Once a Ranger (6 page)

“Guess you were about like I was last June—a little anxious.” Guthrey shook his head, recalling those days.

“Yes, sir. But the preacher married us and we came out and I was going to boost her on her horse.

“Now, she had on a pretty wedding dress that Mrs. Neal and her husband had bought for her. She grasped the horn and flipped into the saddle. Perfect deal, but I guess the horse saw this flying white thing land on his back and he went to bucking. My heart stopped, and she flew off. We rushed down there to help her up and she was laughing.

“‘What's so funny?' I asked.

“‘I have never been thrown off a horse in my entire life. You go catch him.'

“And she did ride him that next time. I blamed the dress for not being the proper attire. But she sure got mad about being bucked off. We both laugh about it today.”

“I can tell she's a great lady. You're a lucky man to have her.”

Thayer agreed.

“Why are we going to Portal?”

“An Apache buck that Thayer knows, who we met on the trail, told him that the horses we were after had been over there. Thayer knows all them Apaches,” Noble said.

Thayer agreed. “They all know Nell. They stop by for food and she feeds them. They have never taken a thing and I think I live in a safe place up there with them being around there like the wind. They come and go.”

Guthrey smiled at him. “I don't know if anyone told you, Thayer, but you're one of the good guys.”

“Aw, hell, I never figured I'd ever have a real wife. Nell is a wonderful woman and she fits in my life. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. I have one of my own at home.”

Dan smiled and said, “Thayer, she about ran him off the day of my gun-fighting experience I told you about.”

They all laughed and drank more coffee. Finally Guthrey paid for their meal and they found a place in the dry wash to spread out their blankets, and they hitched their horses, which had been grained and watered. There was no feed in the brush-choked canyon, so they tied the horses up. Then they slept till before sunup. Maria, the lady at the stage stop, had breakfast ready for them before they rode on.

When they headed east on Wednesday, they took off their badges and pocketed them, now being simply citizens looking for stolen horses. Everyone agreed. Activity at Fort Bowie was minimal and they hardly stopped except to water their horses at the fort's spring. By midday they were close to their goal. The Apache didn't know the names of the property owners near Portal, but he did make a map in the dirt that Dan copied. There were many small places in that country and they rode right up to the adobe house and corrals where the Apache had seen the horses. Dogs barked. A man came out, putting up his suspenders and unarmed.

“What'cha need?”

“Four stolen horses,” Guthrey said. “Mind if we look?”

“They ain't here.”

“Where did they go? They were here two days ago.”

“Listen, I ain't no damn horse thief.”

“Did I say that? We've rode several days and an eyewitness told us they were here.”

“Who told you that?” The man scowled, looking them over.

“A reliable witness. Now where are they?”

“I ain't—”

Guthrey spurred the roan up against the man and he staggered back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I want an answer. Those horses were here. Who moved them?”

“You ain't the damn law. I don't have to tell you nothing.”

“Do you like your teeth?”

“Sure, why?”

“How would you like them in your hand?”

“All right. All right. There were some horses—here earlier this week. How would I know they were stolen?”

“Who brought them here?”

“Two guys.”

“What were their names?” Guthrey forced the roan with his reins to confront the man.

“Wyllis Saddler and Guy Quinn.”

“Where did they go?”

“New Mexico, I reckon.”

“Where over there?”

“Lordsburg, hell, I don't know.”

Guthrey reined the roan away from him. “You put up any more stolen horses and you will find yourself busting rocks in Yuma. You hear me?”

“Yeah.” The man swallowed hard. “Who in the hell are you anyway?”

“My name's Phillip Guthrey. What's yours?”

“Norm Logan.”

“Just remember, Norm Logan, where you'll be if you hide outlaws and stolen property.”

“Yeah.”

“Let's ride,” Guthrey said to the others.

When they were headed back east, Dan rode in close to him, being certain they were out of the man's hearing. “We going to Lordsburg?”

