Once a Ranger (19 page)

“Yes, thanks to your hard riding. And we have the name of the man who hired them. Ralph McAllen. He owns part of the old Whitmore Ranch and, I guess, wanted to expand it.”

“What happens next?”

His hand was bothering him by then. Not catching much sleep and riding in the saddle twenty miles more that tired was not what he saw as a good idea. A few hours' sleep in coach and he'd be more awake to face this guy and maybe his hand would ease up. “I'm going home and then taking a stage to Tombstone. McAllen will be waiting there for news about his ranch-burning plans.”

“Two of the outlaws are dead,” Dan reported. “Three wounded. Three unscathed. We have all of them in the wagon.”

“We need an inquest held on those deaths. None of our people were hurt?”

“No, sir. We were ready for them.”

“Dan, you and Noble go home and get some rest. Cally's getting herself a new house built at Soda Springs. She can tell you all about it.”

Dan shook his head warily and walked off, and Guthrey looked at Baker. “Good job tonight. You go home and get some rest too. You can get the death inquests done when you wake up. Thanks to you and Vance, they didn't kill anyone here. Tell Zamora that he played the other part.”

“You need some rest, Guthrey. We'll get McAllen,” Baker said.

“Kinda figure that's my job, and since we have no jurisdiction down there in Tombstone, it makes it even wilder. I better go see if I can do it.”

“Hell, boss, we aren't afraid of either that sheriff or the law down there.”

“Still, I better handle it—myself.”

“One of us could back you.”

“Let me handle it. Thanks, all of you.”

“Get some rest,” Baker said, looking as done in as he must have felt.

Guthrey nodded to him. But he wanted the real man behind Mark Peters's death to stand trial. Being rich didn't exclude him from justice. At that moment, he knew if McAllen slipped out of the territory, he'd fight extradition and hire some high-priced lawyers to buy his way out. He wanted him in the Crook County jail. And, by damn, he would put him there
.

TWENTY-ONE

W
HEN HE RODE
into the yard of the jacal in Soda Springs at dawn, Cally ran out to greet him. “How are the others?”

He dropped heavy out of the saddle and hugged her. “All of them are unscathed. They're bringing the six prisoners and two dead men to the jail. Dan's in charge of jailing them.”

“No one was shot?”

“All my men are all right.”

“You look so tired. When did you sleep last?”

Amused, he shook his head. “I need a bath, clean clothes, and then I need to take a stage to Tombstone. There's one more man, McAllen. We found out he is the head guy, and he is still on the loose. I need to go down there to arrest him and this deal is wound up.”

“You haven't slept in two days, have you?”

“That's not important.”

As they went to the house, she grabbed his hand and opened it. “My heavens, you really bruised it.”

“It's better.”

“Oh yes. I can see it's more healed. How did you use it?”

“Easily.”

They both laughed.

He bathed and a messenger brought word that the stage for Tombstone would arrive in Soda Springs at five o'clock in the afternoon. Cally thanked the lad and turned to her husband. “Now you can sleep some.”

Reluctant, he accepted her words and slept until afternoon. She fed him and then they walked to the county building where the stage would stop. Both Zamora and Baker were at the jail.

“The ringleader, Clark, died this afternoon. Dan got him to sign a confession and had it witnessed,” Zamora said. “That should end that, huh?”

“I hope McAllen is still in Tombstone when I get there.” Guthrey considered the situation. He had his work cut out for him.

“I had the judge sign a warrant for his arrest for you to carry.” Baker handed it to him.

“Either of you personally know the Tombstone constable?”

They shook their heads. “Virgil Earp is the one in charge. He's a brother to the law in Wichita, Wyatt, I think.”

“Must have been Dodge City. I was already Rangering when they used it for a delivery point for cattle drives.”

“Anyway, Johnny Beyhan is the sheriff down there,” Zamora said. “But he belongs to old man Clanton and them border outlaws.”

Guthrey shook his head. “I'll find Earp when I get down there. And if McAllen hasn't fled, I'll find him.”

“Be careful,” Zamora said. “He could have some hired protection.”

“I'll watch for it.”

* * *

T
HE STAGE ROLLED
in before sundown. Guthrey kissed his wife good-bye, climbed in the empty coach, and left in a cloud of dust. He sat back in the seat; he'd be in Tombstone in a few hours. Grateful for the few hours of sleep he'd gained in his own bed, he rocked around in the coach seat and smiled. Riding a stage was never a comfortable ride, being tossed around on every bump. The only thing worse was riding a log wagon with no springs.

