by A. W. Hart
“Y’all come on in. Sadie has some coffee on,” he said.
A woman, also showing wear for her age, offered three coffees in chipped cups. A baby was sleeping in a crib against the wall. It was near the nicely made bed in the one-room cabin. Everything was spotless.
“Calvin, this is Reno and Sara Bass. They are the people who came to arrest you. I made them promise to hear your story before they decided what to do. You will note they are unarmed,” the mayor said.
“Howdy, folks. Welcome to what Sadie and I call ‘Hardscrabble Ranch.’ Or at least until a week from today, when we have to move out.”
“Why do you have to move in a week, Calvin?” Reno asked.
“Well, it’s a long story,” he said.
“We have the time. It’s important,” Sara told him.
“The railroad is going to come through here, and Butterfield wants to put a waystation here to connect with it for mail and all. They offered to give us cents on the dollar for the land and nothing toward the cabin. We couldn’t get another place with what they offered. It was only four hundred dollars for a full three hundred and sixty acres.”
Reno’s eyebrows raised, but neither he nor Sara spoke.
“So, we refused. Time passed, and we figured they changed their minds. Then, a railroad man came and said they now owned the land because of something called ‘eminent domain,’ which meant they went into court somewhere and got the right to take the land. It was their deal, so they were acting for the stage company, too. He said we’d have to take the four hundred dollars and be happy with it. I asked where it was, and he said he’d bring a check by once the stage got in. He told me the gold that would be deposited to cover our land and others was on the stage due last Thursday, a week ago,” Calvin related.
“So, you robbed the stage of the money?” Sara asked for clarification.
“I did. I never stole nothing in my life, but what was Sadie and me gonna do? We couldn’t put a roof over the baby’s little head with the small amount of money and still put food in her mouth. We’d have to get a little place in town, and what was I gonna do for a living?
“Now I got y’all coming out to take me to trial, where they will probably put me in prison for ten years. Then how’s Sadie and the baby gonna live? Even eat?”
The Basses looked at each other silently, and Sara mouthed, “Augusta.”
Reno knew what Sara was saying. It was exactly what he was thinking, too.
“Calvin, where was home? You know, before you came here?” Reno asked.
“Virginia. I can’t go back there. Reconstruction may be over in some Confederate states, but not Virginia. The payback there is bad, and it will be for years. Bad treatment and high taxes for natives. Carpetbaggers and scalawags from up North running the governments. Not what President Lincoln said he wanted before he got shot,” Calvin said.
“Well, you have California, Nevada, New Mexico, and Colorado similar distances off. None are close since you live toward the middle of the territory. Any interest there?” Reno asked.
“I got kin in California. They went in ’49 for the gold rush. Didn’t find gold, but liked the land. It would be possible if we had a wagon and team, I guess.
The three visitors looked at each other. Finally, the mayor spoke.
“The man who owns the mill said one of his workers came by a Conestoga wagon and has it and two oxen he’d like to get rid of. I could negotiate a real quick private sale for my “cousins.” Reno nodded. The so-called cousin would secretly be the Lambs.
“Mayor, California’s a far and possibly dangerous trip. You know anybody good with a gun and trustworthy to ride with them? Maybe even two. It’s probably three hundred miles or so to the California border,” Reno guessed.
“My two boys would do it for a pittance,” he said.
“They’d keep quiet about it?” Sara asked.
“Oh, yeah. Or not inherit my business, which they are counting on,” the mayor said.
“I’m thinking we could report back to Prescott about the Lambs leaving the Territory, and maybe even us hearing a rumor about Calvin being killed in an accident along the way,” Reno said.
“All this would have to be set in motion instantly. Calvin, you probably have enough money to buy a little business or a farm and furnish a small house, don’t you think?” Sara asked.
“If I don’t have to give the gold back, I could do all I need to do,” he responded.
“They haven’t given you the check for four hundred dollars yet?” Sara asked. He shook his head. “Given the two thousand from the stage, four hundred would be an acceptable write-off,” she said.
