Ambush Valley (18 page)

The cattle movement operation took some time. Hampt took charge and Tom hired him four local boys to go along with three ranch hands. They moved them slowly and Victor fed the men with his packhorse outfit.

Chet and Marge went home with everything in good hands. The next morning, cleaned up and shaved, he drove her into town. They stopped at Bo's office first. Bo rose from behind the desk looking fresh and rested. Bud Carter, in the chair, put down the
Miner
newspaper and nodded at him. “He ain't had a drink since we got him.”

“Good. What news do you have?” he asked Bo.

“Mr. Boxley wants a million dollars for that place by his telegram.” He handed Chet the two telegrams. He carefully read the first one. It was long and listed all his expenses including the five dollars an acre he paid the railroad for the original land. A survey cost of three thousand dollars and his various other costs like the government charged him a dollar per acre fee in the exchange.

The second telegram asked what they would offer for the property.

“Send him a telegram we'd pay twelve thousand dollars for a clear title and he has two weeks to respond.”

“Why not offer him ten?” Bo asked. “He has no one else wants it. Saves you to pay me for all this business.”

“Try it.”

“I already have. I knew you'd say that.”

Chet said to Carter, “See how good a businessman he is sober?”

“Yeah, he's real good at this business.”

Bo reached in the drawer. “Here is his reply to my request.”

Chet held the yellow paper up to the light coming in the front window. S
OLD
. “Send the necessary details to my office.”

“Have you sent them?”

“Why, of course.”

“Good. Now I want you to find me some land around this railroad's headquarters up there on the rim at the junction of the military road and the stage line one. That will be prime land someday.”

He went out the door and waved to Marge seated on the spring seat. Her eyes flew open and as she came to the edge of the buckboard he caught her and kissed her. “Bo bought the land for a song. We've got another ranch, Mrs. Byrnes.”

In his arms, they kissed like mad and he whirled her around pressed hard to him. Folks on the street turned to see what was so wonderful. Chet had bought ranch number two on the rim. They had lots to celebrate about.

“Am I a free man now?” Bo asked, hanging out of his door.

“Not yet. But you're doing better. Get busy on the next deal.”

He hustled her onto the seat. “Marge, we better get home. Tonight's the dance and we have lots to cheer over.” On the seat, he pointed at the disappointed looking Bo in the doorway. “Make some more deals work. I'm not the only buyer in this territory.”

“Can I have one drink?”

“No. You'd fall in that bucket and drown.” He turned the buckboard around in the street and drove off with Bo waving and shouting after him.

That evening at the dance, he had lots of questions to answer. How did he get the Colonel to sell him the white face cattle? Had he heard any more about the Hartleys?

Was his nephew going to marry Kay? But from the small crowd shooting him questions he saw Susie in the rancher's arms dancing and he never saw her more serious with a man in his life. Good for her.

JD and Kay danced by real serious looking, too. He felt some concern about those two as well. He could not imagine his Aunt Louise not having a fit about it already. But he felt spared she hadn't given him an ultimatum about that business. Later, Marge pointed out Louise and Harold Parker, a rancher from south of Preskit.

“Is that serious?” he asked.

“You haven't been watching them?”

“No, but he's nice looking and looks successful.”

“Widower. He lost his wife a few years ago.”

“Good. Maybe she's so busy with him, she ain't worried about JD?”

“She's busy.” Marge smiled.

They spent the night at the Verde ranch house. At breakfast the next morning, Jesus brought Chet a telegram.

“It came for you last night,
señor
. Monica said it might be important.”

“Thanks.” He sat down and opened the envelope. It was from Reg. His stomach turned over as he read the contents—
more of the Reynolds war. God he hoped not.

“What does it say?” Susie asked.

He nodded and spoke slowly. “Juanita was killed when her team ran off. Her funeral was yesterday back there. Reg can't stay there and is coming to join us.”

“Oh, my God,” Louise said. “That boy loved her so much—” Holding a napkin to her face, she ran upstairs.

Wet eyes around the table, Chet nodded to his wife. “Louise told the truth. That boy really loved his wife. I am certain he is crushed about losing her. He can mend his heart with us.”

