Pray for the Dead

by Dusty Richards

“That isn’t half as bad,” Cole said, sounding relieved.

  “No, but it would be much neater in the summertime.”

  “You two stage coach planners want lunch today?” Liz asked from the doorway. “Monica has it ready.”

  “We’ll come to eat.” Chet rose from the chair. “We’re planning the stations we’ll need for the buckboard delivery. He’s taking the west. I’m going east.”

  “Who goes with him?” She indicated Cole.

  “Ramon and Bennie.”

  “You?”

  “Jesus and that orphan boy Spud who works for Tom.”

  “You think I’d freeze if I went along?”

  He caught her up in his arms. “You tell me.”

  Cole rolled his eyes in mock disgust. “C’mon, you two lovebirds, break it up. I need my appetite.”

  Liz laughed so hard her face turned red. “I’d better stay home and split my time between Val and Rhea and their boys.”

  “It won’t be an easy trip.”

  She hugged his waist and they went on to eat lunch.

  Someone had gone for the mail and brought it by with a letter from Shawn at Tubac. Chet put his lunch aside to read it.

  Chet,

  We have located Nelson and Armstrong in Tucson. They run an import company. It may be a front, though. Not much comes or goes at their warehouse under our observation. Fred Dodge is helping us cover them. The woman, Ruth Carlson, can’t be found. No one seems to know where she is at. Brad Crawford is another no-show. Roamer thinks he’s over near the action at Tombstone. Lots of private big stake games over there, and our information says he is a gambler. Sorry I have no more information. I will write you again next week about what we find.

  Shawn

  Nothing there. He handed the letter over to Cole for him to read.

  “Shawn and the boys down south haven’t learned much.”

  Cole put down his fork to read the letter. “Wonder where the loot’s at?”

  “Probably wherever Crawford is at,” Chet mused. “That gold was in bars. They may have to send it to Mexico and melt it down to sell it.”

  “Think they’ll slip up?”

  “Yes, and we need to be ready.”

  “I can’t see how you two will do that while you’re out finding stage stops.” Monica shook her head.

  “Oh, Monica, don’t forget we have ranch business, too, to deal with on the way.”

  “Chet Byrnes, you get any more to do, they’ll have to make a second one of you. And them boys of yours are too small right now.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Chet sent a note off for Spud to prepare to head out New Year’s Day, and that they’d pick him up as they passed by the lower ranch. Cole went home to get Valerie and Rocky. They would spend a little time on the ranch before he and his men left the same time.

  * * *

  The weather held off. A bunch of the outfit showed up at the ranch to ring in the New Year. Chet told them all about his plans at ten o’clock and went to bed. Liz thanked them all for coming and joined him.

  Up before daylight, Monica had breakfast ready for Chet, Liz, the two vaqueros, Jesus, Cole, Valerie, Liz, and the oldest boy, Rocky. Liz gave Chet a hard time about leaving in the cold, and he told her things had to be lined up for the stage business to get going.

  They rode out in the pre-dawn and reached the canyon road as the sun crept over the horizon. Dark shadows stretched out all around them, but thankfully, there was not much ice, and they were soon out on the flats and at the lower ranch house.

  Rhea and her housekeeper, Lea, expected them and had coffee and pastry laid on. Spud was there waiting for them, pleased they’d invited him to join the expedition.

  Chet explained they were going to try to set up stage stations for a buckboard mail run from Gallup to the Colorado River. Victor and Tom came in from the cold and joined them. Chet repeated his plans to them, then was soon off once again.

  They rode north for Robert’s place up at the sawmill. His wife met them in the afternoon and Robert came in early. There was snow on the ground, but he said the skidding was going good enough and the mill was running six days a week to fill orders. Part of them slept in the workers’ bunkhouse, the rest in the house and left again before dawn.

  They got ready to split up a few hours later at the base of the mountains.

