Pray for the Dead

by Dusty Richards

  The JP ordered Clayton arrested for his murder, but no one has arrested him nor even tried that I know about. I spoke to the justice of the peace, a Mr. Franks, and he says he gave the arrest warrant to the Yavapai County deputy Reagan, who says his constables don’t have time to go arrest him. Heavens, Clayton is in town several times a week.

  Would there be any way you could help bring justice to this legal oversight?

  I think Clayton is a rich man who has bought off the Sheriff’s deputy and the rest of the law. My ranch is due south of St. Johns. Your drovers drive cattle by my place all the time but I can never catch them. If you could see justice was done, I would appreciate it. I can tell you right now I have no money to pay you.

  Sincerely Yours

  Lilac Hayes

  Liz came in the living room packing his son. “Somebody needing help?”

  “Widow woman. Someone shot her husband. A warrant was issued but the killer was never arrested. Deputy said he was too busy to serve it even though the man who did it is in town several times a week.”

  “So you’re going to arrest him?”

  “I will if there’s a properly issued warrant by a justice of the peace to arrest him.”

  “Will the sheriff here honor it?” she asked.

  “If it’s a real warrant he has to,” Chet said. “Then a grand jury will have to decide his fate to be tried or not.”

  “I see.”

  “We’ll ride up there, drop you off to visit my sister, collect this man Clayton, and bring him back to jail.”

  She took a seat on the arm of his chair. “You make it sound so easy. He may not let you just arrest him quietly. He may run off or fight. A lot of them have.”

  “But in the end, we always bring them back,” he replied.

  “True. I just worry is all.” Liz sighed. “But fine, let’s do it. Then we go up and see Lucy and Reg, right?”

  “And the Force down at that end of the world. That still good?”

  “It’s fine, you just make these trips sound so short and pleasant—like we go and then come right back. They always end up taking so much longer. I don’t mind, I’m just telling you it’ll take longer than you think.”

  “I’m an optimist,” Chet said.

  His wife laughed. “You’re something, alright.”

  “We’ll wait to go until Rhea and Victor get back.”

  “You know anything about this lady?”

  “Only that she’s God-fearing and has no money to pay me.”

  “Well, don’t you go expecting to be paid then, Marshal Byrnes.”

  “Here, let me carry big boy.” He scooped Adam up and spun him around through the air. “I smell supper.”

  “Rita will be back from town soon. He’s had a big day playing with you.”

  “Curious Adam. Can’t keep him in one place for nothing.”

  “There’s no one here to tell us how you acted at that age. I bet they couldn’t hold you in one place, either,” Liz teased him.

  “That is pure speculation.”

  “But probably a pretty accurate one.” She laughed. Taking the boy back, she hoisted him up on her hip and winked.

  The honeymooners came back Friday night, and Adam was overjoyed to see Rhea. Chet and Liz attended church on Sunday, then ate dinner at the Palace Saloon. The wind was out of the north driving home, not too sharp but still jacket weather.

  “What will the weather do next?” Liz asked him as they dismounted back at the ranch.

  “Oh, maybe snow a little. Looks like it might.”

  “We still going north in the morning?”

  “Most likely. You and Susie can stay in by the fireplace after we get you up there, though.”

  “I worry more about you than I do myself.”

  Chet waved the idea away. “I will be fine. Snow is simply another nuisance that goes with the job.”

  “Alright. I’ll be ready to go in the morning. But I’ll ride a horse off the mountain, no buckboard.”

  He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She hugged his arm going into the house. “There are lots of great folks up here. They accept me like family. I worried some that they would think bad of me.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Stealing you, of course. And being Mexican and all.”

  “They aren’t worried about that,” he assured her. “Oh, some folks may harbor a grudge, but most are simply happy people scratching for a living, looking for a good time every so often, like the parties we have here. Lots of good food and dancing is fine entertainment to most of them.”

  “I guess so. I’m just happy to be here.”

  “And I you, my dear.”

  * * *

  The next morning dawned cold and white as the sky spit snow down upon the foursome, Chet, Liz and his usual shadows Jesus and Cole. They rode out with their packhorses, headed for the Verde Ranch, the sawmill, and then on to Windmill.

  When Susie left the day before, she’d told them to leave Liz at her house for her company when they got to her place. Liz had replied that she was going with Chet. She loved being with Susie but wanted to stay with Chet. Susie had wrinkled her nose but accepted it.

  Cole’s horse was giving him some troubles that morning, bobbing and rearing until the young man could finally get him settled down.

  “How did I get this one?” he asked, his breath misting in the cold air.

  “Want me to spell you on him?” Chet grinned playfully. That was Cole’s usual line to him about a sour horse.

  “Lord no. But it’s funny. Jesus never gets a wild one.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you want a raise for this kind of duty now?”

  “I sure might. Did Liz tell you that we may be parents soon?”

  “No, she didn’t. That sounds wonderful.”

  “I thought the same thing. Cross your fingers.”

  “I’ll cross my heart for you two,” Chet said solemnly.

  “I did, too, you just must have been picking the fuzz out of your ears,” Liz piped up from behind them. They all laughed. “Where did Val come from originally, Cole?”

