Brothers in Blood (7 page)

The match struck, he touched the powder, and the blinding explosion showed through his eyelids. A bitter smell of burnt flesh and spent gunpowder filled his nose. The blinding smoke was bitter to breathe in and Irma rushed over to open the door for air. They were all coughing, but Chet saw one thing about their handy work that relieved him. The black hole the size of his thumb pad no longer flowed blood.

Irma, fists squeezed in front of her, looked relieved, too. “Oh, thanks, dear Lord. Make my husband live. Please, dear God, we need him so much.”

“Amen,” Chet said. Still no blood flow, so he stepped back. “You can't let him roll around a lot for three days, or he'll bust it open.”

“If I have to, I'll tie him down. Thank you. There's coffee made. We all need a cup.”

Cole hugged her shoulders because she was shaking so hard. “Irma, he'll be okay. I've helped do this three times in my life. Every man lived.”

“If I can keep him from opening that, he should make it.”

Jesus poured the coffee in every kind of chipped cup he could find.

They seated her at the table and the boy stood behind arms wrapped around her thin shoulders.

Chet sat across from her. “Now tell me more about these outlaws.”

“He had curly black hair, bigger chested than you. Bossy as all get out. On his right cheek—no—on his left one he had an ugly scar from the corner of his eye to his mouth. He wore a gold ring and rode a Mexican saddle. If his gun hadn't misfired after his first shot he'd of shot Henry again and might have killed him.”

“How old was he?”

“Thirty to forty. I ain't sure. I don't age many folks.”

“The old man?”

“He was fifty, sixty years old, maybe fifty-five. He only had three fingers on his right hand. I noticed that when they got a drink from our well. The last two fingers were gone. He had one eye that I don't think he could see out of.”

“Raft said the boy was crazy?”

“He'd break out and say wild things. Cussed a lot. I tried my best to avoid him.”

Raft spoke softly. “He went riding off laughing and screaming, ‘You got that old son-of-a-bitch. You got him.' Over and over until I couldn't hear him.”

Irma still looked in shock.

“Which horses did they take?” Jesus asked.

“A big black horse. He was Dad's roping horse for chasing mavericks. He's black except for a white scar on his neck. He wears our brand on his right shoulder, a BO brand. And a blaze-faced three-year-old sorrel I was breaking. I sure hated to lose him. A bay horse with a Keystone brand on his right shoulder. Three more broke bay horses with our brand. They also had three more worn out ones they'd rode to death to get here. Lucky I had Shorty in a pen by hisself. He's the one I rode to your place. We've got a few more, but they're turned out.”

Irma nodded and clasped her long hands on the table. “When they rode up, we didn't think anything. People pass by here often enough though we're off the road. I think most of them get lost. Some that come by, we've known good and well they were on the run. But all of them were polite and offered to pay me for my food. If they looked down in the heel, then I turned their money down. Those three rode in here like they owned the world.”

“They say much we could use?”

“One mentioned a lady of the night named Cros-sett,” Raft said, looking as if his mother disapproved of him telling about it.

She shook her head. “Henry shot and laying on the porch. We were covered in his blood. All over us from moving him in here. Henry said to Raft, ‘Go find Chet Byrnes, son. He's the only man will get them dogs.' Raft asked if he should go on and tell the sheriff. Henry said, ‘He don't do no good. You find Byrnes.'”

“He can be proud of his son. He must have rode the hair off that short horse to come tell me.”

“There ain't no law in this country. Every rancher and miner we know thinks you should be the sheriff. We all know you're busy, but who else would have dropped their life and rode over here this late at night?”

“Can we sleep on the floor in here for a few hours? We'll need some sleep and we can't track at night. Whoever needs to wake us at daybreak.”

“How many of those horses are shod?” Jesus asked.

“Three of them,” Raft said. “Mom or I'll wake you.”

Chet thanked them. He unrolled his bedroll and wished he was at home in a warm bed with Marge. Sleep evaded him and when he finally did sleep, Raft woke him up.

Jesus provided the flour, shortening, and baking powder for Irma's biscuits. She also made ham gravy and fried several slices for their breakfast. They left her half their coffee.

Henry was awake enough to thank Chet. The bleeding had stopped. The man had a long recovery coming, but Chet felt better over his crude doctoring.

Busy enjoying the hot breakfast, he knew the trail ahead would be cold. It would turn warmer when the sun got cooking, but it still wasn't Texas. He hugged Irma and saluted Henry, who she'd given some laudanum for his pain. Then he shook Raft's hand.

“You're a helluva good hand, son. Don't overdo it being the main one here, and be sure she don't.”

“I'll do that. Thanks.”