Guthrey shook his head. “Too far and by now they ain't there either.” He twisted in the saddle. “I'm sorry, Thayer, we tried.”

“I understand. You've done all you could do. I sure appreciate you two as well.”

“No.” Guthrey shook his head disappointed. “But it will have to do.”

They headed back toward home. Late the next day they parted with Thayer, rode the stagecoach road to Steward's Crossing, and got home past midnight.

Sleepy eyed and swinging a candle lantern, Cally welcomed them and said she had food if they wanted some. They gratefully accepted her offer. Guthrey hugged and kissed her as they went inside.

“I'd drop dead right here,” he told her.

“I know you three must have gone to the ends of the earth. Did you get them?”

“No, they were gone to New Mexico.”

The men ate cold brown beans and leftover corn bread, then Dan and Noble staggered off to the bunkhouse. Guthrey took a towel and soap to the shower. The water and air was cool by then and his shower was brief, but afterward he felt clean enough to share the bed with his lovely wife.

In their bed, he hugged and kissed her and then fell asleep.

She let him sleep in the next morning while she did her chores. About ten she made breakfast and rang the triangle. Dan and the old man stumbled in from the bunkhouse and Guthrey put on fresh clothes to join them.

“What next?” Dan asked.

“You two better check stock. I'm headed for the office and will try to be back here tonight.”

With her slender butt against the dry sink, Cally went to pouring coffee. “You boys have some good meals on the road?”

“No,” Dan said and they laughed.

Dan shook his head. “We never had time for anything but to ride and search. We invited people we met to come to the dance and so did your husband.”

“We invited all of them to come up for the dance,” Guthrey said. “Thayer's wife, Nell, was kidnapped in an Apache raid, married one, and when he got killed, she left them and walked back up here from way down in Mexico. He has a dandy story about courting her.”

“You'd like her,” Dan said. “I bet they come to the dance one Saturday night.”

Guthrey and Noble agreed.

“That sounds neat,” Cally said.

Guthrey said, “She's some gal. He said she got bucked off a horse in her wedding dress and was mad because she'd never been thrown before.” He turned to Noble. “Do you know Mark Peters's wife?”

“Naw, I never knew her. They haven't been married for long. Why?”

“Well, she looks like someone I once met or knew. I can't recall the meeting except she looked real familiar. Some people have mirror images. Maybe she does.”

“He met her in Tucson, didn't he?” Cally said. “I'd heard of her.”

“Yes, she said she was a widow. I never heard anyone say where she came from.”

Noble shook his head. “I hadn't either.”

“She may come to the dance too, you said,” Dan put in.

“They all said they might. Now you have all the gossip we learned,” Guthrey teased her and smiled.

“Will we go to the dance this week?” she asked.

“Certainly. I am going to check on things at Soda Springs and come right back.”

“Good.” She hugged his shoulder. “Nice to have you all back. I'll get busy and bake some pies.”

“Whew, we sure saw lots of country not to have gotten them horses back. Those two that stole them went over into New Mexico and we quit. I don't like it one bit.”

She nodded, understanding his concern. “Maybe they won't be back.”

Guthrey stopped. “No. They got by with it once. I'd say they'll do it again.”

After breakfast, he saddled a big bay ranch horse called Jim Green. He'd chuckled several times at what cowboys named horses in their remuda. Many times he'd picked a different name for the one he rode, but to the rest this horse would still be Jim Green. As Shorty Harris told him one time when he was Rangering down in the Waco area, “The damn horse won't come when you call them by it anyway.”

Jim Green had a running walk he could hold all day. And he always shortened the ride over to town and back. So Guthrey set out and arrived in midafternoon.

Things must be quiet.
Teddy Baker was behind the desk and reading wanted posters. He stood up and shook Guthrey's hand. “How are you doing? We had word you'd gone fishing.”

“I wish.” Guthrey laughed. “Thayer, a rancher in the Dragoons, had four horses stolen. Dan, Noble, and I rode our butts off over to a place the other side of the Chiricahuas called Portal. They'd gone on to New Mexico. So we came back.”

