A Good Day To Kill (5 page)

He nodded, closed the drawstring closure, and swung the bag on his shoulder. “I'll wire you when I find out how the men are doing. Tell Jenn and the girls they'll get a report, too.”

“I just wish I could go along and help you.”

“You have your plate full.”

“Oh, yes.”

That night, he slept most the way downhill off the mountain, rocking in the stage, facing the back. A few times, the bounce was rough enough to bring him awake. A glance out at the moonlit silver night and he closed his eyes. There were saguaros out there and the night had grown warmer. They'd spill out soon on the desert floor. He'd gotten off and emptied his bladder at Bumble Bee. The Tucson Stage was supposed to carry them on after they got to Hayden's Ferry. He and Jesus talked about getting some food from a street vendor and going right on. No one shared the coach that night, so they had no competition for the seats. No telling what was waiting for them down south.

The sun was up when they shifted their things to the new line. Jesus ran off to buy some food. The stage office man served him some coffee. “You and your bunch are serious customers.”

“Get Jesus some coffee,” he said, and put some silver on the counter.

“Put your money away. You and your men do more good for this territory than any men I know.”

“Thanks.”

Jesus handed him a tortilla-wrapped meal and took the coffee Chet handed him.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“That was him.” Chet indicated the agent was the source.

“Oh, thank you.”

“We're all grateful.”

Chet laughed.

“You must feel better,” Jesus said to him quietly.

“Tell me that tomorrow.”

Jesus nodded. “Does your shoulder still hurt?”

“Not much. I know it's there. I get jarred on that side, I damn sure know it's there.”

“Let's load up,” the driver said, standing in the door. His lifted his hat and scratched his long, gray, unkempt hair.

They finished their coffee, thanked the agent, and, food wrap in hand, made their way out. A full-bodied woman clambered up and about overturned the coach to get inside. When the rig settled down, she'd taken the backseat and left the back-facing one for them. Last on, a skinny drummer in a striped suit and bowler hat saw he had a small portion of the rear seat and managed to sit in it by un-planting her until his butt was on the leather. She cleared her throat and sniffed her nose at him. He looked pretty sour at Chet, but that was his luck of the draw.

The day's heat was rising. Dust rode the wings of the hot breaths of air propelled off the greasewood desert, and the two teams of horses raced eastward for Bentsen under the whiney voice of the driver. No shotgun guard on top, so there must not be a thing valuable in the coach. After passing through the giant forest of saguaros, they rocked out into the chaparral country. With purple mountains on the left and right, rising like loaves of bread, the road headed east. Horse changes were precise and they rolled on to Bentsen. There they left the fat complaining woman, who was obviously going eastward.

With their things placed on the next coach in late afternoon, they climbed on. Chet felt pretty drained as the shadows began to lengthen on the settlements along the San Pedro River.

Jesus had bought them another wrapped meal and they ate it while rocking out for St. David, the next town on the route south. Later, they swept into Tombstone and then made the fifteen miles up to Huachuca City. It was near ten o'clock by the time they found rooms in the hotel and hired a taxi to take them to the fort hospital.

It was cooler up in the canyon. In the moonlight, Chet could make out tall cottonwoods and a row of officers' houses lined around a large parade field. The taxi man let them out at the hospital.

“Wait. We'll need to go back,” he told the taxi man.

“Sure.”

A guard stopped them.

“I'm Marshal Chet Byrnes. I wanted to check on some of my men here.”

“Yes, sir. Talk to the officer in charge inside, sir.”

“Thank you.”

The screen door creaked when Chet pulled it back. There, seated on nail kegs, were Roamer with his head bandaged, JD with an arm in a sling, and Cole, all of them playing cards with the officer in charge.

“Hellfire, the boss caught us,” Roamer said.

The whole bunch laughed, folded up their cards, and the officer had some chairs brought in for him and Jesus.