They rode south, Chet wondering where they'd find the outlaws. They had a good head start, but probably had no notion there was any pursuit. Still, their previous crimes no doubt made them fugitives—desperate and on the run. Shooting Henry Boone was just another small hitch in their day. But, like other criminals in this kind of situation, they struck the isolated ranches for their supplies and that called for more abuse of the innocent to show their power.

That was why he and his men rode southward. He wanted the likes of them stopped.

“Them folks were poor, weren't they?” Cole asked.

“I'd say so. Proud and poor. There's several folks like that trying to ranch over by Rye, living year round under a squaw shade.”

“That would be cold. No walls?” Cole hugged his jacket sleeves. “That would be worse than Nebraska.”

“No walls, either. It isn't as cold as up here, but it frosts down there. I'll tell Tom to contact Henry about selling us some of his cattle. A few sales would sure help their standard of living.”

“Reg is getting a real winter up there.” Cole tossed his head north.

“He's got a wife to keep him warm, too,” Jesus added.

“Boys, that's a good reason to have one. Reg is such a hard worker, I bet he don't hardly notice the weather. You just wait. His brother JD will be back down here looking for a place. JD works, but his brother is a damn hard worker.”

Midday they moved into the saguaros on the south slopes of the mountains they crossed. Lots of century plants and yucca marked the step ups and downs in the mountains they rode over.

“Where does this trail lead?” Cole asked, looking back over the tough country they'd already covered.

“I've heard there's an outlaw trail comes out of Utah, like we took the way back across the Grand Canyon. It runs east of the Black Canyon stage road down through here to the big valley and then into Mexico.”

“I heard her say that when they got company she suspected some of them were outlaws.”

“I don't know, but she never did say if these men came up or down the trail.”

“I'm like you, Chet. I thought they came from the south. But all she said was they rode up.” Jesus nodded his head. “Maybe they are on the run from up north.”

“Wherever they came from, we need to get to where they're going. We better trot these horses over this mesa.”

His men smiled and picked up their pace. An hour before sundown, Chet decided to make camp where they found some water for their horses in potholes in a dry stream. They unsaddled and gathered firewood. Jesus set about boiling some beans for supper, adding fried chunks of bacon to the pot.

Chet and Cole unloaded the packhorses and hobbled all of them. Jesus made Dutch oven biscuits to go with the beans, and they thanked him as they ate their meal long past sundown. They had enough wood to keep the fire going all night and to cook breakfast in the morning.

Chet slept more that night, and while it wasn't toasty getting up, it was a lot warmer than at the Boone Ranch. Jesus worked on the fire and made oatmeal and coffee. When they finished eating, they gathered horses, saddled them, and got the packhorses ready. A peach rose light of dawn came over the mountains in the east. They had another short winter day to run those outlaws down.

In the saddle again, they headed south on the trail. He wondered what they'd find this day. Jesus had mentioned he saw signs in their horse turds that they were getting closer.

Chet hoped so, and made his mount trot. Crossing the flat desert floor, the midday sun's heat made them take off their coats. They couldn't be over thirty miles from the Hayden's Ferry. Chet wondered about his own ranch holdings and business. His back muscles ached from sleeping on the ground and the rough mountains they'd rode over. He sure wanted to catch them, and soon.

Passing through chaparral greasewood brush and into some open grass flats, they smelled smoke. Chet twisted in his saddle trying to see the source of the campfire. He spotted five burros standing around hipshot and he turned his horse in that direction.

“Morning.” He reined up. A whiskered man held a rifle in his arms and looked skeptically at him.

“US Marshal Byrnes.”

“Adolph Gunner. What do you need?” His stoic German pronunciation told Chet he wasn't looking for any company. His packsaddles lay scattered around his camp. He must ride one of the burros, too.

“Three men ride through here? One big man on a black horse?”

“Dey bought some food from me about noon. I kept my gun on dem. Didn't trust dem, but they had money and several horses.”

“They shot a man up north and stole his horses.”

“I didn't know dem. I was glad whey dey were gone.”

“You're lucky they didn't kill you and take your things.”

“Others have tried.”

Chet touched his hat, reined his horse aside and rejoined his men.

“Friendly old sumbitch,” Cole said, glancing back at him.

“At least now we know they aren't far ahead of us.”

“Those old hermits like him hate people,” Jesus added.

Cole agreed. “And maybe for good reason.”

Jesus was satisfied they were following the outlaws' horses' hoofprints. They reached the edge of the irrigated land and rode on. They found a place where the horses had turned east on a farm road.

“Reckon they wanted to avoid the ferry?” Cole wondered.

“Maybe being seen. At this time of year, the river will be lower and they can ford it upstream about anywhere.”

With their jackets tied behind their cantles, they passed many recently planted citrus orchards. Large herds of sheep brought back from the mountains for the winter grazed fields of green barley and alfalfa.

