Valley of Bones

by Dusty Richards

  Dear Charles,

  I hope you found some honest work in Arizona. Things in Texas are hot and dry. Your sister had her second child, a boy she named Roy Dean. Her husband and your dad hope it rains to save the cotton they have planted. Write me when you find time.

  Stella Andrews

  Granite Corner’s, Texas

  “What did you find?” Liz asked, having joined him.

  “He’s from Texas. Never heard of the place, but there are lots of places I don’t know about. His mom hoped he went straight. She sent him the letter general delivery to Tombstone. Name was Charles Andrews.”

  “He doesn’t look very prosperous to me.”

  “He was a hired hand.”

  He put his arm around her shoulder as they walked back down to the others. The other robbers were laid out beside the road. Spencer stood over the body of the man they thought was the leader. He had unmasked him and handed Chet a telegram he found.

  BYRNES WILL BE ON THE STAGE FROM LORDSBURG JULY 24TH OR 25TH. STOP HIM. BK.

  It was addressed to Skip Nelson, Bowie, Arizona Territory.

  Chet gazed down at the dead leader, gray beard and all. He sure didn’t know the man. He didn’t know any BK, either, and it was obvious he was the one that wanted Chet stopped. Someone must have spotted the three of them at Lordsburg or farther back in crossing New Mexico to have gotten that message to them. No telling. The younger dead man had a letter from a girl in Casa Grande who must have been a dove and wanted him to take her away from her job like he promised. His name was Dick Hardy. The last two had nothing that told their names, were in their twenties, and were in worn-out clothing and had not had a bath in some time

  The total amount of money in their pockets came to eighteen dollars and three two-dollar whorehouse tokens from the Wild Peacock House of Ill Repute in Tombstone.

  “Take off the boss man’s boots. He doesn’t have a money belt.” Chet told Spencer, who had bent over to see if he had any money on him.

  The left boot produced several loose twenties and some single dollar bills. The two men nodded. The right one held over two hundred in twenties.

  “Give the driver forty. Spend the rest on your wife and kids,” Chet said to his man.

  The driver protested, “Why Mister Byrnes, you don’t owe me a thing.”

  “Shove it down in your pants. Spencer is sharing it. They damn sure don’t need it.”

  Pete took off his hat and thanked the three of them.

  They found nothing but some tattered Police Gazette copies in their saddlebags. Chet didn’t consider the horses or their saddles worth much. They did collect their firearms and stowed them in the luggage rack on the back of the coach.

  Those weapons loaded on board, Chet said, “You haven’t seen them before, have you?”

  “No sirree.” Pete shook his head.

  “Fine. Let’s go. The law can have their bodies.” He helped Liz back into the coach. Pete climbed up and took the reins. Spencer sat and with the door shut he hollered for Pete to go on.

  They had one more stage stop, then they would pull into Benson. When they came off the grade Pete hurried the team downhill. At the stopover Pete drew a crowd as he told them that five stage robbers were dead back up in the Texas Pass thanks to Marshal Byrnes and his deputy. Horses were swapped for fresh ones, and after a short break they left the excited people there talking about the robbery and the tough lawmen.

  It wasn’t long before they rolled up to the Benson stage office. Before he got down, Pete told a barefoot boy they’d been robbed and for the deputy sheriff to come quick. The youth jumped to his feet and tore out. A bunch more people nearby heard him and ran over full of questions. They were all talking at once.

  “Who did it?”

  “Why, U.S. Marshal Chet Byrnes and his man of course. They are stacked up there like cordwood waiting for the funeral wagon.”

  Chet stopped at the coach door and read off his list of names. “Skip Nelson. Charles Andrews, Dick Hardy, and two unknown guys. Also, anyone ever heard of a guy called BK?”

  No one had.

  The deputy took down all Chet knew and shook his head. “I never heard of them. I will send the funeral wagon to get them. That BK guy might just be a fake name. I don’t know anyone by those initials, but he might be in Tombstone.”

  Chet agreed.