“We've got plenty for him to do if he wants to be busy,” Susie said, wiping her wet lashes.

May left the table crying. She was always the tenderhearted one and had taken all of the ranch family losses the hardest.

He and Marge went home in silence, most of the way. Pulling the hard grade, she said, “Will he work the new ranch, do you think?”

“Hard to say. But he might. Depends how broken up he is. That boy loved her and we knew her too. She helped Susie for over a year so we all knew her, and she was a kind, grateful person. She was a gorgeous woman.”

“Susie showed me their wedding picture. She looked like royalty.”

“Yes, she did.”

She clapped a hand on his leg. “Hey, this is still our honeymoon isn't it?”

“I'm glad you reminded me. We get to the house we can celebrate.”

At his words, she gazed up at her hat brim looking for help. Finally she shook her head at him then he twisted around to kiss her.

Pleased, he turned about halfway back around and looked back over the entire valley to the far high rim. Reg was coming to join them—good.

Half asleep in bed, he heard Monica talking to someone from the front porch underneath their open bedroom window. She said she'd get him up. He could see the line of posse members through the lacy curtains. Familiar ranchers and cowboys sat on horseback in the early morning in his front yard.

“I'm coming, Monica,” he said from the window, and finished putting on his pants. “What's wrong?”

One of the men responded. “Someone murdered John Artman and his wife Cindy and robbed them last night. His brother found them early this morning and we've been gathering help ever since.”

“I'm dressing, boys, to join you.” He buttoned his shirt while talking to them and hanging out the window.

“We're getting an Injun tracker to meet us at his place.”

“It's down on the Verde over east of here,” someone else added.

“I'll have Marge send a supply outfit behind us. We may be a few days since they got a head start.”

The heads nodded and someone said, “We never thought of that.”

“I can send Jesus,” she said in a low voice. “He'll find you.”

“Essentials only.” He strapped on his gun belt. By this time the boy had heard part of the conversation and would have a horse saddled for him. Chet hurried downstairs and picked out a Winchester from the gun rack and a box of ammo. She caught up with him there in her fluffy housecoat. They kissed and she gave him a few sharp words. “You be careful.”

“I will.” He rushed out the front door and Jesus had the big gray saddled and ready. The big horse walked on his toes and pranced around him. He slid the rifle in the scabbard and thanked Jesus, taking the reins, then flew in the saddle hoping to catch Ono up enough to control him. But the horse lived up to his reputation, bucked through the parted posse and got lots of shouts.

Once the horse was under control, Chet rode back to Monica who had a big sandwich made for him. He told the other men to go on, he'd catch up. The gray really worried when the others left.

“You and Monica pack some supplies and then you follow us,” he told Jesus. “Thanks love,” he said to the cook, and then charged off to catch the others.

When he caught up with them all in a trot, he asked Gates, “Any suspects?”

Gates shook his head. “Artman was a loner but I suspect he had some cash.”

“Sheriff Sims know about this posse?”

“I think folks ain't too satisfied with his efforts of late. There was a ranch wife raped in her own bed. He never did anything. Said she didn't give him enough description for him to find her attacker. It's kind of a sore point. Two men robbed an old man north of town. He said they likely were drifters and already out of the country.”

“I got my ass chewed out that time before over those horse rustlers.”

“Yeah, we all know the truth about that.”

“Is someone going tell him?”

“Oh yeah, and he'll send someone out today.”

Chet nodded. He knew the answer to the rest of the deal.

He looked back. It would take Jesus a few hours to catch up. But by nightfall if they hadn't found the killers they'd at least have something to fill their empty guts with.

At the Artman ranch, he met the man's brother, Nathan, a thin, hard-faced man at least in his fifties who looked like he had some Cherokee blood in his veins.

He raised the blanket from his brother. The man's throat had been cut open from ear to ear. Dried black blood was around the void and Chet had seen enough. His shorter wife had some stab wounds on her dried-up breasts and was equally dead. No one in the house said much, and they moved quickly to get outside in the fresh air.