  He and Cole had gone over the plans and what they could pay for the stops, and what to do if there was no ranch or farm available at or near the location. When they’d return to the ranch, they’d combine their report for Hannagen.

  “Sure appreciate this chance, boss,” Cole said as they shook hands.

  “Nobody deserves it more, Cole,” Chet replied. “Take as long as you need. You’re the boss on this one. Be careful. And check on Lucy for me, would you?”

  “You know it.”

  Chet knew Lucy could handle things, but he wanted to be sure she didn’t have problems. It wouldn’t have been such a worry except that she was facing having another baby. That would be bad enough without a husband, let alone running a ranch. He hoped that Fern’s man could run the place. Tom thought Drew could, and knew him better as a worker than Chet did. That counted for a lot.

  He, Jesus, and Spud were out of the snow when they camped near the first stop east that night. They set up a sidewall tent on the open prairie just below the junipers, where they could pick up enough firewood for a day or so. But so far, they had seen no farms or ranches in the area.

  “Tomorrow we split up,” Chet told them. “And look for someone to be a station agent or find a place to build a stop.”

  They slept fully clothed in the tent, and in the morning crowded to the heat side of Jesus’s cooking fire. This station hunting would be a challenge. They rode off into the morning three separate ways, with the understanding to return to camp to compare notes by an hour before sundown.

  Chet returned late afternoon to a surprise—a man seated at their campfire waiting for him.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Chet said warily, keeping his hand close to his six-shooter. “This is our campsite. Is there something we can help you with?”

  The stranger stood and introduced himself as one Herman Rothschild. And in a friendly way, he asked what they were doing up there in the cold.

  “Chet Byrnes. You ranch up here?” Chet asked, shaking his hand and putting his glove back on.

  “Oh, a short way north of here. A young man came by and said you needed a station or something, so I rode out to say hello. What’s this all about?”

  “You must have spoken to my man, Spud. We need a way station near here for our buckboard mail run. Eventually, it will be a full-fledged stage stop.”

  “He was very honest with me,” Rothschild said. “I think I’ve got what you need.”

  “Well, let’s discuss the operation before you make a commitment. You would need to keep fresh horses, feed the driver or the replacement stationed there. He may from time to time have a passenger or two. That’s in the near term. In the future, we will need an actual stage stop. There are many plans available for that. You provide it and we rent it, or we build it on a leased deal, or we buy the land and build it.”

  The other rancher considered this. “Can you use a place a mile or so north of here?”

  “I imagine so, if you have water and want to operate it.”

  “What would you pay?”

  “Fifty dollars a month. And we’d buy your hay for seven dollars a ton. Do you have corrals and water enough for the horses?”

  “I do. But I also have a Navajo wife. Would that bother you?”

  Chet chuckled. “If she won’t scalp them, I’d say no problem.”

  “Oh, hell, she speaks English. But some folks are prejudice. You just never know.”

  “My men should be coming in anytime soon. I’m glad Spud found you. Let’s hear what else they found, and we can make a deal if they haven’t promised someone else.”

  “Fine by me. I have nothing pressi
ng this evening.”

  Chet dismounted and stretched. “You find your wife out here?”

  “Oh, yeah. Mine died in west Texas coming out here from Arkansas. When I met her, I was taking care of my two young boys while trying to get my wagon and mules out here. I was camped, fixing a harness, and she came along. Never expected her to stay, but she was good at fixing leather. I wondered if she’d become my wife—the boys loved her. She said yes.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I can’t pronounce it,” Rothschild said, red-faced. “I just call her Darling.”

  “Good deal. Tomorrow we’ll stop at your place.”

  “You can’t miss it. I’ll tie a red hanky on a stake so you find it.”

  “Thanks. We will be there in the morning.”

  “Mr. Byrnes, I ain’t begging, but I could sure use that fifty dollars a month.”

  “Herman, I understand.”

  His two scouts came in empty-handed. Spud said he had spoken to a big man named Ruth-child, and that he was the only one acted interested.

