an account there.”

“Be careful. I always enjoy working for you.”

“Send your bill to Preskitt. Marge will pay you.”

“I want to meet her someday and your new son, Adam.”

“Yes, he may grow up without me.”

“I doubt that.”

Chet paid for the expensive lunch. He left a tip as well, and estimated the entire meal cost him nine dollars. Headed for the telegraph wire office, he figured at that price he could have eaten in the street for months. Marge would enjoy the service and food. If she was ever down there, he'd treat her.

After he sent a wire to Tanner at the bank about the money, he wired Bo to complete the purchase, and then another to Marge to tell her he'd closed the deal, plus kiss Adam for him. He walked two more blocks to the bank and met the main man, Ralston Holmes, and set up an account to receive the money.