“Get the hell out of here!” He spurred the roan and charged the squawking black birds as they lifted their wings in flapping panic. The man sprawled on his back without eyeballs left in his sockets had a scar on his dirty face and two bullet holes in his heart. The double wounds in his shirt were mere inches apart and had not bled long. This outlaw had died quickly.
Why had they killed their own cohort? Had they argued about splitting the loot? Had he dissatisfied the leader somehow?
“Why’d they shoot him?” Cole asked, swinging down to squat beside him.
“Same thing I asked myself. He answers Ryan’s description of the unmasked one at the robbery.”
“You thinking what I am thinking, Marshal Byrnes?”
“What’s that, Mr. Emerson?”
“Hell I ain’t—I got you. Did they kill him because he was the only face they saw at the crime?”
“I’m beginning to believe my theory that these aren’t ordinary crooks we’re trying to run down.”
“Did you get those passengers’ names?”
“No. Ryan has them at his office. Three common people, he said. A woman and two men in business suits who lived in Tucson. What if they were to meet these robbers with a wagon to haul away the loot? Fresh horses for them to ride?” Chet shook his head. “We have to push harder.”
“What about him?” Cole asked, nudging the body with his boot.
Chet already had his foot in the stirrup to get on his horse. “We ain’t got time, boys. God protect him. They’re getting away.”
He checked the roan and then reset the six-gun in his holster to be sure it was in place. It was a habit he had always used to be certain it was there. Reassured, he set the roan out again for the silver reflection of the Verde far below. A short while later he thought of his field glasses in the saddlebags and took them out. His lens scoured the far side of the river and he saw nothing. Too far away, the dusty junipers choked the far-off mountain, too, so there was nothing to see there, either.
The fugitives needed to ride into an open area way over there. Have something reflect the high sun in a flash. Damn.
He felt edgy pushing the roan in the lead. These were not some ranch hands busy escaping like the horse thieves who killed Marge’s ranch foreman and his close-by segundo. These men were stone-cold outlaws who killed the most traceable one of their number.
The outlaws’ horse apples on the trail were fresh enough for them to be only hours ahead. Chet and his men headed downhill again for the gleaming Verde. They could see it from afar under the giant cottonwoods, their dull leaves rattling in the cool wind sweeping across the land. There were plenty of tracks of saddle horses and large mules when they arrived at the stream. No doubt they were pushing them hard.
Did they know there was pursuit? Or did they simply expect it? Most sheriffs would have rounded up all the angry townsmen they could and raced after them. Men not used to sitting in the saddle all day or popping the brush. Men who wore out after bare hours on the trail, and usually simply gave up when the going got tough. Chet didn’t trust them like his posse. The men with him were tempered steel—hard as rock. Ramon was as hard as Cole, Jesus, or himself.
Where the outlaws had crossed the stream was wide and shallow. But the water that had splashed off the horses’ legs, fetlocks, and hooves on the smooth rocks and sand had not dried yet.
“They aren’t far.” Chet reined in the roan and twisted in the saddle. “Their drippings aren’t dry here.”
“They crossed in the last hour,” Jesus said.
“We may be riding into a trap. Get your wits about you, boys. Keep your heads up.”
All three agreed. Cole and Ramon limbered their rifles out of their scabbards while their horses drank the brown-stained river water. Chet reined his roan back to do the same. No telling when he’d get him another drink.
The horses were hot and fidgety. They’d drink a little, and then one would snort and raise its head up to look around. All of them acted upset. Chet wondered if they saw the danger or were simply worked up from the long, tough, fast descent off the mountain.
Another tough mountain loomed over them, choked with junipers. Another obstacle they’d need to scale to run down the robbers. Way up there, the Oxbow Road must be their goal. It was the only route out of here. Were there wagons waiting up there?
No way to know.
But these outlaws had made a path to escape cross-country. Marked it and made sure they could use it in their plans.