They crossed a shallow river, came out the other side, and rode south. By evening, they stopped at a farm that the outlaws' tracks passed. Chet wanted to buy some good hay for their horses. The farmer, Al Holmes, came out, introduced himself, and looked them over.

“You a lawman?”

“Yes. Chet Byrnes. We're trailing some outlaws that passed by here earlier.”

Holmes nodded. “They had some loose horses, too.”

“They stole them. We've been tracking them for two days. Our horses could use some good feed.”

His wife, a short woman, joined them. “I'm Nell. Al, you can show them where to put their horses and I'll get these men something to eat.”

“Thank you, ma'am. This is Jesus and Cole, and my name is Chet.”

“You all are lawmen?” she asked.

“Yes, we are.”

“My, my. I'd better get inside and fix you something to eat.” She disappeared inside the house.

Her husband showed them a corral to use and told them to store their gear in his harness shed. The horses were forked some of his fine hay. Soon, they had their chores completed and were talking with him about Chet's operation up north.

“You're a big rancher. How can you do all this lawman work?”

“You don't understand,” Cole said. “Chet's the only one ready to enforce the law up there. They made him a US Marshal because of his efforts.”

“I'd heard something about him bringing in a man who held a Prescott man in Utah for ransom?”

“That's us.”

“Well, I'm honored you stopped here tonight.”

“What time did those men pass by here?” Chet asked.

“Oh, about three hours ago.”

“Then they aren't too far away from here.”

“When will you arrest them?”

“When we catch up with them. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. We're on their track now, but they don't know that and they can get lazy.”

“How can you three be so calm?”

Chet shrugged. “Just another job we have to do.”

Just then, the farmer's wife told them the food was ready and to come to the kitchen. She directed them to seats. “All of you sit down. This is just a quick meal I made up so you could eat. Sorry, I'd of done more, but I knew you must be hungry. It isn't much.”

“Looks good to us,” Cole said, “we didn't have to fix it.”

“This'll be just fine,” Chet added. “It looks good. We thank you for it.”

After they were all settled and enjoying the food, she asked, “Marshal, do you live in Prescott?”

“I'm just Chet, ma'am. We live on a ranch east of there. It's my wife's place.”

“Oh, what's her name?”

“Her name is Marge, and we've been married about a year.”

“Is this your first marriage?” she asked.

“Yes, no one else would have me.”

His men shook their heads and laughed.

“I'm sorry if I ask too many questions.”

“No, Nell. I don't mind. I'm proud of my wife.”

“Have you been in the territory long?” Al asked.

“No, I brought my entire family out here last spring.”

“My, you sound like a busy man.”

Cole passed the basket of her sliced sourdough bread to Chet. “Ma'am, he is busy. Try some of this, Chet. It's wonderful.”

Toward the end of the meal, Nell offered them coffee, so Chet figured they must not be Mormons. Lots of Mormons lived in the Territory, and he knew they avoided the use of coffee as if it was poison.

The meal finished, they rose from the table and thanked Nell again for the good food. He told the Holmeses they'd need to get up early, but there was no need for them to get up then.

“I'll have breakfast on before sunup. You three come eat with us,” Nell announced.

“We sure will, and thanks much. If you ever come to our country, you come and stay with us at my ranch.”

“I don't know when or how that could happen, but I'd love to do that.” The round little woman beamed.

They slept in the hay barn that night. The weather wasn't as cold as it was at home, but wrapped in his bedroll he thought of his warm wife at home and wished he was there with her.

 

 

Nell fixed them a large breakfast the next morning. Then she sent several loaves of sourdough bread with them, along with two jars of her peach jam. They rode off laughing and teasing her that if she got tired of her husband they'd marry her.

Out of the gate, they trotted their horses south. Midmorning, they found where the outlaws had camped and slept. Chet hoped to catch sight of them by midday.

The sun warmed things up quickly, so they shed their coats. They rode around most of the irrigated land that the outlaws had probably avoided in order to not be seen.

Late afternoon, Chet and his men spotted some loose horses at a building at a well. Then they saw a big black horse hitched with others out in front. The unpainted building had a sign:
GOLDBERG STORE/SALOON.

“They don't know us, so we can be some dusty cowhands needing a drink. They'll be nervous. Unless we need to shoot, hold your fire. Walk up to the bar and act like we don't know them.”

“Hey, I'm going to wash a ton of this dust down my throat,” Cole said.

“Me, too. Damn, this country is dry,” Chet said.

“It is a
malo
country,” Jesus said.

They hitched their horses outside and Chet entered the open doorway first. Out by itself, there was no need to have batwing doors on the saloon. No women passed by on the boardwalk that might not want to see the contents and activity going on inside.

“Hello,
amigos.
You ride a long ways?” the Mexican bartender asked.

“From the border,” Chet replied.

