Between Hell and Texas (18 page)

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Authors: Dusty Richards

BOOK: Between Hell and Texas
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“Simply stand up, aim, and fire where you think he is at, then get down. No hesitation or another sniper may shoot you.”
“I will.”
The youth left the room with the loaded Greener. Chet used the pump to put a high brass cartridge in the chamber. He asked the boy in the next room, “Ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get down fast after you shoot, but keep your finger off the second trigger.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ready, shoot.” Chet had the Winchester to his shoulder and drew a bead over the tree. The shock of the recall slammed into his shoulder. Then Heck shot and someone screamed. A falling rifle clattered out of the tree, and then a body hit the ground like a ripe watermelon thrown off a bluff.
“We get him?” Heck asked.
“Yes.” Though he had not dared to look, in case there was a second rifleman in place. “Stay down.”
“I am. Whew, this gun sure kicks.”
Chet crawled over to the other front window in the room. “You think that one's bad, this one's worse.” He dared look out from the east side edge, moving in more to see what was out there. There was a man sprawled on his back on the ground beside the lane. Two down and how many more to go? The body didn't move, and he was satisfied he was dead or dying.
Chet lifted his field glasses and saw the panicked women in their colorful attire climbing into the wagon. He counted three men running around to load them.
“What are they doing?” Heck asked, coming into the room.
“Here, take the glasses. You can see them.” Chet un-slung the glasses from over his head. Then he reached for the Spencer. With it laid on the windowsill, got on his knees and raised the sight as high as it would go, lined up the horse and rider, then squeezed the trigger. A short time passed in the gunsmoke-filled room, and all at once Chet saw the horse bolting, tossing his rider.
“Damn, you must have got real close,” Heck said. “He threw that galoot off like a sack of flour—oh, oh, that guy's running bareheaded after the wagon. Now, he got to the tailgate and the women are pulling him in. That horse that threw him is coming to the house. Must be one of ours that belongs here.”
“Good, we can add another horse to our tally.”
Heck sat down cross-legged on the floor. “This has been one helluva morning.”
“You better drop the cusswords or Susie will use lye soap on your tongue when we get home.”
“I will.”
Chet reached over and shook his shoulder. “We better go see about those loose horses, pard. This has been one tough deal. We've earned a siesta.”
“I was thinking about something to eat.”
Chet nodded, considering a boy's appetite. “We can do that, too.”
Shouldn't be long until Tom and the reserves arrived. The smell of spent gunpowder still burned his nose. He blew it into the kerchief from his pocket. His shoulders gave a small shudder under his shirt and vest. Their threat was a good thing to have behind him.
What a damn night and morning.
Chapter 19
Both loose horses at the corral gate carried the ranch brand. Chet learned that letters he found in the pockets of the first man he shot were from Willard Duck. His sister Alma lived in Springer, Utah, and she wanted him to come home—she thought the new law wouldn't prosecute him for past things. She needed his help to run the farm and cattle. The second man had a perfumed letter from a dove in Mesilla, New Mexico. Her name was Rosa, and she wrote part in Spanish and part in English. She called him Randolph McQuire.
Rosa told Randolph he was a grand lover and how each night she cried for his return. Sounded very sad, and she offered to meet him in Tombstone or Tucson. Then Chet and Heck dragged the bodies closer to the house and covered them with a tarp so the buzzards wouldn't eat them. They probably needed to be taken to the sheriff in Preskit.
“Them sonsabitching buzzards must be starved—oh, I'm sorry,” Heck said, and took off his felt hat to beat his leg. “There's a lot up there circling, ain't there?”
“More than enough.” Chet chuckled over his error and retraction. The sky was full of the big black birds floating on updrafts, anticipating a meal. “Let's go find that food.”
“Yeah, my belly is growling at my backbone like a bulldog.”
Chet chuckled.
“Now it's over, I'm sure tickled you brought me along. Why, we've had more adventures and seen more country than most folks do in a lifetime.”
“We have, indeed. Do you like Arizona?” Chet looked at the towering mountain that rose in the south and wondered about Tom's success.
“Long as them Reynoldses don't find us. Guess we've traded them for this Ryan, huh?”
“If he's all we've got for an enemy, he can be eliminated.”
“I'll get a fire going in that range. Guess we'll have frijoles, huh?”
“That's about it. In a day or so we'll be back and have some of Jenny's cooking. After you get that range going and beans on, there's some paper and a pencil in my saddlebags. You can write Susie a letter, but kinda keep all the shooting stuff down. I don't want her alarmed.”
“Yeah, women don't need to be upset and they'll sure get that way when they hear about the details.”
“Right, tell her about the house and the mountains and how nice it is up here.”
“I can do that.”
“Good, I'll fix the beans.”
Chet found two pans: one, a large kettle to fix a mess for the incoming crew, and a smaller one to cook faster for him and Heck. He'd noticed several chickens running about. “You know, Heck, we might have an egg hunt after lunch. I've heard enough hens cackling. We might have some scrambled eggs for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Yeah, shame we don't have them boys along to gather 'em.”
“I bet we can find enough fresh-laid ones to feed that bunch in the morning.”
“Be like home, huh?”
“No, we don't have Susie to head up the cooking team.”
“How long's she been the cook?”
“Since she was twelve and your grandmother's mind began to slip.”