Who informed them about the shipments? When this was over, he would need to ferret out that individual, too. Were those three passengers Ryan spoke about involved in the crime? Strange how they were there when it happened. He’d need to know more about them.
He swung the roan out of the shallows and loped him across the sandy ground that ages of floods had deposited there. He looked up at the first rise from the river, and the roan cat-hopped up the sedimentary loam to the next level. There was a small piece of cloth marking the way on a juniper for him. Had they left it there for him to follow, or in their haste failed to strip it down?
No way to tell. He was asking himself too many questions. They went that way in a damn hurry, though, breaking off dead weeds brought up by some stray rain shower. A mule even went down there; his imprint was in the soft ground.
They lost no time climbing the mountainside and dodging the juniper on the run. With Chet on one side, Cole came around on the other side of a bushy evergreen. Horses sweaty and breathing hard, they reined them up at the edge of a long, open, grassy bench of a meadow. They needed to be certain they weren’t riding into a trap.
The tracks were still there, headed northeast. Chet and his men took a hard look at what lay ahead in the grassy sweep. Jesus dismounted and got on his knee to examine the hoofprints.
“I don’t see anything,” Cole said, scanning down the open space.
Jesus agreed and stood up. “They’re still running.”
“They either know we’re coming or have a time schedule to meet,” Chet thought out loud.
“They also may know they have replacements waiting for them, or they’d use their animals easier,” Cole suggested, swinging back on his horse.
“Tough either way. If they’d timed their exit, then they might be following a time schedule.”
They had just started off when a puff of gun smoke in the edge of the meadow made them scatter.
Chet went left, expecting more shots as he slid the roan to a stop in the cover of the evergreen boughs. Cole went the other way, and he watched him disappear in the junipers. Jesus and Ramon were still in the saddle when they joined him. Chet was off the saddle and on his soles, jerking the Winchester out of the boot under his left stirrup.
“You see him?” Jesus asked.
Chet shook his head, trying to see where the shot came from. Then he heard more shots and Cole rode out, waving for them to come on. His rifle was still smoking.
“Looks like he got one.”
“Boy, that was quick,” Jesus said.
“I was afraid we’d never see him alive again,” Ramon said, shaking his head.
They remounted their horses and charged down to where he had showed himself. Ramon took the reins as they dismounted. Their horses were so hot they needed to be walked some, and Jesus caught Cole’s horse, too, to lead around out in the meadow.
The shooter was on the ground. Cole squatted nearby with the rifle over his knees.
“Who is he?” Chet asked, looking at a man in his thirties, unshaven and in need of a haircut. Hatless, he’d been shot in the right shoulder. He held the wounded arm and grimaced, blood flowing freely through his fingers.
“He won’t talk,” Cole reported.
“Where is his mount?”
Jesus jerked his head off toward the trees. “I’ll find it.”
Chet squatted down in the grass beside the man. “Mister, you don’t talk and talk fast, I am going to tie you belly down over your horse as we’re goi
ng after your cohorts. You’ll bleed to death and no one at all will cry about your passing.”
“Burn in hell.”
“Fine. Load him up and he can die when Jesus comes back with his horse.” Chet went off to relieve his bladder, seething with anger.
“You ever seen him before?” Cole asked, working on the same task close by.
“Not in my life. You?”
“May have been his brother. But he looked real familiar to me from Tombstone somehow. I wish I could place him back then. I wasn’t down there much but—oh, hell, I don’t know. He wasn’t a good shot, I can tell you that.”
“Thank God for that.”
“If he’d waited until we were closer, he might have taken some of us out.”
Chet agreed and cast a look back at the outlaw. “I have no sympathy for him. We’ll load him and go on.”
“Or leave him here to die, for my money,” the younger man growled darkly.
“I considered that, too. Bennie is coming. We’ll leave Ramon here to guard him and they can load him up and bring him on with the packhorses.”
“And we ride on?”