Alert and looking around, he stepped down in front of the stage office in Tombstone. He hitched his holster when his boot heels struck the dirt of the street. Tombstone had not yet put in effect its “no gun” law, though it had been threatened by the city council. He spoke to the stage driver who let him out.

“Where is this town's Marshal Earp?”

“Oriental Saloon, down the street on the left, more than likely.”

Guthrey thanked him and walked the crowded boardwalk under the porch. Due to the three-shift mining operations, the saloons were busy around the clock. Whores screamed and laughed at a high pitch. Their voices were heard over the tinny pianos and the cussing that rang out in the dark.

Guthrey had no desire to try to keep a place like this straight. Boomtowns were the worst places to have to patrol as a Ranger. Too many quick-triggered individuals got involved in arrests when it was none of their damn business. Instead of facing a lone drunk or crook, the matter soon turned into a public forum in the street. Tough job, and it grew worse when something stirred them up. Guthrey pushed into the smoky interior of the Oriental Saloon and spotted a tall man in the back of the room.

“Marshal Earp?”

The man nodded and in a strong voice said, “I don't believe I've met you.”

“My name is Guthrey. I'm looking for a man who hired a band of killers to run off ranchers.”

“You're the sheriff in Crook County. I've heard of you. I understand. Let's go back into the office where we can talk.”

Virgil closed the door. “Who are you after?”

“Ralph McAllen.”

“I have bad news for you. I think he left for El Paso today. I hate to tell you that, but you can check over at the hotel. I watched him close the past few weeks. I had word he was hiring tough gun hands for some operation he planned. But his purpose was a secret and I couldn't find out what it was.”

“His men hung a rancher friend of mine on a windmill up in Crook County. We cut off their next raid with the help of a scout who found their hidden camp in the Dragoons. Three are dead and the other five left are in jail—I really wanted him to join them.”

“Unless you go in there as a bounty hunter, you will never get him out of Texas.” Virgil shook his head.

“I might. I put in some time with the Rangers.”

“That might get you in. But El Paso is a tough place, Guthrey.” Virgil looked at his dusty boot toes. “He's rich and will be hard to prosecute as well.”

“I don't care. He paid those men to spook more ranchers and to murder one of them. He can sit in Yuma till he dies, for my money.”

“You're the one who had that public move to throw out the old sheriff, aren't you?”

“Yes. There was no law in Crook County.”

Virgil took off his hat and shook his head. Amused, he looked hard at Guthrey. “I'd bet a man who got that done could drag that scoundrel McAllen back and jail him in Yuma.”

“I intend to.”

“Nice to meet you. If I can ever help, you wire me.”

“I will, Virgil. I'll go get a room and go home on the morning stage. Thanks. Just damn disappointing he slipped away.”

“You drink?”

“No.”

Virgil chuckled. “I'd have bought you a drink.”

“Maybe some other time. Thanks.”

“Yes.”

Guthrey found supper in a hole-in-the-wall diner that served Irish beef stew. The narrow room was crowded with miners frosted in dust who were coming off duty. The man next to him spoke with an Irish accent. “What'cha doing in here?”

“Eating.”

“Oh, I can see that, but you look like a rich rancher.”

He shook his head. “Where do you say I should be eating?”

“Down the street at the lady's restaurant—Nellie Cashman's place.”

“I like stew good enough.”

“Suit yourself.” He went back to slurping it off his spoon.

Guthrey laughed. What was his point? Just rattling off. If Guthrey had been down in a dark, wet mine for a work shift, he'd probably have wanted to eat at that nice café. Lord, he needed a good night's sleep.

* * *

A
FTER AN UNEVENTFUL
morning, he caught the stage for home and arrived about noon. He told his deputies that McAllen had fled Tombstone for El Paso.

“You going down there and find him?” Baker asked.

“Do you know El Paso?”

“Not really, but it's a tough place. Right, Zamora?”

“Oh, that is a bad place.”

Guthrey nodded and rose. “Tomorrow I want to go out to the ranch and tell that superintendent, Pierson, to load his ass up and get gone.”

Baker smiled. “Can we do that—legally?”

“Legally, probably not, or I'd arrest him if I had real hard evidence. But if he don't leave, I will promise to include him in the trial of the killers as an accessory. That should make him get out.”

“I want to go along,” Baker said. “I can get a warrant today from the judge.”

“Good. Do that. Zamora, run the office. I'd like Noble to ride along too. That old man knows lots about people. It might get to be serious over there.”

“I'll send him word,” Zamora said.

“Anything else wrong?”

The two men shook their heads. “Things are slow,” Baker said.

“Good. I'm going home, prop my feet up, and eat my wife's food.”

“You should do that. You've been running hard,” Zamora said. “Your new deputy is tracking down horse thieves today.”