“Calvin, Sara and I are officially discontinuing search for you right this minute. You are gone and probably dead as far as we and the law are going to know. Just don’t be robbing any more stages. We will check in at a hotel and ride around some tomorrow like we are looking for you. Maybe the mayor can get the prairie schooner tomorrow, and his boys can help you load up?” Reno said, and the mayor nodded.
“We’ll go back to Prescott the following day and make the planned report,” Sara concluded.
Calvin shook Reno’s and the mayor’s hands, and Sadie hugged Sara. She picked up the four-month-old baby and handed it to Sara. Sara was never much for children but melted holding the tiny baby girl. She talked softly to her as she would an adult and gave her a kiss on top of her sparse brown hair before handing her back to her mother.
Reno watched and hid his astonishment. He was getting better at hiding surprise. They mounted their horses and rode back to Wickenburg, Apache leading the way.
The first stop was a hotel to get a room. As usual, Reno then sought a nearby stable and left the horses.
Armed again, they walked around the streets as if looking for someone. They passed the mayor. He gave a curt nod in case any constituents were looking and a quick conspiratorial wink, which was returned.
“Sometimes, Reno Bass, I am so proud of you,” Sara said softly.
“And sometimes, I am even more surprised at you than other times,” he responded.
“Why, Brother?” she asked.
“When you hold and look at a little baby like you did at the Lambs’. You looked pretty comfortable holding her, Sara.”
“I was. It surprised me, too. I seem to have gone through some changes recently. You know, dancing and babies and such. It’s odd but pretty nice.”
“It is, Sara. It’s pretty nice.” They walked on.
In Sonora, Cudgel Holmes had his regular management meeting. Sally was working out okay in the ending review. While the new Pelirroja did not move like the first one, few, if any, recognized it was a new person. Any lack of fluid motion was more than compensated for by a highly visible, more voluptuous physique. Pesos were rolling in with each successive show.
After the meeting, Holmes sat alone at the table in the office. He had to think about alternatives for removing the two bounty hunters. Removing them in a spectacular way. And he just might have come upon a way to do it without badge-toting snipers on every roof.
It felt good for Reno and Sara to be back home.
They reported their quarry apparently left Arizona Territory a day or two ahead of them. They shared the rumor that he was killed in a wagon accident a day later, but his wife had continued on. They found the ranch empty. The two verbally lamented around town that this was their first unfilled Wanted, and they were not pleased.
Secretly, they were very pleased and wished Calvin Lamb and his wife and baby could have the bounty money too. But this was as far as either could stretch the truth. They even wanted to help the Lambs pack but had left everything else to the mayor of Wickenburg and his sons.
There was no need to add “accessory after the fact” to their spotless record.
They checked at the sheriff’s office and the post office. No response from Holmes had arrived in their absence. He was playing a waiting game.
“You know, Sara, my fear is he will avoid
the paddleboats and ride up here. Then, he and whatever new gun thugs he has hired will hit us here. This is one place where there are no witnesses and no backup like deputies or even armed townsfolk,” Reno said.
Sara thought about Reno’s point and agreed with it.
“You are right. We would be sitting ducks. There is no barrier here capable of stopping a bullet, not even the house. I was looking at the house while I was dancing last time. We have no second way out, and a lot of blind spots. If they set it on fire, either we would burn like Ma and Pa, or we’d be cut down as we came out shooting. Taking a few of them with us would not be very satisfying if we were dead, Reno.”
“You see, this is the problem with growing up. When we started out, we thought we were ten feet tall and bulletproof. Now, we see even Wild Bill Hickok lost a gunfight. And against the very man we have tried to make come after us,” Reno said.
“Are we turning chicken, Reno?” she asked.
“No. I think we are turning realistic, Sara. We need to learn how to play the odds better, don’t you think?” he offered.
“So, what are we going to do? Charge forth like we did in the several years after the raid on the farm? Hunker down and wait here? Or say it’s not worth the risk and ride off. Way far away. Without looking back,” Sara asked.