Chet nodded.
“They were desperate to leave him behind,” Cole pointed out. “He was not a sharpshooter. Disposable, you guess?”
“No telling how their leadership thinks.” Chet shrugged. “They’ve got a small window of time out of him.”
Cole agreed and they marched back out into the meadow together.
“Ramon, you guard him until Bennie comes. Then I don’t care how you load him and bring him. He gives you any mouth, you bust him over the head. You have some jerky and water?”
“Sí. I will be fine. I wish I could ride on with you, but I understand. I will pray for you to catch the rest, and I am grateful I rode with you. Someday when I have sons, I will tell them about this trip and how their father rode with you hombres.”
“God bless you. Let’s go, boys.”
“Wait. You ain’t leaving me with that man are you?” the outlaw demanded.
“That’s the plan. Who are you?”
“Lane Johnson. I seed you guys in Tombstone a year or so ago. Listen, if you catch him, you won’t do anything to him. He’s got too many friends in high places.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s his name?”
“Take me with you and I’ll—tell yah.”
“Just tell me,” Chet ordered.
“I—I can’t unless you take me.”
“Tell me.”
“Brad—Craw—Crawford. I swear don’t tell him I said it.”
Chet looked at Cole. “You ever hear of him?”
“No.”
“Jesus?”
“I never heard of him, but maybe the men on our border bunch know him.”
“Daylight’s burning. Let’s go.”
“Hey! Hey, don’t leave me with this gawdamn Mexican.”
Chet swung in the saddle and checked the roan. “Hell, Johnson, he may kill you but he won’t eat you.”
“Don’t leave me—”
The other two shook their heads as they left in a thunder of hooves. Who in the hell was Crawford? The lying bastard might not have told him anything. But it made one more thing he needed to mull over, too. Was it truly the leader’s name? Maybe not.
He pushed the roan horse harder. There were only a few hours of precious daylight left to reach the Oxbow Road. His heart thudded under his breastbone. They must finish this run with a capture before the sunset.
The impossible needed to happen.
At dark, they reached the road and still hadn’t caught sight of the caravan. According to Jesus, they’d turned north. Chet was shocked. He’d thought they would turn south.
“Rein up, boys.” He exhaled slowly and scratched his head under his hat. “We’re a few miles from Rye. There’s food, water, and horse feed there. Leave the others a sign we went south here. Tomorrow we can pick up their tracks again.”
Jesus rode over and pruned some branches off a juniper with a hand ax so they would see it was to the right of the outlet, then they trotted for Rye.
In the empty saloon, the bartender recognized him and said, “You’re that U.S. Marshal. Chet Byrnes. What are you doing back here?”
“We need to eat. Can you get us some food?”
“My name’s Cy Green. You want something to drink?”
“My boys want some beer. You got a root beer?”
“Hey, Lolinda. These guys want food,” he shouted.
A hard-looking Mexican woman in her thirties came out drying a plate. She looked pregnant, but like many such women who had so many babies by that age, they always looked like that. She asked, “What you want?”
Jesus told her beef and frijoles. Chet and Cole asked for the same.
She shook her head wearily like it was too much work, and went back in the kitchen. “Gracias.”
“She’s been busy. Some guy I’d never seen before rode in about two hours ago and ordered food for three people.”
Chet’s head snapped around. “You see where he went?”
“I don’t know,” the bartender said. “I think he rode north.”
“What did he look like?” Since there was no one else in the place, he continued. “We’ve been tracking stage robbers from over Bloody Basin way for a few days. He might be one of them.”
“I’d say, thirties, five-eight—dark hair. Looked part Injun. Like he might have a little Cherokee blood somewheres. Dressed like a ranch hand, run-over boots, bull hide chaps, and a droopy hat that used to be fancy. Blue silk kerchief. Wore a gun in a cross draw holster and a big knife, talked like a Texas drawl. Pretty nervous acting—he never was in here before and acted like he needed to hurry.”