“Shame, but I don't ever recall Grandma ever being what I'd call—well, right.”
Chet chewed on his lip and nodded. Neither she nor Rocky had been alright for the biggest part of Heck's life. Rocky lasted longer than she did, but he was a vegetable now. Always worried about the damn Comanche, and all of them penned up on a reservation in the Indian Territory. No telling what those long, depleting searches for the kids were like for him. It was a wonder he even survived them.
The frijoles were slow to cook, and Heck found a large bowl of eggs he considered good. There were some hens with new chicks Heck told Chet about, but they nested a ways from the house.
Dear Susie and crew,
We found a nice ranch in the Verde Valley north of Preskit. That is what folks call Prescott. Ranch is kinder run down but it belonged to a rich man who lives in St. Charles, Missouri and he didn't check on it enough. But you will like the big house. It is a two story house. A pitcher pump in the kitchen and water tanks with windmills—except they creak a lot—need greasing is all. Plenty of chickens, lots of shade. Big mountains all around us.
We
miss your cooking most. Even beans don't taste the same. Chet says we cannot say when we will come home. There is lots to do here. New hands supposed to show up this evening.
Our best,
Chet and Heck
Chet finished reading it and nodded. “You did swell. Writing good letters is important if you ever have to run a big ranch. I'm proud of you. That's a good letter.”
Heck beamed, and then at the sound of horses, he ran into the front part of the house. “They're coming. A mess of them. I see Tom in the lead.”
Chet came in to join him. “Won't they be surprised?”
“I bet so. They don't know what we've been busy doing.”
They went out to greet them. Men stepping down, pulling their pants out of their crotches and then shaking hands.
“Did they ever show up?” Tom asked, looking around. “Oh, Chet, this is Roamer. He's a deputy sheriff.”
“Nice to meetcha.”
The deputy nodded.
“There's two under the canvas over there were part of the raiding party. The rest ran off about noon today.”
“You and the boy ran them off?” Roamer twisted on his handlebar mustache like he couldn't believe them.
“One came tearing up here about sundown, shooting at the house. I cut him down. He was riding a ranch horse and his name was Willard Duck. I read his mail.”
Roamer nodded like he knew of him.
“The second one is Randolph McQuire. He was up in a tree down the lane, shooting at the house with a rifle. We got him out of the tree with two shotgun blasts of buckshot.”
“You two are a tough bunch. I'm glad I didn't have to go up against you. We better take those bodies back to Preskit tomorrow. There will be an inquest held. If you can ride in and appear, I'd appreciate it.”
“I can do that, now that my hands are here.”
“Hoot is driving a wagon out here that I rented, loaded with supplies,' Tom said. “He'll be here later.”
“Good idea. Introduce me to the crew.”
“This is Hampt Tate.” The tall, broad-shouldered cowboy stuck out a mountain-size calloused paw and shook his hand. “Proud to meet you, Mr. Byrnes. I worked here last year.”
“Good, you know the lay of the land.”
“Most of it. Appreciate the job.”
Wiley Combs was short, but bowlegged enough that Chet decided he'd never send him to trap hogs. In his late teens, Wiley looked tough enough to react to any threat.
Next Chet shook hands with Bixsby Stone, a medium-built cowboy who had a rusty voice. “Good to meet you, sir. I got clotheslined once, my voice is about ruined.”
“I can understand you fine, and fellars, my name's Chet.”
“I'll remember that,” Bixsby said.
The last man was no doubt from the cavalry. Shoulders back, he stepped in and they exchanged a handshake. The man's blue eyes were the color of a pale sky, and Chet figured they didn't miss much.
“They call him Sarge.” Tom said.
“You were in the army?” Chet asked him.
Sarge nodded. “Ten years. And I got so tired of gritty beans and moldy bacon half-cooked, I resigned.”
“I'd agreed with that. You have to work, they should feed you well.”
A smile cracked his tight face. “Sounds like a man with my heart. I'm glad I made the muster.”
“Good to have all of you. This place needs lots of elbow grease. Those windmills in the morning need the gears cleaned and new grease. When you men are out riding and see a seep of water, make a map. We need to improve the range with more water development. I intend to hire a contractor to build us some tanks, too.
“Water is the secret to keeping cattle closer to the house and getting the far range pastured as well.” The men nodded.
“We've found some of the horses. There may be more. The ones we brought in need to be checked out and culled. That's a start, and the cattle come next. These longhorn bulls need to be made steers and some British breed bulls brought in, that's all down the road. Glad to have you on the ranch, and the beans are about done.”
“Thanks, Roamer, for coming out. Heck and I were dreading them charging us before you all got here.”
“Can we make any charges against Ryan about his stealing here?” Roamer asked.
“Might be hard to prove,” Chet said, considering the question. “He can say he was told to run the ranch. By the way, how tall is he?”
“Oh, five-six, looks like a bulldog.”
“I saw him in the glasses when they were down by the head of the lane. I'll know him next time.”
“He's damn sure tough and crooked as a snake. I'd like to slam him in prison.” Roamer shook his head in disgust.
“Let's work on that, then.” Chet herded them all into the house.
Heck had made one dutch-oven batch of biscuits and was refilling it with new ones. The new hands shook his hand and bragged on his cooking, as they filled their tin plates with steaming beans and took on some of his fresh bread.
Before he went inside, Chet looked over the valley bleeding in sundown's last moments. His new land—maybe Kathren would share this vast place with him. He sure hoped so.

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