Once a Ranger (9 page)

“Really?” Dan smiled at him.

“He's tough but he's also a loud color.”

Baker smiled. “Just what you need. An outlaw that knew you had him could sure be warned you were coming.”

They all laughed.

Then Cochise gave a loud whistle outside about something, and they scrambled for their guns getting up. Guthrey pointed for Baker to take the back way out while he headed for the front door. Noble blew out the lights.

Guthrey could hear the beat of horse hooves, and three riders came by slinging lead at the stage depot. But their aim was wild and Guthrey got one shot at them before they were gone. More shots out back, and he sent Noble to go check on Baker.

“Will they come back?” Dan asked.

“I doubt it. It was hit-and-run, and had the stallion not whistled, we'd'a been sitting ducks. What have you got?” he asked Noble, who came in from the kitchen.

“Baker shot one of them. Bring a light.”

“Dan, keep an eye out here. Be ready; they may try to come back.”

He agreed and Guthrey took a candle lamp from the woman. On the back steps he saw Baker squatted down by a body on the ground.

“He still alive?'

Baker nodded.

Guthrey, after checking the night around them, knelt down beside the man. In the lamplight the man made a pained face.

“Who are you?”

“None of your damn business.”

“You've been shot, huh?”

“Yeah. Hurts like hell.” He gritted his teeth.

“You don't start answering questions, you're going to die right here. I'm going to let your life drain out of you right here in this gravel.”

“All right. All right. My name's Bob Denton.”

“You were court-martialed in Texas for selling Indian women as slaves.”

“Yeah.”

“You held up the stage with all the money. Now, why in the hell didn't you go to Mexico?”

“The colonel has a plan.”

“You know that plan?”

He shook his head.

Guthrey rose and looked around. “Can we hire someone to take him to a doctor and then to jail in Florence?”

The man who managed the stage stop said, “One of my men can take him to Florence and do that.”

“I can pay him twenty dollars. I'll write out the instruction for his arrest.”

“We'll get a buckboard around here and some blankets.”

Guthrey thanked him. Then he turned to Baker. “What happened?”

“He shot at me when I got to the back door. I returned fire and shot him.”

Guthrey asked, “Someone see his horse? We may need it.”

Dan spoke up. “He's over by the corral. I'll get him.”

Guthrey held up the light to examine the horse. He was a well-muscled Morgan-bred horse under an army McClellan saddle. Impressive. They obviously were well mounted, which explained why they'd made such good distances.

“Where were you going, Denton?” he asked the wounded outlaw.

“Damn if I know. I just follow orders.”

“I don't believe you, and I'm tempted to kick you in that wounded leg.”

“I swear I don't know. They never said.”

Back inside, Guthrey wrote a note on the back of a wanted poster the stage stop man gave him:

To whom it may concern

This man is wanted by the U.S. Army. You are entitled to the reward they offer for him. If you can't do that I will have him picked up and we will try him for shooting a stagecoach guard and robbery.

Sheriff Phillip Guthrey

Crook County Sheriff, Soda Springs, Arizona Territory

“Give that to the law officials down there.”

“He will do that.”

Guthrey turned to his men. “We'll take that horse with us. Let's get some sleep and ask this lady to have breakfast ready for us at sunup, and then we'll follow them some more. An opportunity will open for us to get them.”

Everyone agreed.

TEN

A
T DAWN, THEY
finished their meal and the horses were saddled. On the back of another wanted poster, the stage man drew them the stage route around the great wall formed by Superstition Mountain. He pointed to the forks of the roads where the stages went to Mesa and on to the Hayden Flour Mill, then Phoenix, and the other road went to Fort McDowell from the north side of the mountain's base. His map also showed the way north to Rye and another site above there called Payson. Then the trails split to go to Fort Apache or north to the settlements on the northern east-to-west stage route.

They rode out and Guthrey's men teased him some about his paint horse, but it was his horse's whistle that had signaled the raid. Overnight, the wounded bandit had been taken to Florence and handled by the law down there, the stage man reported.

The day's heat began to rise and they reached the next stage stop at Apache Junction by midafternoon. They learned the outlaws had not stopped there, but rode by in a long trot. Five men instead of six now, which encouraged Guthrey to decide a few more needed to be separated from the outfit and they'd be vulnerable to him and his men. They never sighted them that day as they made camp across the Salt River on the north bank and ate dry crackers and jerky for supper.

After all their hot, sweaty days in the saddle, the men bathed in the sunset-bloodied Salado, or Salt River. But they were on the gang's trail and the horse apples were fresh on the rough wagon tracks that led northward.

Guthrey felt an opportunity to overtake them would soon appear. He was ready, as they drew for night guard shifts, to end this pursuit. Up before dawn, they made coffee and gnawed on beef jerky, saddled their horses, and headed for the reservation and the camp of soldiers stationed there.

An officer at Fort McDowell told him they had not noticed the outlaws passing, so they must have avoided the fort on purpose.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Moss. These men were court-martialed for selling Indian women into slavery.”