“Good description. Thanks.”
“You say they held up a stage and you all rode clear over here?”
“Yes, we want to catch them.”
“They tell me that’s tough country you came over on.”
“Real tough. Our horses have cooled down. Can we put them in the livery?”
“Yeah, wake up Ira. He’ll help you.” The barkeep went back to polishing glasses.
“Stay here. Jesus and I can handle it,” Cole said.
“My leg isn’t broke.”
“We can handle it.”
“Thanks.”
The bartender spoke up again. “Hey guys, Ira has some bunks you can sleep in over there, too. Tell him what you need, he can handle it.”
“Thanks,” Cole said, heading outside. “We’ll do that.”
“You have us breakfast here before dawn?” Chet asked.
“No problem.”
“If two vaqueros show up, tell them we went north. They’ll have a wounded prisoner and may ask where we’re at. They have our packhorses.”
“I can do that. You came prepared, didn’t you? I recall you from four, five years ago. You arrested a pair of killers who raped a woman. Hung them down in the dry wash.”
“That was me,” Chet affirmed. “Made the Globe paper, too.”
“I don’t know a soul who would have written that—but they did anyway.”
“I don’t hang them anymore. We have judges to do that.”
“I savvy that, but we needed more rope justice back then. You arrested some others over here, too.”
“A few.”
“You have some big ranches. How do you have time to chase these worthless bastards around?”
“First, someone needs to do it. Second, we need Arizona tamed to become a state. Someday we’ll do that, have her tamed and become another state.”
“But you have a wife and those ranches—why you?”
“Because, like this deal, the law never formed a posse to go after them. Said when they’d show up they’d arrest them. If they’d formed a posse and gone after them, they’d all fall out of the saddle the first day way over in Bloody Basin. Cronies and businessmen don’t make good chasers.”
“Yeah, I know about those deals.” Green put another po
lished glass on the stack.
Cole and Jesus were back. “They’re all okay. There are some beds. He’s got some bug-free blankets. I said we’d be over there after we ate.”
“Thanks. Breakfast before dawn here.”
“Good. Jesus, you don’t have to cook,” Cole teased.
“Thank God for that woman.”
They laughed and the food soon came. She had plates for them and even some fresh flour tortillas she must have made. They didn’t care, they were hungry. Chet gave her a silver-dollar tip. “That’s for you. Thanks.”
She looked impressed and dropped it in her cleavage. “You hombres are alright. Gracias, mia amigos.”
Jesus told her something in Spanish about how they appreciated her. His gringo partners nodded at his words.
“See you before dawn,” she said. “Leave the dishes on the table. I am going to my casa.” With a shawl over her shoulders, she hurried out the door. When she was gone, the bartender told them her husband had abandoned her and four kids here.
“She’s hardworking. Thank you for tipping her.”
“Good women like that are hard to find.”
He paid him after the meal and they walked under the thousand stars in the sky for the livery.
“You suspect they have a hideout close by?” Cole asked.
“No idea. But we’re closer to them than we were.”
Jesus spoke up. “No. They would not have sent the guy for food if they did.”
“Jesus may have a point,” Cole agreed. “Or they had no supplies.”
“Or anyone to fix it for them,” Jesus finished.
“Tomorrow we’ll know,” Chet promised them. “Or the next day.”
They checked on their horses, standing asleep in their tie stalls. Then they found the bug-free blankets Cole had talked about and went to sleep. Chet was glad that Liz was not with him. The ride had been tough and there appeared to be no letup in sight. He missed having her to sleep with, though.
She and Monica could handle Christmas. No telling what the bill would be, but he could afford it. One good thing with all the mess in D.C. and New York over finances he read about, they were real lucky to be away from all that madhouse.
He bet Hannagen was wondering where his answer was from him. They had the buckboard deal to fall back on. The rest would come along. It had to.
Pray for the Dead Page 19