Chet stopped the brother. “Did he have much money to steal?”

“He had three thousand dollars.”

That was lots more than most such small ranchers ever saw in a lifetime, but he had no reason to doubt the man. They waited on the Indian tracker. After checking around, Chet could see by the tracks that when they left, one of the three riders was riding a mule.

“Leave a couple men here to bring them on after us. I can read these tracks. Let's ride.”

“Good thing you came along,” Gates said as they set out going downhill to the river far below. The river might be the place where they tried to hide their direction, but most criminal minds were simply set on escaping. No telling who they were dealing with in this double murder-robbery.

They reached the river and he bailed the gray off in the swift water to swim some crossing and he soon found the marks where they had come out. No backtracking or taking to the water.

He stood in the stirrups and directed them. “Come across at that lower ford. Looks easier down there.” He waved the seven men with him to go to an easier place. Off his mount, he let his horse catch a drink from the stream.

“Tracks over here?” Gate asked, riding up and dismounting.

“Clear as daylight. Anyone know three men and the third one rides a mule?”

“I don't think they do. But it could be anyone. Maybe drifters coming through.”

“No, I think it is someone who knew them,” Chet said. “No one would have simply guessed they had that much money, living like they did. That place up there was a shack. They hadn't bought any new clothes in years. Those people lived like poor ones. Someone pointed them out or they learned something about them to find that money his brother said that they had.”

“You ever been a lawman?” Gates asked.

“No, but I am learning.”

“I'd say you'd make a good one.”

“Tell me where I'm going to next, in that direction.”

“That's pretty wild country beyond here. They either know their way around or they're off on a lark.”

“Are there any ranches up in there?”

“I don't know anyone ranches up in those hills.” Gates turned and asked the others. “Anyone know much about that country where they are headed?”

They shook their heads. One guy said, “There's a road up there somewhere that goes to Fort Apache.”

“That's a long way over east,” a young man offered.

“Good enough, there aren't many tracks in here. But the killers went this way. Anyone figured out who they are by the fact the third man rides a mule?”

“Several folks ride a mule,” a young man said. “My dad rides one a lot in the rough country.”

Chet nodded. “Let's go on.”

They mounted up and started through some rough mountain country. This was no well-used track, and even the killers had to double back and try another game trail. He had expected the tracker to catch them by late afternoon and he wondered about Jesus and their supplies.

At last they reached the pines and the shelf they were on spread out in the timber. Chet had the tracks to follow, but wondered if he had outrun his supply train. It would be dark in an hour. He halted the men.

“We have an hour left of daylight. Our supply train is behind us. I doubt that tracker ever came. Let's set down and stop here. They're still making tracks.”

The men agreed and gathered bonfire material.

“Are we close to them?” one of the men asked.

“I'm not enough bloodhound to know. They came this way headed somewhere. I don't know if those last horse apples we went by were steaming hot. They were fresh.”

Everyone laughed. In thirty minutes, one of the men keeping an eye on the trail told him some horses were coming. He went over there on the edge and behind the lead man he saw Jesus's straw hat. Good. His supplies were coming.

“Food may not be great, but we'll eat, men.”

“Good thing you went on, Byrnes. They said you were a bloodhound.”

“We have tracks to here. I'd say they were going someplace. We should catch them tomorrow.”

“Good. Anyone of us need to track them more tonight?”

“I don't want to spook them. We'll build small fires tonight and then push hard to catch them tomorrow.”

“My name's Leif Times. My dad and I run the Rafter Eight ranch.”

“Times, I hope we can get them tomorrow. The farther they go the harder the job will be. We have no witness to those murders. All we have is this set of tracks.”

“You're saying they might get arrested and then get off?”

“I'm saying, those tracks are our only lead to the ones responsible for the deaths of those people.”

Times nodded.

“You figure that out at Rye when you got there?”

Chet shook his head.

“They raped a poor woman without any regrets. They beat up a man before his children and they stole those horses. Why bother with messing with them? They had no regrets.”

“They say Sims threatened you about that.”