  “Kansas,” Cole replied. “Her folks came out here to get away from the war. But when they left for California, she and JD’s wife, Bonnie, ran off for Tombstone and what they thought was going to be a brighter life. She got sick of it fast, though. Ended up as a waitress. We found her there, put her on the stage to come back and work for Jenn. She told us where Bonnie was working, too, but by the time we got there, she’d been kidnapped. We followed the trail down to Mexico. Chet told you that story about his horses and the trade he made to get her back, right?”

  Liz said, “Oh, yes, and had he not done that, I’d never have met him.”

  Chet chuckled. “Lots of things tied to those horses. We sold enough to freight the outfit to west Texas. Saved us lots of wagon miles. But my best trade in the deal was meeting you.”

  “Mine too. I was so self-sufficient, I sure didn’t need a man. I feared the man I had lost could never be replaced. That all evaporated when I met you. The Morales Ranch wasn’t a bad place, but it was not what I expected as being headquarters for the famous American lawmen chasing down the border bandits.”

  “We never worried about comfort down there, and were gone most of the time, anyway. The Morales boys’ wives guarded our things, fed our extra horses, and cooked wonderful meals.”

  “They did a great job for us when I was there,” Cole put in.

  “Yes, but I had seen a picture of your national capital. I could not believe such a powerful police force lived in such a small, run-down place.”

  Chet shook his head. “It’s not always a big deal. Why, the county courthouse at Phoenix is a cluster of adobe buildings right now. The big stone one still isn’t finished.”

  “It’ll be something when they finish it,” Jesus said.

  Chet agreed. “They should have built a State capitol courthouse here in Preskitt. That way we wouldn’t be moving
back and forth between here and Tucson after every legislative session.”

  “Why didn’t they?” Liz asked as they pushed off the steep mountain grade.

  “Tucson had more votes. They think Preskitt is too isolated in the mountains to ever get a train. And some folks hated Lincoln and his idea to get away from the rebels in southern Arizona and have the capital up here. That’s how things go when you ask for a vote.”

  They reached Robert’s house long after dark. A heavier snow had begun to fall in the afternoon, and they all were nearly frozen through. Liz went and knocked on the door while the men put up their horses.

  “Hey, what are you doing here so late?” Betty demanded. “We expected you hours ago. Get in this house right now. You look like a snowman, Liz.”

  “They’re still up.” Liz shouted back to the men.

  Chet and the boys soon were in the warm house holding their hands out to the wood stove. The heat felt good and it was a relief to be out of the saddle. It had been a long day and they were all sore.

  “Where to this time?” Robert asked him.

  “Saint John,” Chet said. “There’s a killer up there no one can arrest.”

  “You sure get the good jobs.” Robert shook his head in amusement. “I sent word to the men to come in when it began to snow this morning. You never know if the snow is going to be deep or pass over, but I don’t take chances with men or horses and bring them in.”

  “Sounds good to me. It’s been snowing since we started to climb the north rim.”

  The snow tapered off during the night. They rode on north the next day through knee-high drifts, and were east of the Sacred Mountains when they camped that night. They set up a tent, cut down some dead pines, and had a fire. They all slept in the tent and were up breathing vapors of steam before dawn.

  Jesus helped Liz fix breakfast and coffee while Chet and Cole fed the horses. Despite his heavy coat and clothes, Chet felt the deep cold that preceded the snowfall in his bones. But his wife never complained and later when he asked her if she was alright in the low temperatures, she replied with a smile. “I’m with you, that’s enough to keep me warm.”

  They rode on, arriving in St. John at dusk, where they found a hotel, stabled their horses, and ate a meal in the local café. Chet told them that the next day, he planned on finding the justice of the peace named in the letter and checking on the arrest warrant and that Cole and Jesus would come along.

  Alone in their hotel room later, Liz was curious.

  “Chet, what do you think is happening up here?”

  “I have no idea. It’s a long ways from Preskitt, but that’s no excuse. This Clayton may be a powerful man, but it’s no way to handle a crime in a democracy.”

  “Can you buy your way out of prosecution up here?” she asked.

  “You’re not supposed to be able to, but he may be trying to. We’ll know more in a few days.”

  “Good. Cold or whatever, I’m proud to be here with you.” She hugged him tight and rocked him.

  “So am I. So am I.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning, after breakfast, they mushed through the snow piled in the streets to the office of Mr. Franks, the JP. They found him in a cold office, trying to build a fire in a potbellied stove.

  “Good morning, sir,” Chet introduced himself and his deputies, and gave a quick sketch of what they were after.

  “Yes, I did, indeed, issue an arrest warrant for Mr. Clayton,” the JP told him. “The deputy in charge, Joe Reagan, told me he was too busy counting cattle for tax purposes to serve it.”

  “Who else could serve it?”

  “Any other lawman. Do you want to serve it, Marshal?”

  Chet nodded. “Is this Clayton some bad outlaw or powerful man?”

  Franks pushed himself up to his feet and clanged the stove door shut. “Don’t ask me, but they say even tough folks ride around him.”

  “You don’t?” Chet asked.

  “I’ve not had the pleasure of riding around him so far.”