“A bunch of outlaws had begun raiding ranches down here,” Roamer said. “I had all hands out questioning folks about what they knew. We were thinking they came out of Mexico. They were vicious and moving fast. They cut a small boy's ear off in one raid, for no reason but that they were simply damn mean. It pissed off every man in the outfit and that sumbitch is now dead. We made sure of that. They used this same route to go over the border several times. So we wanted to set up and ambush them, but it turned out like Skeleton Canyon did. They must have had us watched. We rode into a trap.”

“All hell broke loose,” JD said, shaking his bandaged head. “But they'd struck the wrong guys. We laid down some rifle fire and discovered that the only weapons most of them had were cap and ball pistols. We knew all about those guns from New Mexico. We spread out and they began to pull back. We were killing anyone who showed himself. Shawn was bringing us ammo from the packhorses. I'd look up and he'd be back with three boxes of cartridges and then be gone again for more. How he went back and forth unscathed, I'll never know. But he let us shoot and we kept them pinned down and killed any of them tried to move. There was so much gun smoke in that canyon—you couldn't breathe.”

Cole went on, “After a couple of hours, their reserves arrived, but we were dug in and we shot several of them before they got most of the bodies out. They didn't want to fight us. They'd grab a corpse and run like hell.”

“Why did they take the dead men?”

“We figured it was so we couldn't trace them to the old man's ranch.”

“Are all of you recovering okay?”

“Hell, yes,” Roamer said. “The three brothers were only scratched, so they went home. But let me tell you, if we ever get in another ambush, I want these guys with me. Chet, they never took a breath, had loaded rifles and were returning fire. We soon learned our raiders were mostly armed with old pistols. That was the difference. Those 44/40 Winchesters were great.”

“Those three brothers fought like fierce tigers,” Cole said. “They went around their west flank levering rifles and mowing them down. They had no fear.”

Roamer agreed. “I wanted to shout at them to get down. They cleared out the west side of the canyon. Only got scratches. But the others were dug in on the east side and they weren't going to be drove out that easy. Then the damn reserves came and they were shooting up everything. Luckily, they had mostly cap and ball pistols, too. It was obvious they wanted the bodies, so we used them for bait. That worked till sundown, then we let them have the rest.

“Shawn fed us. And he sent a boy to the fort for medical help, and the Army got to us right after sundown.”

“They're a great bunch of guys,” the officer said about his crew.

“I think so, too.”

The officer shook his head. “We wished we'd been down there to help them.”

“I know about the rules. That's why we're here.”

He nodded. “I can put you up in a guesthouse.”

“We rented a hotel room.”

“Have your man go get your luggage. You two can sleep in nice beds tonight.”

“I'll go get them,” Jesus said.

“When you come back, my guard will show you where to go.”

Chet gave Jesus some money for the taxi and he nodded thanks, then left to get their things.

The soldier at the door showed Chet to a fine two-story white house in a row of similar houses and told him Shawn was sleeping there.

Chet thanked him and rapped on the door.

“Coming.”

“No need.” Chet opened the door and entered to see a rumpled Shawn coming toward him. “Just didn't want to get shot. Jesus has gone back to town for our luggage. He'll be along. I just need a place to fall down and sleep.”

“You doing alright, sir?” Shawn looked at him with concern.

“Fine, you've done a helluva job down here. I wanted to thank you. They said you kept them in ammo—a very important job.”

“Damn.” He swept back his hair from his face. “I thought they were eating it, sir.”

“I also appreciate your sending me word.”

“That was hard. Roamer said to tell you we were all alive. But it was tough.”

“You did good. Thanks. Where is that bed?”

“Coolest place to sleep is on the second floor on the porch,” Shawn said.

“It's cool enough for me to sleep here.”

“Go in that bedroom.”

“Don't forget Jesus is coming.” In the dark room, he shed his boots and gun belt and fell across the nice mattress. He'd overdone it the last two days. Things could go slower now. In seconds, he was sound asleep.

Dawn tried to peer into the canyon that housed the fort. Chet could hear troops marching to mess. They were black buffalo soldiers and they sang out cadence songs that rang in the cool air. These were Black Jack Pershing's men and they were serious Indian fighters. He was getting his first taste of them.