He'd seen the big man at the table and the other two, but avoided looking at them as he and his men bellied up to the bar and ordered beers. In the shadowy light, he could see the three in the mirror behind the bar. The bartender brought their beers and asked if he should wake up the
putas
out back for them.

“No, we're just passing through.”

The man nodded and took their thirty cents off the counter.

Chet saw that Curly was swilling down whiskey by the shot glass and looked mad about something. No telling what that was about. And no reason to stall.

He turned from his beer. “Put your hands on the table.”

“Who the hell are you?” Curly asked, then swallowed at facing the three pistols pointed at them.

“Lawmen. You're under arrest for horse stealing and trying to murder a rancher. Disarm them, men.”

“How in the hell did you find us?” Curly demanded.

“We followed your horse apples here.”

“Those guys
banditos
?” the bartender asked, sounding upset.

“Yes, they are. You ever seen them before?”

“No,
señor
. I never seen them before today.”

“Well, they'll soon be serving time in jail in Preskitt.”

“Are you the sheriff?”

“No. I'm the US Marshal.” He motioned to Jesus. “Get the handcuffs.”

“Do something. Do something, Curly!” the kid screamed.

“What the hell you expect me to do, kid?”

“Shoot them. Shoot them, like you did that old sumbitch up there.”

“Shut up,” Curly said.

“Yeah, do that, kid. If he dies, you three will hang.” Jesus clamped the cuffs on him. “You better listen or we'll have you gagged.”

“What's your name?” Cole asked the old man when he cuffed him.

“Barnaby Stove.”

Chet never heard his name before, either. No telling where they came from, but he had a good idea there was blood on that back path. He also had an idea of a simple way to get back to his wife real quick.

“Let's take them to Hayden's Ferry. I'll go with them on the stage, and you boys can take your time driving these horses home.”

Cole looked at Jesus. “Can you drive them home alone? One of us better ride with the boss.”

Jesus agreed. “You're right, one of us needs to go with him. I can drive them by myself.”

“Take your time doing it. And take no chances,” Chet said.

Late that night, they arrived at the ferry and put the three in the local jail. Chet bought five tickets for the morning stage. They left their saddles and gear to go on the stage, then put the horses up in the livery. The ticket man told them of a cantina where they could eat before the stage left. They slept a few hours before waking to get their grumpy prisoners out of jail and herding them to the café for breakfast.

The local law dropped in and handed them a wanted poster for the pair from Wells Fargo. It offered two hundred apiece on the three men for holdups they'd done in Utah.

Chet smiled over his cup of coffee. “You boys are going to do all right for sleeping on the ground while going after these three.”

Cole whistled. “Me and Jesus here may go on a spree with that much money.”

“Could I get married?” Jesus asked.

“Do you have a girlfriend somewhere?” Chet asked. He'd never heard his man even mention one.

“Yes. She is in Sonora. I have sent her letters and she has answered them.”

“We can get you a small house up at the Preskitt place. What's her name?”

“Carmellia. I can still ride with you and Cole if I am married?”

“I don't see why not.”

“Good. I will write her when I get home.”

He nodded and went back to his coffee. By the next day he'd have those three in Simms's jail. Before they left, he'd send his wife a telegram they were coming home on the stage, and for her to have Roamer there to take the prisoners to jail.

When he drove them out of the livery, he gave Jesus money to eat on and for ferry charges. No telling about the quicksand in the river crossing down there, they'd better use the ferry.

The horses were used to each other and drove easy down the hard-packed main street past the mill to the ferry.

Two trips across and Jesus was on his way home. He could stop to rest at the stage stops and use their corrals for the horses. He should make it home in three or four days. In a few hours, they'd pass him in the stagecoach.

Cole rode inside the stage with their prisoners, and Chet rode on top with the driver named Lum. They crossed the river on the ferry with his big horses impatiently stomping the barge's floor as they hand-cranked them over the Salt's low winter flow.

In a cloud of dust, Lum sent them north through the desert and back toward the small town called Phoenix. There, they went through more irrigated land before heading north through the flat desert toward the Bradshaw Mountains.

At New River Station they changed to fresh horses and pushed on to Bumble Bee. They'd make Preskitt by eight o'clock that night. Jesus would be three days making the same route. He'd have to send a few men from the ranch to meet and help him.

The rocking stage climbed higher in elevation, and despite the sun Chet put on his jacket. A tall cloudbank hung up in the northwest. At Bumble Bee, deep in the canyon, it wasn't visible, but when he and Cole took the prisoners to the outhouses behind the stop it looked like snow was headed for them.

“Be our luck, huh?” Cole smiled as they waited outside the open doors of the stinking outhouse. “Maybe we can ski home.”

“Maybe we'll have to.”

Weary of the prisoners, Cole shook his head. “I'd shut these grumbling bastards up. They sure get tiresome to listen to, and that kid is crazy as a loon.”