Chet shook his head. “I was near as mad over the way he sent a deskman leading that posse who stopped Marge Stephenson's foreman from coming to help me. I had expected him to send a real deputy. He has a man named Roamer who would have come on after them. Sims didn't like I ran down that crooked foreman and his henchmen that stole from the Quarter Circle Z or how I treated the stage robbers who murdered my nephew either.”

“I had no idea.”

“Keep it to yourself, but however this ends it will make him mad. He thinks he's the only law and he can't handle it all.”

Times nodded. “Thanks.”

Chet drank some coffee, had some beef jerky, and thanked Jesus for coming.

“
Señor
, your wife almost came with me to help.”

“Good that she didn't. This is damn tough country.”

“She is a powerful woman.”

“I agree. Sleep tight. We'll have a long day tomorrow.” All he needed was to have to worry about her safety being along with them. But she'd been on his mind ever since he rode off again on her. She might—no, she was realist and knew he had to answer such calls. But being separated from her had affected him more that he'd admit. He shifted his gun belt out of habit. Then he went to find a place to sleep. Dawn wasn't far off.

 

 

The posse moved out in the first pink of dawn. His eyes dry, he knew they needed to find some water for their mounts. Not a man in the half dozen men riding with him knew of any water source in this region. They were soon on an east–west road. The tracks went east.

Times rode up and told him, “This road eventually goes to Fort Apache.”

“Are there any towns or settlements on this road?”

“I've never been very far on it. We elk hunted on it a few years back.”

“You get this far east on it?”

“If I see anything familiar I'll tell you.”

Chet smiled and thanked him.

They rounded a bend and he saw some horses beside the road and some campfire smoke. He sent every one backward and told them to be quiet.

“You see anyone?” one of the men asked him.

He shook his head. “I want three men on foot with their rifles to go up in the timber and circle them. If they flush, stop them. We will wait here to give you a chance to head them off. Be quiet and stay wide of them.”

“We were lucky you saw them,” Gates told him.

“I felt we'd find them sometime this morning,” he said under his breath.

Three of the posse members with rifles took off into the timber and he waved them on. The whole lot were a good willing bunch ready to get the job done. If they'd been storekeepers they'd have already wanted to go back. These men with him lived in their saddles.

He hoped the three men hurried. No telling if the ones camped ahead would be ready to pull out any minute.

The men were all dismounted. He listened and could hear men talking and banging pans. They were close, perhaps, to arresting the murderers. It could be innocent people. But he doubted it.

He selected Gates and two more to go south through the timber and circle in. “If things break loose don't shoot one of our own men. Bullets flying in a crossfire could get one of us killed.” The three agreed and took off with rifles.

“Jesus and someone need to tend these horses. Shooting might spook them. A gray-haired older man volunteered. He picked the youngest rider to help them.

“I know you'd like to be there, but we need these horses to get home.” He clapped the youth on his shoulder. “You're an important part of this posse.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What's your name?”

“Potter Brown, sir.”

“Nice to meetcha.”

“Mr. Byrnes?”

“Yes?”

“You need another hand on one of your ranches?”

“Talk to me later. I can always use a real man needs work.”

The youth nodded as if shaken by Chet's words.

“We'll talk later.” Chet hurried back to spy on the situation. A man with silver sideburns named Wheeling handed him the reins.

“About time. Mount up.” He turned the gray and rode through the handful of men left. “Don't kill any of our men in the crossfire.”

He drew his .44 and turned his horse for the charge. “Let's go.”

He saw a bareheaded man ahead try to hold the reins on his spooked horse as they charged in on them. The reins were torn from his hands, he drew a pistol, and was cut down by rifle fire from the woods across the road. A bald-headed man had his hands in the air and his pants at his knees, obviously caught off guard. Someone was getting away. He saw the flash of a mule's butt going off into the timber. “Hold them, boys.”

The rider was lashing the mule hard to make good his escape. All the timber proved a challenge, but the gray was cutting back and forth keeping his quarry in sight like he knew the mule was his goal. No low branches on these tall trees made the job easier, but the trick was too ride the big gelding through them and for him not to collide with one.