“I could take to disliking you real quick,” Clayton said with a sneer.
“Clayton, you can hate me all you want, but headfirst or belly-down over a saddle, you’re going to Preskitt and stand trial.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“In the morning. You better be here. I don’t mess around with escapees.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a promise.”
He stepped out of the cell and locked it behind him. Standing in the outer room, he considered Clayton’s threat. Would he be there in the morning? He had better be there. At the moment he had little use for anyone so uppity.
Chet told the jailer that he would be held personally responsible, and face charges of obstructing the law, if Clayton wasn’t still there in the morning. The man nodded his head in fear, and Chet knew he had his bluff in on him, too.
Satisfied that his orders would be followed, he led the way out to get Liz and have supper. A red-faced man in a canvas coat caught up with them sometime later in the hotel restaurant.
“Listen here, whoever the hell you are. I’m Deputy Joe Reagan, and you can’t put an innocent citizen in my jail.”
“I have an arrest warrant and I’m a Deputy U.S. Marshal. My authority trumps yours. A JP ordered him arrested for murder and you did nothing. Now I think that perhaps a grand jury should look into that—maybe you’re his kin? I demand he stay in that jail and be ready to be transported to Preskitt in the morning.”
“I ain’t his kin,” Reagan shot back angrily. “Mr. Clayton is a law-abiding citizen and pillar in this community.”
“Then he shouldn’t have shot Arnold Hayes.”
“That was self-defense.”
“Mr. Hayes didn’t have a gun.”
“He simply got in the way.”
“Shooting an unarmed man is criminal. He goes to trial.”
“You . . .” The deputy’s face had started to turn from red to almost purple.
“Listen carefully,” Chet said in a low voice, on his feet now and pointing his fork at the man’s chest. “If he isn’t in that cell at dawn, you and that jailer will both face obstructing justice charges and I will see you get the maximum sentences allowed by law. You get me?”
“I’m wiring the sheriff.”
“Wire whoever you want. But I will prevail.”
“You won’t get ten feet out of this town.”
“Then when the shooting starts, Clayton goes first. Remember that. Now get out of here, I’m tired of your mouth.”
Reagan stomped out, muttering under his breath.
“He’s gone,” Liz said sweetly. “You can sit down now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chet said, replacing his napkin in his lap. “Boy’s got a big mouth.”
Cole and Jesus grunted in agreement.
“What will he do next?” Liz asked.
“I have no damn idea.”
Everyone laughed except Chet. What would he do?
They’d know in the morning.
CHAPTER 10
Chet and his group headed out of the hotel in the cold, blue light of pre-dawn. Frozen snow crunched under their boot soles. Jesus and Liz went on to saddle the horses. He and Cole went to the jail and woke the sleeping guard.
Chet picked the keys up off the desk and walked over to the cell. “Get up, Clayton. Put on your coat and come toward me with your hands held out. One wrong move and you’ll ride with them behind you. Savvy?”
Unshaven and haggard, Clayton only nodded. The jailer never said a word and Chet felt the man watching them for a long time before he closed the jailhouse door against the winter weather. With Clayton’s wrists cuffed, Chet pushed the prisoner ahead of him on the walk to the livery, Cole pacing them not far behind.
With the help of the stable boys, everyone was soon loaded and ready. Clayton had a big, stout dun horse they put on a lead rope that would be held by Jesus. Cole had the packhorses, and Liz was free to ride as close to Chet whenever she could. With Chet in the lead, they rode southwest for the Marcy Road. It would be a long ways to the Windmill Ranch, and the snow on the ground would slow them.
The biting north wind needed to stop, but Chet had no idea when or if it would even quit. Liz fed them cold bean burritos for lunch in the saddle, and they stopped for just long enough to pee and get back up on their mounts. Clayton sulked most of the day. For his part, though, Chet didn’t miss his lack of words as they pushed on.
Few settlements or places to stop dotted the high open range country as they headed back, and it was well past midnight when they reached the Windmill. They would have had no choice but to make camp, anyway. Their horses were spent, and so was Chet’s shoulder and back. Hurt as he did, though, he worried more about Liz’s condition from the long ride than his own, but she told him she was fine, just tired.
Susie was up in no time, and Sarge brought a lamp down to the corral to help them unload. The women made food, and the prisoner sat on the floor, sulking in his handcuffs. Chet had no worries about him. The boys took turns guarding him through the night. They woke him for breakfast. At least partially rested, they loaded up the horses and rode for the Verde River place. Thankfully, the snow melted away and it became almost hot as the day wore on. They arrived before sundown, much to everyone’s relief.
Tom provided guards and they all got to sleep that night. Chet played with his son before turning in, and then slept upstairs in his own bed with his wife. It was a wonderful event for them both.
“You’re still a great honeymooner,” Liz whispered in his ear before they fell asleep.
CHAPTER 11
Chet was up early the following morning after arriving at the upper ranch. Raphael visited with him in the kitchen over Monica’s coffee while Chet ate breakfast. His foreman had always already eaten before he came up to the big house. Raphael was in his mid-fifties, and never wanted to be any sort of a beggar or show up like one. The fact had become a point about him that Chet understood, though few others did. But he still always drank coffee with his boss and freely informed him about the operation.