“What would people say?” Reno asked in response to her options.
“Who cares? Most of what people know and think about us from the dime novels and so-called newspapers is not true anyway. To hell with them, Reno. There is only one person in the world each of us truly cares about—each other. Let’s just consider it. We have the money to go anywhere and grubstake a start without the bounty for Cudgel Holmes. We did the right thing. The adult thing, with our decision on the Lambs. Maybe we should do it with the Basses, too.”
“This is my cold killer, the Beautiful Angel of Death, talking?” Reno asked.
“This the Angel of Adulthood talking, and only beautiful if you think so. Remember, nobody else matters.
“Well, I do think so. And nobody else does matter. Let’s think about this. I am not opposed at first hearing it.”
“It’s nice out. We have a breeze instead of the awful wind we are used to. How about I dance, and you put Jack and Grace out in the corral to enjoy not getting blown to kingdom come?” Sara suggested.
“Sounds good, as long as I don’t have to dance around in my union suit like Don Luis.”
“Oh, no. You don’t have to wear your union suit at all.” She smiled.
He turned red and led the horses to the stalls, where he unsaddled them and made gave them feed and water before turning them loose in the corral.
When he took the two horses out, Sara was dancing with long steps, spins, and jumps. He feared he might have to buy her a union suit. He walked over and propped her Winchester against the wall. She smiled as she danced by.
As Reno walked in, he was thinking about his father, not his sister. He had been thinking about Pa a lot lately. Thinking about the mission a man of God had cast upon his surviving children. The words in Hebrews 10:30 about vengeance and the Lord’s judgment came to mind, yet they were the engines of vengeance, not the Lord. He wrestled with it, but could not seem to arrive at a solution. Maybe he and Sara should discuss it further.
Sara came in carrying her guns, boots, and clothes and wearing her chemise. Apache trotted behind her.
She was actually humming. Reno had never heard her hum. Her voice was quite nice, he realized. So was her being happy. He could not allow Holmes or anyone else to ruin her happiness.
As his back was turned to the fireplace preparing dinner, she washed using the pitcher and bowl on the bedside table.
By the time dinner was ready, she was clean and decent, still glowing from her exercise. She sat at the small table, the dog at her feet.
“Ya know, Reno,” she said as she watched him serve their dinner, “you are going to make somebody a darned good wife someday. I’m just glad I have you for now.”
“You are welcome to practice your cooking for when you have a husband and nine little Saras if you want,” he retorted. “Oh, and a tired husband with dirty fingernails, and the Kansas wind,” he added.
“Ha. Not me. My husband, should I choose one, will be clean and make me smile all the time. And the little ones will be well-behaved and all have strawberry-blonde hair.”
“First time I ever heard you say something related to being a wife and mother, Sara.”
“I told you, I’m changing. There are a couple of things I’d change for life to be perfect. I’m working on them,” she said.
“And what would they be?” he asked.
“I will let you know after I’ve worked them out,” she said as she bit into a corn dodger. She dipped it in her bowl of beans and continued eating and smiling. Reno liked her being happy. Females were so mysterious. His oldest brother had told him years ago he’d never figure them out, be they horses or women. Nonetheless, he was distressed that he had no idea why she was happier by day. Historically, she could be sullen and serious all the time and sometimes bit his head off. Though having a fairly silent pard on the trail was a blessing from God, one he appreciated.
Cudgel Holmes was more than one of the Confederacy’s best and most dangerous spies. Before he took his gray uniform off after the war, he had been a distinguished cavalry leader. It had been a decade since he’d led men on horseback into battle, but tactics were second nature to him.
As he thought about ridding himself of the thing he had begun to refer to as the “Bass matter,” he decided to employ tactics as a backup. He knew he was considerably quicker on the draw than his late and truly missed cousin. For one thing, Thad packed a four-pound cannon in the form of a LeMat. A normal two-pound revolver like his pair slipped out of the holster and into action faster.