  “Do you know where he frequents when in town?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. The Silver Spur Saloon.”

  Chet had seen the business when they rode in the evening before. “He bring his crew with him?”

  Franks nodded, looking grave. “Some of them.”

  “May I have a copy of the warrant?”

  “Sure. I’ll make you one like I gave Reagan.”

  “Thank you kindly. You have any advice for us going into this?”

  “I’ve heard about you and your men before, Marshal. I’d say he has no idea what he’s going to be up against.”

  Franks’s stove was beginning to generate heat. When he finished the document, they shook hands and headed back to a café. He sent Cole to check on the saloon, but not let anyone know his purpose. He was back by the time they’d finished their second cup of hot coffee.

  “Ordinary saloon,” the young man said with a shrug. “It’s empty for all purposes right now. Too early. Long bar is on the west side of the room. Poker table in the back, and tables with a stage on the right.”

  “We need a description of him and his men,” Chet said. “And some idea of a count.”

  “I bet the guys at the livery could do that,” Jesus said. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Good. Meet us back here at lunch.”

  “I’ll go do some more checking, too,” Cole said. “I don’t like the feel of this place.”

  Chet found Liz and went down to the hotel lobby, which was heated and comfortable despite the cold outside. They took a pair of stuffed chairs near the windows and read the local newspaper, sharing some words here and there. Chet always hated these times where he had to wait around, but knew they were sometimes necessary. He couldn’t always go charging off into the middle of things, after all. Some matters required patience and subtlety.

  If their man didn’t come to town, they’d bring the law to him wherever he was. This was the best place to arrest him, though, if he really frequented the village like people said. No fortress, no means of escape. Time would tell.

  They weren’t to be disappointed. Cole came in and reported their man was already at the saloon. Chet sent him to lasso Jesus and come back there.

  “You stay here,” he said to Liz.

  “I planned to,” she replied. “But is there anything I can do?”

  “Being here is good enough.”

  Out the front window, he saw Jesus and Cole coming across the street. Out of habit he shifted his six-gun on his hip and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be back.”

  In his heavy coat, he crossed the slushy lane between passing traffic and joined his men. They’d cleared off some of the boardwalks, but his boots squished farther into the mud and muck with every step.

  “He’s a big man,” Jesus told him. “Full mustache, sandy hair, some freckles.”

  Stone-faced, Chet nodded his understanding. They marched through the stiff right-hand double door, the usual batwings tied back for the winter. The air inside was close, sour-smelling, overheated. Across the sawdust-littered floor, several men stood around a card game at a table. They all turned casually to look at who entered, then turned back to the game.

  Chet moved that way. Nearing the table, he drew his pistol slowly from its holster and leveled it on the group.

  “Don’t anyone move fast,” he called. “I’m a Deputy U.S. Marshal and I have two more deputies ready to back me. I’m here to arrest Burt Clayton. Don’t anybody be foolish, now. You get foolish, you won’t leave this room alive.”

  “Bartender!” Cole growled, his own six-gun drawn. “Put your hands on the bar.”

  The big man at the card table pushed the chair back and rose to his feet. “What’s the charge?” he demanded with a sneer.

  “Murder. Death of Arnold Hayes.”

  “That was settled by my lawyers,” the man said, waving it away.

  “No. But it’ll be settled by your arrest and trial in Preski
tt.”

  “You don’t know who I am.”

  Chet narrowed his eyes. “I know you were found responsible for Hayes’s death by a justice of the peace, and that’s enough for me. I’m here to take you to Preskitt for trial.”

  “You have no authority.”

  “I’m a federal officer and representative of the courts,” Chet declared. “And you, sir, are under arrest. Jesus, put the handcuffs on him.”

  “When I get through—”

  Chet shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it. We’re parking you in the jail and tomorrow we go to Preskitt. Tell your friends and employees not to try anything if they want to live.”

  “Just who the hell are you?” Clayton demanded.

  “Chet Byrnes.” He fished out his star and thrust it in the big man’s face. “And this badge tells you I’m big enough to haul you, or anyone else who gets in the way, to jail.”

  “You—you—I’m not through with you.”

  Chet jerked his head at Jesus. “Let’s get him out of here. Put his coat over his shoulders. Do you have a horse to ride?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He smiled. “I’ll just buy a mule for you to ride—bareback.”

  “Where do you want his horses and saddle?” a shorter man asked. Chet held back a chuckle. He’d known the threat would make a horse and tack available.

  “At the livery. Ready to go first thing in the morning.”

  The man nodded. “He’ll have one. You want anything else?” he asked the big man.

  Clayton shook his head.

  “Let’s go.” They left by the front door, marching down the boardwalk for the jail. Jesus held the handcuffed prisoner by the elbow, with Cole out ahead and Chet covering up rear.

  The guard at the jail jumped out of his seat as they came through the door. “Y-you can’t—”

  “Just watch me,” Chet told him. “This man is a prisoner of mine. Stand down and go open a cell to put him in.”

  Reluctantly, the jailer picked up the keys on the desk and placed Clayton in a cell. Chet removed the handcuffs and told the man that he’d be back bright and early in the morning.