  “He came to see me a while ago, Spud. You did a fine job. I think we can use him. How does his place look?”

  Spud scowled. “It ain’t the Verde Ranch.”

  “Well, what is?” He and Jesus laughed. “We just need a place for the horses and driver; it don’t need to be real fancy out here.”

  “Oh, that place isn’t near fancy,” Spud said. “But he acted like a man understood what you need.”

  “Good. If we think he can do the job, we can spend some money on improvements. These places are crucial for the buckboards. No one else you saw today interested?”

  “I saw two women who said their husbands were away working and they would not talk about anything without them being there,” Jesus reported. “But they didn’t have what we needed, from what I saw. So I thanked them and left.”

  “Alright.” Chet slapped his hands together. “Unless this one falls through. He needs the income and acted excited to help. Let’s eat and get some shut-eye, and we’ll go see him in the morning. I suspect our days ahead will not be so rewarding as today.”

  They were at the low-walled cabin an hour or so after dawn. On initial inspection, the corrals, Chet agreed, would need to be expanded. He could see the well house and wondered how good it was.

  Rothschild’s wife came out to greet them.

  “You must be the stagecoach men. I saw this young man yesterday,” she said, pointing to Spud. “Please, my husband calls me Darling.”

  “Is he here?” Chet asked.

  “I can ring the bell and he will come. He is clearing some land for a garden next year. He is a hard worker.” She pulled the rope and a schoolhouse bell on the tall post peeled away.

  With a hoe and ax on his shoulder, Rothschild came up hill and smiled.

  “You met my wife?” he asked, dropping the tools.

  “Yes, sir. And my men and I think you should get the job, if you want it.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” the rancher exclaimed.

  Chet jerked his head toward the wellhead. “How good is that well?”

  “Twenty-eight feet deep and it has a real vein of water coming in it,” Rothschild replied, leading them that way. “When I broke through the rock bottom, the water rushed in so fast, Darling had to reel me up in the bucket. There’s sixteen feet of water in it and that’s enough to shut it down and flow underground. I was amazed. I’d dug several wells in the Ozarks, but never expected to find one like that out here. I witched it and there’s a spring course under here.”

  Chet dropped a small rock in the well and heard the splash. Satisfied, he said, “We think we’ll need to build some larger corrals for the horses and bring in some hay. Depends on how many horses we have to keep here. If I had the poles delivered, could you build the corrals if we are short-handed?”

  “I’d be glad to build them.”

  “When the poles get here, we would start the payments at fifty dollars a month.”

  “That would help.”

  “I also can stake you to two hundred pounds of frijoles when the men bring the poles and posts.”

  “Oh, I will repay you.”

  “I am not that concerned about that. I want you and your family to have food enough to get by until this works. It’s wintertime, and my team will have to fight the good and bad days to cut the poles and then get them here.”

  “Digging post holes is hard in this cement. I’ll need a plan and measurements so I can start digging them.”

  “We can do that right now,” Chet said. “Jesus, you have a tape in our packs. We can set that corral out with stakes. Spud, get an ax and use some of his firewood to make the stakes.”

  “Good. I’ll get some twine and cut me some lengths to measure the spaces, too.” The man rubbed his hands together excitedly.

  “Jesus, can we get enough lodge pole–like pines for twelve-foot spans?” he asked.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” his tracker replied.

  “Now, Herman, don’t kill yourself,” he said. “I trust you. Do what you can and rest in between. We’re going to make you our man up here. I need for this buckboard deal to work. Worst comes, we can use your pens until we find the help.”

  He swallowed hard. “I can do it. I won’t let you be disappointed.”

  “Jesus, you and Spud make us some lunch. Herman and I are going to walk this off. We need a good space here from the house so the dust doesn’t bury the cabin.”

  Herman shook his head. “I never thought about that.”

  “We’ll plan this to work. I want it to work for you, too.”