Raphael’s workers were all Hispanic—vaqueros—and their families. This group took care of things handily. They operated a guard shift to protect the ranch headquarters twenty-four hours a day. They also acted like one large, extended family. This was why he was so disturbed when he had to deliver the news that one of his men’s wives, a girl named Darling, had been to the doctor and told she had cancer.
“Is there anything we can do for her?” Chet asked.
Raphael opened his calloused hands before him. “Pray. Make sure she is comfortable. It is a very bad disease and little is known about treatment.”
“I’ll ask Liz about what she thinks.”
“Darling’s always a big help at our fiestas. I know it would make her feel better if your wife would talk to her.”
“She’ll be happy to do that.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Raphael asked, “Was this hombre you arrested hard to get?”
Chet shook his head, cradling the warm cup in both hands before sipping it. “No. We arrested him in a saloon among his men. He had a fit and so did some of the others, but we locked him up for the night and brought him here for trial. Thought for a while that his men might try to free him, but they didn’t. I got damned tired of his threats and talk about suing me, though.”
Raphael laughed. “Big men like being caught the least.”
“True enough.” He sipped his coffee. “How’s the rest of the outfit doing?”
“Good,” the foreman said. “We’ve shipped seven hundred fifty head of big steers and cull heifers to the Windmill this fall.”
“That’ll damn sure help. Good job.”
That meant they’d made a profit on this operation. Chet had the figures in his head about the cost of the vaqueros, Raphael, and the food they ate. Of course, the ranch stood the cost of the fiestas and other things like the house and Monica’s pay, but it was on the pro
fit side of the ledger because of the Navajo beef contract sales.
Which proved the value of the agreement with the agency.
Things looked brighter for all his operations. The Verde River Ranch had its largest sale of big steers, cull heifers, and cows that year. It took two to three years to get cattle fat enough for sale, and the previous manager had sold the calves off the cows, so there were not any sale animals for that period from the big operation. Tom had sold that many or perhaps a few more. In the future they’d be in good shape. Up on the rim, the ranch that Reg and Lucy ran had the least overhead, but had still sent two hundred fifty head. Hampt’s East Verde Ranch had sold four hundred head and nearly broke even. Of course, Diablo Ranch, down on the border, was still building and carried lots of expenses. But he felt JD was doing a good job controlling those during the building phase.
Robert’s timber-hauling business made money every year, along with the beef-supplying contract to the Navajo that Sarge ran from the Windmill Ranch. His spreadsheet would be good when he got it out for the year. He stood up and hugged his wife when she joined them.
“Raphael told us this morning that Darling went to the doctor and that she has cancer. He asked that you comfort her.”
“Oh, my, that is so sad. Yes, of course,” Liz said, taking her seat at the table. “I’ll go down there and see her.”
“Tough job. Give her my concern, too.”
“I will. What else?”
“These ranches have pulled us along this year. Things look very good. We’ve sold lots of cattle thanks to the Navajo contract.”
“Not to count all the people around here you sold cattle for,” Monica said. “You have helped lots of people, too. Every time I am out among them, they say you saved them buying their cattle.”
“The project has worked well,” Chet replied. “But not a day goes by that someone else tries to under-bid it. As long as we can deliver on time and have good cattle, we can hang on.”
His wife clamped her hand on top of his. “We do that, don’t we?”
“Oh, we try our best. I plan to round up our business here and head south about mid-week. I promised you that. How does that suit you?”
“Fine.”
“We can drop down and see about your hacienda as well.”
She smiled. “I’d like that very much.”
“Then we can be back here for Christmas.”
“Monica, that may leave lots of work for you to get ready for the holidays,” Liz called across the kitchen.
“Raphael and I can get it all done, señora.”
Liz stretched her neck. “I must have slept hard. My neck is stiff this morning.”
“No wonder. That was a fast trip.”
“Did Sheriff Simms have anything to say about it?” Monica asked.
Chet shook his head. He had done his best not to get in a war with the elected sheriff this time.
“You ever want to be sheriff, I can get you lots of votes,” Monica said.
He shook his head and laughed. “No, thanks.”
“He doesn’t need that job,” Liz added.
“But people want him to be the sheriff.”
“Monica, there’s already plenty for me to do.”
Monica poured him more coffee. “You’re still their choice.”
“And I bet the prisoners would like you to be the jailhouse cook, too.”
Everyone laughed.
“No, thanks,” Monica said, her words firm.
“Same here.”
Chet and Liz went to town and checked on things. They stopped by Jenn’s café first. She was in the pre-lunch slump and had time to talk to them.
“You two look rested.”
“Oh, we’re getting that way,” Liz said.
“Of course I let Valerie off today when her husband came home. They’re still newlyweds.”
“But that’s better than some relationships.”
“Oh, Liz, I love it. But those two were meant for each other.”
“Your new help still here?”
“Oh, they’re doing great. I found you help on the start and you’ve paid me back.”
