Between Hell and Texas (35 page)

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Authors: Dusty Richards

BOOK: Between Hell and Texas
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Chapter 36
The sun peaked over the hills behind him as Chet short-loped for home. He wasn't thinking about much of anything except the past evening, when a shot rang out and he felt his horse trip and go down. Sprawled off over the cow pony's head, he skidded face-first to a tough stop in some briars. He felt for his six-gun. The grasp of the cedar grips made his heart quicken. He possessed five bullets in the cylinder and several more around his waist in the beltloops. The .44/40 was in the scabbard, no doubt under the dying horse who he could hear gasping and thrashing for his life. No time to eliminate a hurt horse. He knew blood was running down his face in a stream from the fall. But not a big enough leak to kill him. That could be stopped later.
Where were they? The birds, silenced by the first shot, had begun to twitter again. A distant mourning dove went back to cooing. How had they discovered him? Had they tracked him and Kathren from the dance? Chet was so intoxicated with her, no way he'd even thought about his enemies. But they must have thought about him. He made his way, snakelike, under the boughs of a cedar tree, and once inside it he tried to listen for their move. Obviously, they couldn't have seen him, or they'd have shot at him again.
He could be grateful they were such poor shots. Damn, he liked that gelding, too. Smooth-riding pony. Where were they?
“He's between you and me,” someone said. He tried to match the voice to a face. Blythe Walker. He was married to Burl Reynolds's sister's girl. Burl, the oldest living Reynolds who was not in a cemetery or prison, must be out there, too.
A horse north of his location clattered over some rocks. That had to be the number-two man.
“Reckon the horse wreck killed him?”
“You see the horse yet?”
“No. but I'm close to it.”
Good, get even closer
. Chet dried his sore palm on the side of his pants and took the grips back. The horse drew closer.
“I found—”
Using both hands to stabilize his aim, he shot Blythe Walker twice in the face. He was pitched off his horse, who bolted to the side, and the man lay kicking on the ground. The throes of death were doing that to him.
Where was Burl?
He heard a horse galloping away. Then he climbed to his feet and went by the man's still body. With a little coaxing, he caught Walker's horse and mounted into the saddle. Burl had gone north. He sent the big sorrel in that direction. When he and the cow pony rode out into the open country, he saw the dust and the rider. They were headed north hard.
You ain't getting away this time.
Chet sent the sorrel after him. Of course, if the man got into the brush, he might lose him, but it was a chance he'd take. He hoped Reynolds was panicked enough to keep running and wouldn't stop to ambush him.
He holstered the Colt and jerked the rifle out of the scabbard, never losing a stride on the big horse. It was loaded, he discovered, when he started to open the action with the lever and, seeing the cartridge, he drew the lever back up. He tried aiming, but he knew the rocking gait of the horse would spoil most shots. Anxious to shorten the distance between them, he spanked the pony on the butt with the barrel.
Burl headed for some cedar breaks on his horse. In a few short minutes, Chet drove into the woods and spotted the man's bay horse hobbling in circles, his front leg broken. He reined in the Walker horse. Where was the big man at? No way he could have gotten far after his horse went down. He circled to the south, wary that his enemy was out there, not too far away and in a tight fix with no horse.
The horse began to act uneasy. He couldn't see any sign of the big man. But still, he rode around feeling he must be close to him, knowing he might any second be the target of a man who wanted him dead. He dried his hand on his britches and re-gripped the long gun. At a time when he needed eyes in the back of his head, he kept twisting in the saddle to look for him.
After a fifteen-minute search, he turned the horse around and rode out of the canyon. No sense in making a target of himself. Damn, he needed to go see Sheriff Trent. Not home any time at all, and he was back to the old feud-fighting mode with those Reynoldses. One dead, and he'd lost a damn good horse. He pushed the Walker horse for Mason in a hard run. He let the big sorrel walk the last mile and cool off. A good horse, but he didn't have half the sense the pony he'd lost earlier had possessed.
“You look like a man who's been in trouble,” Trent said and met him at the door of the courthouse.
“That's Blythe Walker's horse. But he won't need him. Him and Burl Reynolds jumped me coming home from the dance early this morning. They shot my horse from ambush, and I shot Walker. Burl got away, but his horse broke his leg and he must have slipped off on foot. I couldn't find him in the brush.”
Trent dropped his chin. “How long have you been back? Two days?”
“Not long enough. But there is not much hope for finding any peace around here.”
“Draw me a map. I'll send a deputy down there to get his body.”
“I figure when Burl crawls home, he'll go back for the body.”
“I'll beat him there.”
“Whatever. I need some breakfast. Want some? I'll buy.”
“You might be too dangerous to eat with. They may try to poison you.”
“They may. Suit yourself,” Chet said, leading his horse to Han's Diner across the street.
“I'll flip for who pays,” Trent laughed, walking with him.
“Good. Gives me a fifty-fifty chance of not having to pay.”
Trent shook his head. “Didn't take them long, did it?”
“Two or three days is all.”
“And I already have a new body count.”
“Anyone shot at you lately?” Chet asked.
“No, and I'm not all scratched up, either.”
“When they shot my horse, I landed in some brambles. I guess I'm not bleeding by now.” He had no idea how bad he looked. His horse hitched, he looked at his reflection in the cafe window—looked like a cat clawed him.
“Not much. Same old war, huh?”
“I have a solution. It's on the banks of the Verde River. In a year I hope to have it all there, lock, stock, and sister out there.”
“And I'll be upset. I hate to see her go.”
“Then you better get busy.”
“What will you do about Kathren?”
“If I had that answer, I'd tell you, and damn quick.” Chet dropped heavily into the first booth. His empty stomach rolled over. No way he'd forgotten about his dilemma over how to have both—his new ranch and Kathren together.
“I'm sorry,” Trent said. “It's no fun being shot at by idiots on Sunday morning.”
“You're excused.”
“Thanks. You like the country out there?”
Chet bobbed his head. “But it's a dry place. There's grass and forage, but there isn't lots of water. Water development will be hard.”
“Every Eden has some cactus. I was sorry when I heard that you had lost the boy.”
Chet nodded. It was hard for him to talk about Heck. “Arizona has some bad things, too, but the high country is a lot like here. Trent, I swear, this morning I was coming back from the dance minding my own business when they jumped me.”
They were interrupted by the waitress and gave her their orders. Then they turned back to each other.
Trent nodded. “I know. They're crazy.”
“I simply wanted to be sure we were on the same plate.”
“I'm going to send for a deputy. Excuse me. I've been thinking about what you said about Burl getting that body.” The lawman went outside, and waved a youth over on the street. Chet saw him give the boy a dime and he raced off. With a nod, he came back and finished his breakfast with Chet.
 