  “What are your plans?” the deputy asked.

  “I’ll go to Tombstone tomorrow. Those men came to kill me, my wife, and Spencer, and I want the ones behind that plot.”

  “Yes sir. But if the word is out, there could be twelve thousand more just like them down there who may try the same thing.”

  “We will see. Excuse me, I’m going to telegraph Prescott and get some of my men down here to help.”

  “Yes sir.”

  He and Liz headed for the telegraph office across the dirt street to wire Jesus Martinez and Miguel Costa. The telegrams read:

  BOTH OF YOU GRAB SOME CLOTHES, BEDROLLS, SADDLES, YOURS AND OURS, AND COME. FIVE MEN TRIED TO AMBUSH US IN TEXAS PASS. NO ONE ON OUR SIDE WAS HURT. WE WILL BE IN TOMBSTONE WHEN YOU ARRIVE. BE CAREFUL THIS AMBUSH BUSINESS MAYBE CONTAGIOUS. GIVE OUR LOVE TO EVERYONE. CHET

  Chet had lots to do. The two wouldn’t be down there in less than two days, but, in the meantime, he and Spencer could look around. Someone had to know what BK stood for. He’d need to know that to find him. Something would turn up sooner or later. Those things always did. But, sometimes, it took longer than he liked.

  Strange that the telegram to the outlaws had been sent to Bowie from Tombstone. He’d check with the key operator when they got to Tombstone. Many times they knew the senders. That might work. He damn sure intended to find out who wanted him and Spencer dead.

  Chapter 4

  Tombstone was not Prescott in the summertime. The heat and dust from the busy wagon traffic and horses was bad. Virgil Earp was a town marshal Chet trusted, and Chet found him the next day in the city police office.

  He rose and shook Chet’s hand. A big smile shone behind the full mustache. He said in his deep drawl, “Good to see you again. Word’s out, Chet. You and your man are hard on stage robbers these days.”

  Chet handed him the list of names. “You know any of them?”

  “I saw their names in the paper this morning. I don’t know any one of them. If they were around here they weren’t on any police blotter. What else?”

  “BK signed the telegram telling them we were coming. It was sent from here to the robbers in Bowie. No one in Bowie knew any of them, but someone thought they saw the leader, Skip Nelson, or someone that looked like him, riding around town.”

  “He might not have been using his real name in town.”

  “The telegram was sent to the name on this letter I found.”

  “I’ll keep my ear to the ground. I learn anything, you be around?”

  “Alhambra Hotel.”

  “Wish I could help you more. Watch your back. They only failed to get you once that we know about.”

  Chet agreed.

  “Your lovely wife along?”

  “Yes, we’ve been to Washington, D.C., on business.”

  “How did you like that?”

  “I didn’t. Prescott is a better place to be in the summer than here or there.”

  “Amen. We stopped up there on the way here. We decided down here there was more to do. But it is nice up there in the pines. I’ll put some feelers out. Someone knows this BK, or I learn anything, I’ll send word.”

  “Two more of my men are on the way. They will be here in another day.”

  “Jesus is the tracker’s name?”

  “Yes. He’s been with me a long time. Has a ranch of his own and a wife now, too.”

  “He really grew up, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. Saved my life several times, and he knows how the law works. He can read and write, and has good judgment.”

  “The tall blond fellow that worked for you?”

  “Cole Emerso
n. He’s running the Northern Arizona Stage Line for me and my partners.”

  “You strung wire across the territory up there?”

  “From Gallup to the California. Cole oversees that, too.”

  “My heavens, Chet, with ranches all over, how do you do it?”

  “Hire good men.”

  “You sure know how to do that.”

  “I am going to need some saddle horses.”

  “I bet Texas John Slaughter has some you can borrow. He’s a big cattle rancher and a trader who moved here. All these liveries have are plugs and are too high priced. I’ll get John word.”

  “Thanks.” Chet shook his hand and left to meet Spencer and Liz at Nellie Cashman’s restaurant for lunch.