They left for Bo’s and found him behind a desk piled high in paper documents.
“What’s happening?”
“Oh!” Bo stood up and smiled. “I have lots of business. You two are back, I understand, from arresting a murderer.”
“He’s up in the hoosegow.”
“I learned that this morning. What next?”
“We go south to check on things. Oh, Christmas Eve we’ll have a party at the ranch. You and the lady are invited.”
“We may be married by then.”
“Oh, how nice!” Liz said. “When?”
“Shortly.”
Chet frowned.
Bo lowered his voice and looked away. “There may well be three of us soon.”
Just as he’d suspected. Chet nodded. “You want a witness for the wedding? Liz and I will stand in.”
Bo put his hand on Chet’s shoulder. “I’m so scared. I lost one wife trying to have a baby. Shelly is twenty-eight and never had a child.”
“She’s healthy and active. I think she’ll be fine,” Liz assured him. “You two are so lucky.”
“Oh, I hope so. Six p.m. tonight at the Methodist church. Please don’t tell anyone. You two will be my witnesses.”
“We’ll be there,” Chet said. “And best of everything to you.”
They left Bo to his business, papers, and worries.
“You saved a good man,” Liz said, climbing in the buckboard.
“Yes, I did. I wondered why they hadn’t married before now. She’s a widow.”
“Who knows how widows think? I was settled with being one until you popped up.”
“Thank God.”
“Which reminds me. Go by the church; I’ll pray for Darling and light some candles.”
First thing’s first. He still had the saddle shop and the bank to check in with, but he wheeled the horses off the hill in the direction of the Catholic church. There wouldn’t be time to go back to the ranch to change clothes for the wedding. He just hoped Bo and Shelly wouldn’t mind if they weren’t real dressed up.
After prayer, she stopped to talk to Father O’Brian about Darling’s health problem. Once on the seat, Liz asked him to drive over to Shelly’s house. He’d never been to Bo’s bride-to-be’s place, but knew where it was at. They drove through the black iron gate, up the drive, and found themselves before a large, two-story brick house.
“Impressive place,” he said, helping her down.
“A very nice place.”
A maid answered the door and told them her mistress wasn’t expecting company.
“Excuse me. She’ll see me.” Liz went by her and the maid let him come in the hallway.
Chet grinned, a tad embarrassed. “My wife knows her,” he said with a shrug.
The young woman shook her head. “I’m only doing what she told me.”
Liz reappeared. “She wants you to fix us some tea. Chet, come on in. I told her you were here, too.”
Sitting on the couch, Shelly saw him and struggled to rise as she saw him enter the parlor. He waved her back down. “Don’t get up. I’m fine.”
She shook her head. It was obvious she’d been crying.
“I told your wife, but I am so embarrassed. I love Bo, but I never expected we’d conceive a baby. I was married for four years and nothing ever happened like this.”
“It’s no problem. It happens. Shelly, I was my first wife’s third husband and she’d never birthed a baby, either. I feel very lucky to have Adam.” He handed her his handkerchief.
“Oh, Chet. I knew about that and I felt so sorry for you.”
“So there,” Liz told her. “Start celebrating your own good fortune.”
She wiped her wet eyes and nodded. “You’re so kind. Thank you so much for stopping by. I’m feeling much better already.”
“Bo invited us to witness your we
dding tonight. I hope you don’t mind?” Liz asked.
“Mind?” Shelly chuckled dryly. “Of course not. You may have given me the backbone to actually go through with this.”
Liz smiled. “Shelly, I had the same feeling after I lost my first husband. That I didn’t need anyone. Then I met Chet and lost my mind. Get up and let’s go look at the dress you plan to wear. We can fix your hair.” She turned to her husband. “Chet, go see the banker and stop by the saddle shop like you planned. I can handle things here.”
Marching orders in hand, Chet told the maid he could find his own way out. The three women left the room together, all talking at once. He almost laughed when, going out the front door, he heard the maid say to his wife, “I told her that twice. At least she’s listening to you.”
Everyone had to listen to Liz, he mused, clucking at the horses to go.
At the bank, he found out that Tanner was out on business, so he drove up to the saddle shop and found four of his vaqueros’s sons stitching saddles. McCully was busy showing one of them the trick to wrapping a saddle horn properly.
“I see they’re working out right nicely,” he said to the crippled man, who crossed the room on his crutches to shake Chet’s hand.
“Oh, these boys are great saddle makers,” McCully said. “I’m glad you stopped by. I need to speak to you. They can do this now; let’s go talk in the office.”
Once inside, he closed the door. He looked pale. “You know my daughter you went and rescued?”
“Of course I do,” Chet said. “Petal.”
“That’s right. Well, we got her back too late—I am afraid he got her with child.”
“Oh, God, man. I am so sorry.”
“One of the boys from your ranch wants to marry her, but I didn’t want you to be mad at me for letting her do that.”
“He knows about the baby?”
“Sí. She told him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Vincente Dais.”
“Pablo Dais’s son, right?”
McCully nodded. “He is good worker and is learning fast. And he speaks well of you.”
Pray for the Dead Page 12