 
Chet returned to the ranch after noontime. Seeing him coming on a different horse, Susie ran out, drying her hands. “Whose horse is that?”
“Blythe Walker's. I traded him for a couple of cartridges and my pony.”
She frowned hard at him. “He attacked you?”
“Him and Burl. It‘s why we must move to Arizona.”
“What happened besides Walker?”
“Burl rode off. His horse must have broken his leg, but still he got away from me. I rode to Mason and told Bob what happened.”
“How is he?”
“Fine. He sent a man to get Walker's body.”
“Fine Sunday morning, huh?”
He hugged her and rocked her back and forth. “You and I never talked, but you know we're going to lose Reg?”
She nodded. “I knew that would hurt you.”
“I want him to succeed, but hate to lose him. And I fear them damn Reynoldses will pounce on him as soon as we're gone.”
“Maybe he'll change his mind. Did you find Kathren last night?”
“Yes.”
“I won't ask any more of you.”
“She's fine. But I'm walking a tightrope these days and I don't dare fall. She's the greatest sunshine I ever found in my life. But I know in here ...” He pounded his chest with the side of his fist. “... she can't go and I can't stay.”
“Will you simply ride away?”
“I'll tell you when that day comes.”
Susie nodded. “Other folks don't have all this turmoil like we do.”
“It's the hand we drew, I guess. How's Dad?”
“You saw him since you've come back. He don't know any of us anymore and lives in yesterday.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I'm going to the bunkhouse and take a nap. Wake me up in an hour or so.”
“I can do that. You better talk to those younger boys later on. They've took Heck's death real hard.”
“I know he was a good big brother to them. I'd have given them my life if they hadn't killed him.”
“No one's blaming you. You're just good at bucking up people that are in the ditch.”
“I will speak to them.” He started for the bunkhouse. Would it do any good to go talk to Burl face-to-face? At one time they got along. No hate, no killing. Lived like neighbors. Loaned each other harnesses, farm machinery, harvested crops together, traded day labor. Nothing left but the blood spilt on the ground, and it had soaked in deep.
Chet fell asleep easy, and woke up in a short while with a new plan. If he couldn't do anything else, he might as well try it. Burl had an interest in a woman who lived on Terrapin Creek, Lupe Mariono. More than once, he had heard others say, don't mess with his woman up there.
He needed to catch him at a place where Burl couldn't compromise the situation. But could he even trust him if he did promise amnesty for his part? He could try that, and if it didn't work, he could mark it off as a bad experience.
Where could he go up there and wait for him? He knew the entire area well enough. All he needed was to make the right choice on the right trail. If he was wrong, Burl would never step in his trap. Then his time would all be wasted.
He went by the main house. Somewhere in there was a black rubber rain coat. One mention to Susie about his needs and she went for it.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
Chet shook his head. “A secret I can't tell you.”
In the kitchen, he took some leftover biscuits and filled his vest pockets. She was right on his heels and talking under her breath, “Tell me what you are going to do.”
“Can't.”
“Where can I claim your body then?”
“I'm not sure.”
In the corral, he roped a quiet horse named Angel. Sure-footed as a goat, but nothing too fast. Hardly over twelve hands, he made a good pony to ride over hills and up craggy canyons. One he could step off and be right on the ground. They'd shot lots of deer off him, so he wasn't gun-shy. Everyone was off working when he left the ranch by the back way. He went the way he used to go to duck folks when he went to see Marla. By the time he drew close to Terrapin Creek, he hobbled Angel deep in a canyon and mounted the ridge on foot. From high on the hill, he used his field glasses and spotted her, busy hoeing her well-kept garden. She was a full-figured woman in a tan skirt and red shirt that showed off the treasures of her chest. At one time she had been a very voluptuous woman, but she showed some of her age. A widow for many years, she seldom left her small place. The gossip about her affair with Burl wasn't even news anymore.
Years before, he'd heard many stories about her entertaining some rich men, but as her looks and youth faded, she became dependent on and, so they said, loyal to Burl.

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