  They walked off the space Chet felt they needed for the big corral, some smaller ones to keep crippled horses in, to separate horses with bad dispositions from the others. Darling came and helped the boys cook lunch, and they were soon laughing up a storm. He felt good about this deal. A quarter of his needs for stops would work at this ranch.

  He made notes of the pole and post needs, as well as gate hinges, latches, and nails to hold them up. Then they’d need some forage brought in. Rothschild’s supply would winter his stock, but not the company horses as well. In his notes, Chet added a sled and some barrels to bring the water to the pens, plus some boards for water tanks, and caulking to seal them.

  The sun had warmed things. They ate lunch on a makeshift table with the two young boys and Darling. She spoke good English and it was clear how much the boys loved her. Herman sat down to eat and asked to say a prayer. His flowery words thanked the Lord at their having found him, and asked for the strength to be ready for the buckboards’ arrival. He blessed the food and their business. Amen.

  After lunch, they staked out the rough plan for the pens. Spud rode out to hunt and shot an antelope. They dressed him properly and Darling cooked them some ribs for supper. With their camp and tent set up, Chet made out a written agreement with Rothschild and they both signed it.

  Chet felt good. One down. Three more, and they would have the east half sewed up. He wished Liz was there to share in this first success. After all, it could be a while before they had another one. The next station needed was forty miles east. He’d bet that one would not be so easy, but he was ready to move on and find out what awaited.

  The sun rose on another warm morning, typical of winter up on top of the rim. All they needed was another day or two of good weather, and they’d be settled in the next area. Hopefully before another blue northern blew in.

  They set up camp in the new map grid in the afternoon, and Chet decided to do a little scouting before sundown. A couple of miles down the trail, they came across a store/saloon. Chet nearly couldn’t believe his luck. If a deal could be struck, this would be another perfect site. Hitching his horse outside, he adjusted his gun belt on his hip and marched on in, Spud trailing along behind. Jesus stayed with the horses.

  A grizzly old man owned it. Rue Kline had two teenage wives that were filthy, dirty, and lazy. Chet formed a
quick opinion that they worked as prostitutes, as well as waitresses for Kline’s clientele.

  With one watery eye shut in a mask of white whiskers, Kline sized him up from behind the dirty counter, wearing a filthy apron soiled by blotches of blood and cow shit.

  “What’cha business, mister?”

  “I’m looking for a stage station and a place to change horses.”

  “You found it.”

  “I am talking about a place where travelers will need to change coaches, eat, and rest while horses are changed. This pig pen wouldn’t be used by my company.”

  Kline showed his yellow, broken teeth in a smile. “They can like it or lump it, because I don’t care. I’ve got the only water and only place for twenty miles. And I can tell you I ain’t doin’ it fur nothing. So get ready to shell out five hundred dollars a month to use it.” His high-pitch laughing sounded near maniacal.

  “Well, we won’t use it I can guarantee you that,” Chet spat, anger building. “Good day.”

  “Hey, you fancy gawdamn sumbitch,” the old man crowed at his back. “I’ll charge you a thousand dollars to use it when you come back begging me for it.”

  “One more outburst like that and you won’t have any teeth to chew on your tobacco.”

  Chet waved Spud on outside, almost expecting a bullet in his back. But the uppity old fart was all mouth like he figured.

  Two days later, they met a man on horseback named Clyde Covington, just outside Covington’s ranch. Chet told him about the operation and what he needed, now and in the future.

  “Oh, you ain’t using ole man Kline?” A smug look crossed the man’s face.

  “No, thank you. I stopped and saw right off the company would never use him.”

  “How’s it work?”

  “This first thing we plan is a buckboard delivery of U.S. mail over this road. We need stations every forty miles to change teams. Care for our horses, make the changes, put up our drivers, and feed them and an occasional passenger or two.”

  “What’s it pay?”

  “Fifty dollars a month to operate it. I’ll provide the hay or buy yours.”

  “That’s six hundred a year, ain’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”