The girl had to have been fast to kill Thad with two closely-spaced shots to the chest before he had cleared leather. The boy was reputedly even faster. Holmes was not given to braggadocio, even to himself, but after all, he had drawn on Wild Bill Hickok and won. His big mistake had been thinking the Yankee spy would bleed out and die on the plains. He’d survived, and most likely held a lifetime grudge. Holmes surely would have.
But thankfully, Hickok did not play into the Bass matter. He was just a cloudy threat, always looming in the back of Holmes’s mind. For the time being, he dismissed the scout and his dime-novel reputation. He had a business to run and two teens to eradicate. Enough, he thought, to keep a good man busy.
Before he dismissed his thoughts about the Bass twins, he softly said the word “tactics” aloud. Tactics would be his mantra in planning. He had his plan and would execute it very soon.
Holmes began to think about other places in Mexico he could take his show in order to scandalize and titillate with his revue and the naughty dance of the redhead.
“Reno, I wonder when enough time will have passed to write to Reverend Salzman in Kiowa Springs to see if he has put up the cemetery and moved our family over?” Sara asked almost a week later.
“A good question. I guess we can write to him anytime to ask. We may want to see what happens before going and looking at the cemetery. With the Indian troubles all over Kansas, we’d have to find out whether James can wrangle us riding with a guarded wagon train like before. If we ended up with a bunch of cavalry killing Indian women and babies, I’d be shooting at blue uniforms,” Reno said.
“Me, too. Pretty disgusting. I guess I’m just getting antsy. I’m tired of waiting for Holmes’s pleasure. I’m real close to packing up and finding where we want to live in this big land and forgetting about him. Not like he’s going to leave his moneymaker long enough to chase us around the country,” Sara observed.
“I am getting the same feelings. Rushing to Kiowa Springs because we are bored is not worth chancing fighting hostile Indians all the way across Kansas. Let’s suck it up and wait a little while longer, Sara. We are letting Holmes drive our wagon.”
“All right. Let’s just see what happens. But we are open targets here. We need to move around and stay at hotels in town here and maybe Wickenburg. Board the horses and Thunder wherever we go. Moving targets are harder to hit. I can’t see him riding into Prescott, the place he’s most wanted. Can you, Reno?”
“Not really, though I’m sure stranger things have happened. But you are right. Let’s pack our full trail gear and head into Prescott.”
They arrived in Prescott just before dark, lodged the horses and Thunder, and checked into a hotel they’d used in the past.
“There’s a Mexican kid looking all over town for y’all. He has a message from Sonora,” the front desk clerk told them.
They went out on Gurley Street looking for someone of the description they were given. No luck. Then they went to Whiskey Row on Montezuma Street. They spotted and stopped a person meeting the description. He handed them an envelope and left.
In the glare from inside a bar, Sara opened the envelope. It was a plain piece of white paper of good quality. The writing was perfect penmanship.
Be on Frontier Street in Wickenburg at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. We will settle up then. No snipers or lawmen. I already have people there watching. You will be given a fair break.
C. Holmes
“Is it a set-up?” Sara asked, already knowing the answer.
Reno just nodded. He started walking to the sheriff’s office, and his sister followed.
Deputy John Hite, a friend, was on duty. Reno passed the letter to him, and he read it quietly.
“I have every Yavapai deputy out in this massive county and away from telegraphs. None of them is anywhere near Wickenburg. Most are after a big cattle rustling operation forty miles northeast of here. I can’t leave. I feel terrible. We generated the damn Wanted Dead or Alive and can’t even provide one man to help, Reno. Do you know anybody?” he asked.
“Other than you and a few other deputies here, the only people we know are Mayor Coggins in Wickenburg and, of course, Wild Bill Hickok. I don’t know what the mayor could do, and Wild Bill is flat on his back at the infirmary at Fort Whipple. I guess it’s down to us. We took out an almost thirty-man ex-Confederate raider company, but it was a few at a time. My gut tells me this will be more than just Cudgel Holmes, but John, we’ll take it as it plays,” Reno said.