  * * *

  Spencer had not found anyone who knew the men on the list. Liz said she had talked to several women in dress shops and they knew nothing about them, either. After lunch Chet offered to send her on to Prescott to cool off. She refused and went back to their room.

  The two men went by the telegraph office and learned nothing about BK. Then they went to the Alhambra Saloon to hang out and listen. Tombstone had lots of bean spillers who, for money, could find out anything. None came by. Late afternoon a short, freckle-faced cowboy in chaps parted the swinging doors.

  “Is Marshal Byrnes in here?”

  “I’m him.”

  “Could you come outside, sir?”

  He and Spencer frowned at each other, but rose and, with care, walked out the swinging doors into the too bright sunshine.

  “My name’s Herman Limerick, and I work for Mister Slaughter. He sent you six good ranch horses to ride while you look for those outlaws.”

  “Why? He doesn’t even know me.”

  “He knows you do lots of good for folks. Marshal Earp said you needed four good horses. My boss told me to bring two extra.”

  Spencer shook his head after looking them over. “Did you bring all his good ones?”

  “No sir. Mister Slaughter don’t keep any sorry ones on the place.”

  “How much do I owe him?”

  “Nothing. Send word when you are through with them and I’ll come get them. Good luck in catching those criminals.”

  “Well, Herman, thank him. We can put them in the livery.”

  “No sir. I’ll help you.”

  They boarded them at the O.K. Corral, and invited Herman to stay for supper. He declined, saying he needed to get back.

  At the hotel, Liz could hardly believe their good fortune when told about the quality of the horses.

  “I just knew we’d have to rent some plugs to ride,” Spencer said. “Them two guys won’t believe us, either, when they get here.”

  “I hope they bring saddles, but we can fix that if they don’t,” Chet said.

  “Where will you ride to first?” she asked.

  “Fort Bowie, where they got the telegram. They must have stayed with someone or had a hideout near there.”

  “Waiting for Jesus and Miguel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She gathered them both by the arms. “I am cooking supper for you both at Nellie Cushman’s.”

  Supper went fine, and on the way back a poorly dressed man with a shaggy beard stopped them.

  “You want to know who BK is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ten bucks.” He held out his grimy palm.

  “You know for sure?”

  “Damn right or I’d never stopped you.” His gray eyes were shifting around like he feared detection.

  Chet got out the bill. “Now who is it?”

  “Bracken Kilton.”

  “What’s he do?”

  “Runs a whorehouse and does anything you want done for enough money.”

  “Where?”

  “Anyone can tell you.”

  “If you’re lying to me I’ll drown you in a horse tank.”

  “I ain’t lying.”

  Chet handed him the money.

  He had a name. He’d been lied to before, so he wasn’t satisfied that meant anything but maybe it was a lead. Virgil would know. Sounded like a well-known guy.

  In the morning he’d ask Earp.

  “That make you feel better. The name?” Liz asked.

  “I don’t know if it will help or not. We can check it out in the morning.”

  “Our two will be here sometime. Until then, there are usually willing mouths that might say something that would help.”

  “We well may have met him.”

  “You two go on upstairs. I’ll check around some more.”

  “Spencer, you be damn careful. They’ll kill you in a minute knowing you are working for me.”

  Spencer nodded that he knew, and left them.

  “Chet, this is not very pleasant for you, I know,” she said climbing the stairs.

  “I am more concerned about you being here than I am worried about myself.”

  “I am fine.”

  “We’ve been through so many things together, including that lost herd we drove to Nebraska. I know you’re strong but I don’t want one hair on your head hurt or disturbed.”

  She laughed and hugged him. “It won’t be, big man. I love you.”

  “Good thing. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

  “I understand. Ever since you dried my feet coming out from wading, I’ve been your woman and I feel the same way.”

  “We will catch the ones that set up the ambush. People talk. Things get out. We won’t quit until we do.”

  “What about the Force?”

  “I thought about them. They are still doing border duty. Roamer and the brothers are working real hard to end the border bandits. I hate to call them off that effort.”