“He's the man that married the woman that was an Apache hostage and she walked, I heard, on foot all the way back from the Sierra Madres.”

“Yes. Nice lady. What's happening around here?”

“Some big outfit bought the Whitmore Ranch, or they said they did. The ramrod is pretty much a big mouth. His name is Walter Pierson. He came in here demanding to see you and said the small ranchers were eating his beef and he wanted it stopped. I asked him if he had any proof and he simply went on talking about what he was going to do to them, spouting off about running the other ranchers out or shutting them down. I simply told him there was law here and he was not the judge or jury. I don't think he liked it, but I think we have more trouble—like you had before.”

“Should have put him in a box and shipped him back to where he came from.”

“I damn sure wanted to. I have the funeral home report on the Carlson bodies.”

Guthrey took it from him and read the report. The missus died from being beaten over the head with a club. George Carlson died from two .44 bullets in his chest. The girl had been raped and smothered to death. The paper had been signed by the doctor and funeral man. They'd done a thorough job.

He put the paper down. “I have a boot print of a large boot. It's a real big one. And a goatskin glove with a star on it drawn with indelible ink.”

The glove, retrieved from Guthrey's vest pocket, he handed to Baker, who examined it. “Nice job of sewing it. The woman who made that was a real craftsman. You know anyone makes them like that?”

“No, but we need to find her if she's in the area. You think a woman made it?”

Baker nodded. “Those small stitches took lots of care and time. We'll find the maker if she's around here, plus she hand worked lots of sheep fat in that leather to ever get it that soft.”

“She's probably made hundreds and she won't recall him, but the star may be a lead. Put it in the file as evidence in those murder cases. We don't have much to go on, but killers slip up. I sure want them in jail before they kill any more.”

“The county board finally hired a man to build the scaffold.”

“Good. You and Zamora be sure it's solid. I knew a Texas sheriff had one built and when all of them got up there to hang a man, the damn thing collapsed. The sheriff broke his leg and the prisoner got away. Don't ask me how; I wasn't there. But it was supposed to have happened.”

“It will be secure.”

“Keep an eye and ear on this Walter Pierson. He starts running over small ranchers, I'll run him out on a rail.”

Baker agreed.

“I'm going to the dance tomorrow night with my wife, and plan to have a leisurely day Sunday at the ranch with her, but don't hesitate to send word if you need me.”

Guthrey rode back to the ranch and arrived before sundown. His wife rushed out and tackled him. A long ways from the straight-backed young lady he'd met here months ago. Short of flattening him, she let go, rose up, and kissed him, as excited as a yearling filly colt. Whew, he never expected his married life to be such fun. Noble took the horse and the infatuated newlyweds went to the porch, both ignoring the rest, they were so concentrated on each other.

“Tell me about what you found,” she said.

He put his hat on her head, rolled up his sleeves, and washed his hands in the enamel washbasin. Then he took a towel down and mopped his face and dried his hands.

“Let's see. Someone stole Mrs. Gunzo's best fighting rooster.”

Cally laughed. “Did your deputies apprehend him?”

“I don't think so but they are hot on his trail.”

“Good.”

“On the other side, between Doc and the funeral director, they issued a report on the murders. And some company must have bought the Whitmore Ranch. Their supervisor came in raising hell, saying that folks were eating his beef. His name is Walter Pierson. Teddy Baker wished he'd stayed in hell.”

“Will he be like Whitmore?”

“Not for very long. I won't put up with him.”

She hugged his arm when he hung the towel on the nail. He raised the hat brim on her head and kissed her. “Good to see you. Maybe we can have some peace this weekend.”

She smiled. “I hope so.”

She put food out for him and apologized for it being cold. Then she hung his hat on the rack and joined him. “Our guys thought everything was fine up range. They're going west tomorrow to check, then ride up to the dance, and Noble's coming back to milk the cow in the morning. He has a tent for us in the buckboard if that's okay?”