“I know about that case. If I can be of service, tell me how I can help.”

“I realize that rules now keep you from offering me men. We'll get them.”

“Sounds unreasonable, but those are my orders.”

“Thanks.” He reined Cochise for the road to Rye and rallied his men.

Both Noble and Baker felt sure they were on the track of the outlaws. They knew the hoof prints well and moved northward in a trot. The wagon road wound higher into the boulder-strewn mountains, and they were forced to climb the steep grades at a walk to save their horses. Late in the day they reached a flatter surface. Guthrey went higher up and used his field glasses to study the road. He spotted the five-man formation and pack animals in a tight group, trotting no more than a quarter mile ahead.

He bailed on his horse and rushed off the mountain. The big horse half slid and half scrambled, but, sure-footed, he landed at the bottom and surged for the others.

“Let's take them. Time to shock them with a charge.”

The others rushed after him with their guns drawn.

The outlaws looked back, shocked at first, and waited for orders. The posse closed in and soon began shooting at them. Two men in green went down and another dove off his horse to save the packhorses' leads. One of the officers was spurring his horse to escape. Guthrey set Cochise after him. Like a rocket, the big horse charged into a furious race after the man and his mount. Cochise closed the distance on the flat road, and Guthrey holstered his .45, then undid the lariat on his saddle as he charged on.

He made a loop, swung it wide. It settled over the man's shoulders, and before he could free himself, Guthrey jerked his slack and turned the big horse aside. The man screamed but was unhorsed and disappeared in the cloud of dust when Guthrey stopped his horse. He whirled Cochise around and rode to face the man as he wound up his rope.

“My arm is broken.”

“You had a chance to surrender. That's your fault. Get on your feet and don't try anything.”

“Who are you?”

“I'm sheriff of Crook County, where you held up the stage.”

“You can't arrest me up here.” Holding his hurt arm and grumbling, he started back for the others, walking in front of Guthrey.

“I can arrest you in Mexico City or Paris. It might not stick there, but it will here. My men have been in pursuit of you since the robbery.”

“We should have eliminated them when we discovered them.”

Guthrey shook his head, reloading his Colt .45 and keeping his eye on the man walking ahead of his horse. “I would have tracked you down anyway.”

“That's your thoughts.”

“Pretty damn good ones, weren't they?” Guthrey saw the others were either handcuffed or lying prone on the ground.

Baker met him. “One man is dead. One wounded and the other two are all right. What's wrong with him?”

“Broke his arm when I jerked him off his horse. He says he should have killed the three of you.”

“Yeah, he damn sure should have.” Baker checked the man for weapons and then shoved him roughly toward the others.

“Hey,” Dan said over his discovery of the loot in the panniers. “We have a fortune here in these packs, Guthrey. Let's go to Mexico and celebrate.”

“Let's go home. Cally's worried about us. Right, Noble?”

“Yes, I bet she is. That little lady is plumb worried by now.”

There was some gathering of the stock. The prisoners were chained to their horses. Dan led them. The other wounded man had a small injury, and the dead man was wrapped in a blanket and tied over a horse. Even the broken-armed colonel rode in that line. Noble led their pack animals, and Baker rode guard, cradling a rifle in his arms like Guthrey did.

They put them in the brig at Fort McDowell overnight. They buried the dead outlaw, whose name was T. J. Goings, in the cemetery. The lieutenant had the army camp cooks really feed them, and everyone enjoyed it. His telegraph man sent a message to Soda Springs telling Guthrey's office and all the families, like Cally and Baker's wife, that they were all right and bringing back the prisoners and loot.

“You got anyone needs to be let known?” Guthrey asked Dan.

He shook his head. “The news will beat us home.”

Guthrey gave him a shake of his shoulders. “Tough job, wasn't it?”

“Boy, yes. I may sleep for a week when we get back.”

“We'll be there in a while. We get back to Florence we'll pick up the other one of the gang, if he's alive, and then in three days after that we should be home.”

“Please don't have another crisis for a few days. All right?”

Guthrey chuckled. “I'll try to space them out.”

Guthrey had never met Baker's wife, but he figured she'd be glad when he got back. He would make it a point to meet her the first chance he got. His main crew would split any reward they received for the return of the wanted men. The three men plus Zamora, who stayed home and did all that work in their absence, would get the money. It could easily be a thousand dollars or more to split. That would help all of them.

They picked up Denton in Florence and thanked the sheriff. Guthrey offered to pay the man for his keep but the heavy, mustached man shook his head. “That's on me. Good luck to you. You're a tough force to have gotten them.”

Three days later, they were in Soda Springs. Guthrey wired the fort at El Paso and told them to bring the reward money for the six escapees. He explained that one was dead and buried at Camp McDowell and he had a death certificate for him. The rest would be here when they sent their men to take them back. Save the county the cost of a trial. They also had the Wells Fargo money and would get a reward for that too.

Guthrey's four men, in the end, earned eight hundred seventy-five dollars each from the federal and Wells Fargo rewards. The express company sent an armed force on horseback with a wagon to pick up the loot.