“Good; he'll find them. We may need to build on to the jail,” Guthrey teased and waved good-bye.

Intent on getting to Cally, he hurried down the grade on his boot heels and crossed behind the corrals. At the doorway, he stopped and smiled at his wife, who was busy taking baked bread out of the oven. Turning to put it on the table, she saw him.

“Oh, you're back.” She put the brown loaves down and discarded her cloth hot handle holders to run over and hug him. “I'm so glad to see you.”

He kissed her. She told him to stay right there. Then she stuck her head out the door and looked both ways. With that done, she closed the door and put the bar in place. Then she turned around and, with hands on her slim hips, said, “Undress. You are mine.”

He toed off his boots, laughing. “Darling, I am always yours.”

She was right before him. They were both laughing.

“Damn, I'm glad I married you,” he said and kissed her.

* * *

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
Noble was there on a fresh horse. He joined them for a breakfast of hot oatmeal with coffee, Cally's fresh bread, butter, and prickly pear jelly. “We have the cattle all treated that had screwworms and they're doing good. You could sell some more big steers. They're in good shape.”

“The way they're stacking lumber around here, we may need to sell a hundred head,” Guthrey teased Cally.

“No. We have the money in the bank and we are in no trouble.”

Guthrey looked at Noble. “I guess we don't need to sell steers.”

“If you men want to sell steers, I'll put it in the bank.”

“We need a ranch meeting with Dan present.”

Cally agreed.

The men rode off to pick up Baker and then go on to find Walter Pierson at the big ranch. Guthrey had not been on that place since he had run down and arrested the past owner. He wondered how many men they had on the payroll. Outside of some quiet rumors of trouble, Pierson had kept his harassment to strictly verbal, despite his loud charges at the start. Still, a part owner of the outfit had chosen to hire thugs to drive ranchers off the range.

Near noon they rode under the crossbar and up to the house. A large, straight-backed woman came out onto the porch, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“Who are you?”

Guthrey removed his hat. “Good morning, ma'am. My name is Guthrey. I'm the sheriff of Crook County, and I'm here to talk to Walter Pierson.”

“He ain't here.”

“I don't have your name?”

“Hattie Milgrim.”

“Nice to meet you, Hattie. Has Pierson left the country?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hiding a fugitive is a crime in this territory.”

“Are you saying I am hiding a fugitive?”

“I just told you the law. I have a warrant from the circuit judge to search these premises.”

“What in the world for?”

“A man who works for this ranch operation had a rancher murdered. We intend to find the person responsible and have him tried. Do you know a Mr. McAllen?”

“No, but I'm protesting your search of this ranch.”

“Sorry. Take a seat on the porch, please. We are going through everything here.”

“I suppose you will.”

“Baker, take the house. Noble, you look over the grounds. I want any fresh hides that belong to other ranches. I want any evidence we can charge them with.”

“Are you telling me I may be arrested?”

“No, ma'am, but we are looking for crimes we can prove.”

In a short while, Noble brought two fresh hides that did not bear the ranch's brand. The woman refused to say anything when Guthrey asked her about them.

Later, when Guthrey checked inside with Baker, his deputy had found the books detailing where money was drawn to pay the leader of the raids. The dead man, Clark, was plainly the receiver of a large amount of money. Baker closed out the book. They were taking the records along as evidence.

“Hattie, where are all the hands that work here at? No one has come around since we got here.”

“I don't run the cowboys or any hands here.”

“Isn't that strange? I mean, no one is here but you?”

“I control the house, that's all.”

“Fine, but were they here at all?” he asked her.

“I told you, I only run the house.”

“Damn strange, no one is here but you.”

Noble came over. “I checked the bunkhouse. The workers took most of their things with them.”

“I have no idea where they went. They told me nothing.”

“Boys, I guess we're a day late,” Guthrey said. “Baker, is there a list of who they paid last?”

“They didn't pay them their last check out of that book.”

“Hattie you know more about this than you're telling me.”

“I simply run this house.”

“You know why they left. Were they afraid of arrest?”

She shook her head. “They told me nothing.”

“By damn, you know more than you're letting on, woman,” Noble spoke up.

She shook her head.

“Boys, we have what we want and we can make a list of the men and run them down,” Guthrey said. They'd be wasting time talking to her any longer. Maybe in court she'd tell the truth. He was having her as a witness on every trial.

Guthrey and his team went to their horses and rode back to Soda Springs. It was near sundown when they finally reached the courthouse. He stopped into the office to talk to Zamora. Baker had come along with Guthrey, but Guthrey had sent Noble on to their jacal in town.