  “What about Buster Weeks down there below the border? He’s tried to get you.”

  “Those five stage robbers were hired by someone to end my life. I doubt that Weeks has that much money, but he could be in on it, if a bunch got together. Hiring a murderer usually costs big money unless the hired ones are desperate. Those five were not rich, but they wouldn’t have done it for nothing. If Buster sent them, they’d have probably been Hispanics. These weren’t.”

  “Lots of people hate you for ending their criminal activity. Old man Clanton does not love you nor does that Thrasher in D.C.”

  “That could mean the Tucson Ring. I wouldn’t doubt anything they’d do to keep their control on things.” The two swept into their room.

  “You will find them,” she smiled and nodded. “I know you that well.”

  “Wish I was that damn sure right now.”

  “Trust me. You will before it is over.”

  They went to bed. He held her despite the heat and wondered about it all.

  * * *

  The next morning, Spencer met them for breakfast in the hotel restaurant.

  “You two sleep well?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “That guy, Bracken Kilton, I found out, has a house of ill repute over at Gleason. It’s a tent city. He deals in human traffic, drugs, stolen goods, and illegal whiskey.”

  “Nice news. But, it seems to me, he has to have been hired by someone. A guy like that wouldn’t simply want to kill us. He’d be too busy trying to make money. Someone hired him to do it and he hired those five. It has to go beyond him.”

  “That may be harder to prove. Huh?”

  “Exactly, but we can start watching him when our men get here.”

  “Your ten bucks may not have been wasted.”

  “I feel a damn sight better about spending it now.”

  “I told him he’d solve this,” Liz said.

  Spencer quickly agreed. “I knew that, too. Chet will solve this business.”

  “Not without all of our heads,” Chet said between bites of his breakfast.

  * * *

  Jesus and Miguel arrived that evening and took a room in the hotel. They met them the next morning. Both men still looked road weary as Chet explained the stage holdup and f
ive dead road agents in the Texas Pass.

  “No one knew them?” Jesus asked.

  Chet shook his head after giving the food order. “Kind of strange. But they were not from around Benson. Someone telegraphed them, at Bowie from Tombstone, that we were coming by stage sometime in the next two days. They were poorly dressed drifters, led by a guy no one recognized. We did get word that someone named Bracken Kilton was behind it. The snitch wouldn’t say much more. Kilton operates a whorehouse, and other deeds over at a tent city in Gleason.”

  Jesus nodded. “He don’t know me. I can ride over there and check him out.”

  “You have some old clothes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take Miguel along. Rent some worn horses at the livery. A rancher named John Slaughter loaned us six good horses to use, but he might recognize Slaughter’s horses, they are real sharp. And be careful. This Kilton sounds like a real killer type.”

  Jesus smiled and shook his head. “We get the junk to ride, Miguel.”

  “Guess ’cause we’re Mexicans.” He grinned at his words.

  They all laughed.

  “How are things at home?”

  “Quiet. Everyone is fine. My wife says we will have a baby next winter.”

  “Jesus, how wonderful.”

  “Yes, Liz, we are pleased.”

  Chet said, “More mouths to feed. Good for you two.”

  “Oh,” Miguel spoke up. “Lisa said to tell you, Liz, all five of those last children are at the Cherry School House already and doing good.”

  “They really learned fast. Wonderful news.”

  “How did Washington, D.C., go?” Jesus asked.

  “Spencer and I could have stayed home.” Chet shook his head. “There is something afoot for white interests to take over the Navajo coal business, but no one would give us any answers.”

  “Tell him about Thrasher,” Spencer said.

  “Who’s he?” Jesus asked.

  “Tucson Ring man. He threatened to take our Navajo beef contract away from us.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t know and can’t say he won’t, but they tried it before and failed. The Navajo agent assured us he wouldn’t get it, but who knows? We went to lots of meetings that were a pure waste of our time. I even talked to Chief Manuelito, and he said money was what talked up there.”