“Should I wake Jesus?” Shawn asked, joining him.

“Let him sleep. Where do we get food?”

“Officers' mess hall. Food's better there than in the troopers' tent.”

They walked to the officers' mess, where a soldier saluted and opened the flap. They filled their trays, then a black soldier brought them hot coffee in mugs.

“Be anything else you's need? Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks, soldier. We'll be fine.”

“Yes, sah.”

Fried eggs, German potatoes, biscuits and flour gravy, plus oatmeal if you needed more. He savored the coffee to wash out his dry mouth from sleeping so hard. Of all the forts he'd been to, this was the best located and best built.

“You must be Marshal Byrnes?” The captain, a man in his thirties, stood above him.

“Yes, I arrived last night. Have a seat.”

“Captain Evans, Marshal. I'm assigned to help you and your men any way I can.”

“Wonderful. They had a close call up in the canyons in that ambush.”

“My Apache scouts said that was no fight. These cowboys killed them.”

“I understand they turned the tables on them.”

“That they did. Go ahead and eat. I understand you're healing from another raid.”

“I'm about well.”

“Your men are about healed, too. They're a well-organized law enforcement group. But you don't have to leave here.”

“They need to go home to check with their wives. Have some breathing room. Then we can come back later, fresh and ready to start this war over again.”

“I understand. Who cares for your ranches while you do this?”

“A set of top foremen who, like these men, are damn tough. They aren't tough like a bulldog, they work with their crew. But they're solid.”

“Folks say you're building an empire.”

“A family one.”

“I was simply curious.”

“No problem. I get asked all the time.”

He wondered about Reg. Poor guy must think he'd gave up on him. He'd write him and Lucie a letter. Reflectively, he sipped on the still hot coffee and looked across the near empty mess hall tent.

Plans began to form in his mind. Take their horses to Ortega's, then load everyone on stagecoaches and take three weeks off. Get his new ranch plans rolling in Tucson, as well. Poor Marge was probably having their baby all alone.

He gathered his crew midmorning in the mess hall. The men were all drinking coffee that Captain Evans ordered for them.

“What have you heard about the old man's crew?” he asked Evans.

“He's damn shorthanded. And he's been borrowing
vaqueros
from other ranchers to move his beef shipments. My informants say he lost as many as twelve men, or more, in his ambush of your men.”

“Good,” Roamer said. “I'd like twenty more.”

“Damn right,” JD said. “They started in shooting at us and it took us several minutes to realize they had no rifles. Their powder was real sorry and by then we had our Winchesters blazing.”

Shawn took up the story. “I was running as fast as I could to get them ammo. Bullets whizzing all over. I couldn't help the brothers. They were taking the west mountain. I was never so shaken in my whole life, but I had no time to think about it. I recall taking more ammo to Roamer and he said, ‘Kneel down.' Then he went on, saying, ‘We've won. Find the others. Have them come down here, if they can make it.' Blood was coming down his face and he looked real woozy. When I asked what I could do for him, he said, ‘Tie my silk kerchief around my head. That may stop the bleeding some.'

“JD came in with a bloody arm. Cole had four small wounds. The brothers were just scratched. I sent a boy to the fort for medical help. And, boy, they arrived quick and they were good. Then Roamer told me to telegram you that we were all alive.”

“I figured they were trailing back to Mexico and I wanted them stopped,” Roamer said. “We agreed when they went over the mountain we'd strike them. They never went over. Instead, they set up to ambush us.”

“Any idea who led them?” Chet asked.

“Kurt Holder. He was the main man. Big man, stood six-foot-six. Standing on that ridge he made an easy target, shouting in German to Mexicans what he wanted done. He thought we only had pistols, too, I guess. But we shut him up in a snap of the trigger and spilled him on his ass. That shocked his men that our bullets could reach him. They kept shooting their old pistols, but we were counting bodies,” JD said. “The brothers were tearing up the ones on the west side, and because they had rifles, they could even shoot at the ones on the east side.”