Very grateful for his share, Baker bought a small house for his wife, Donna, and their three kids. Zamora planned on having a small house built on his place so his mother-in-law could move over there from Socorro. His wife, Candy, hugged Guthrey and kissed his face. The deputies cheered, “Grandma is coming.”

Noble shoved his reward in his pocket for a rainy day and so did Dan. Both thanked him.

Back at the ranch, he found Cally disappointed. While he was gone, she'd found out she wasn't with child, but she was happy to have her man back. He was glad to be back too. She'd been there for the rewards payoff and thought he was good to do that for his men, and told him so as they went home in the buckboard.

“Can we go to the dance Saturday?”

“I hope so.” He hugged her shoulder. “I think we have things settled down.”

“I hope so too.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I sure miss you when you're gone.”

“That makes two of us.” He felt lots of pride in his woman as he drove the dusty road, ranch bound.

* * *

T
HE NEXT FEW
days were nice and calm, and Guthrey and Cally went to the dance on Saturday, and then to church on Sunday. The next week, Guthrey sent Noble with a wagon over to get the Mexican couple, Guermo and Deloris Diaz, for Cally. The sooner the couple got here the sooner she'd have some help. And they might cheer her up—not being pregnant like she expected disappointed her, but he privately teased her that they could sure work on it some more.

He went to make his rounds while Noble went to get the Diazes. There had not been much going wrong in his absence. He wasn't mad that things were quiet, but they were too quiet to suit him. Arizona Territory was right on the trail of many bad guys, pickpockets, sham artists, and wanted killers who used this route to escape being arrested, moving like a wave into the areas with the least effective forms of law. It was a wonder they didn't set up headquarters in either town in the county since they both sat right on the main highway from Texas to California.

Guthrey rode over to the house of ill repute in Steward's Crossing to see if Ellen Foster, the lady of the house, knew anything he didn't about what might be going on.

He hitched his horse at the fifty feet of hitch rail fronting her white picket fence, which shielded the two-story house's fine yard full of roses. The black girl he had once saved from being raped took his hat and told him she was sure glad to see him again. He agreed and asked where the boss was at.

“I goes get her. You's goes in de kitchen. They got plenty of food in thar and she be right along.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said and went down the front hall into the kitchen.

A tall blonde jumped up from table at the sight of him. “Why, Sheriff Guthrey. What brings you out so early?”

Three other girls sat around the table smiling for him.

“It's not early for me. You girls don't have to get up with the chickens.”

She laughed. “No, we stay up with old hoot owls half the night.”

They all laughed.

“I'd sure be honored if you'd sit by me,” Blondie said, holding the chair out for him.

He smiled. “I'd hate to disappoint a pretty girl. How are the rest of you?”

Blondie rounded him up a cup of hot coffee, canned milk, and sugar. Then real intimately she asked him how he liked his eggs.

“Scrambled's fine.”

“An omelet?”

“Fine.”

“We heard you arrested a whole army a week or so ago.”

“They were really prisoners that were supposed to be in jail.”

“Those army men who come after them from El Paso spent the night here when they came over. They wanted to know all about you.”

“Yeah, one said those prisoners were tough sumbitches. But we told them we had an ex–Texas Ranger captain that was our new sheriff.” She stood up and clapped, and the others joined in.

“Damn right we do.” Blondie kissed him on the cheek like she had rights to him. Thank God Cally would never know. He told them that the law was working fine, and if they needed any help, to call on him.

One of the thicker-set girls wearing a billowing one-piece sack dress and holding a coffee cup in both of her chubby small hands nodded. “We damn sure will. In most places the law and houses are at odds or being shaken down by the police. Thank God for you, sir.”

“Well, I see we're feeding you anyway.” Shorter than most of her girls, Ellen Foster, with her large breasts on a shelf under the expensive velvet dress, stood with her hands on her hips. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

“Just checking. We get lots of folks passing through this town. Some of them are outlaws. I can't be here, but you send word and one of my men will come to your aid.”

“We knew that. What else?”

“I simply came by to break bread with you.”

“Very kind. Blondie had a friend come by a few days ago. He's wanted in New Mexico. But he just came by for a short visit.”

Blondie nodded. “You know of Bill Bonney?”

“He's Billy the Kid, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Unless he makes trouble for himself in this territory, he's a free man.”

“He's nice to girls,” Blondie said. “And he has lots of them. To me he never grew up and that's the fun side of him. I never saw that killer side of the man.”

“Lots of outlaws are like that. They say Jesse James never forgot a lesson his momma taught him.”

“Some of us knew Pete Crawford from El Paso. Most generous man in Texas,” Ellen said. “And he gunned down two Rangers and two town marshals one night in Haileyville over just nothing.”

Guthrey knew that bloody story too. “If you don't know any more, then thanks for the free breakfast, it was damn good. I'll mosey along.”

Blondie caught his sleeve when he was getting up. “I serve breakfast in bed upstairs. Same price.”

“Much obliged.” Then Ellen went with him to the front door. “She don't recognize you're a real happy married man.”