Pray for the Dead

by Dusty Richards

  “Don’t do anything, George.”

  “You want to go swimming in the horse tank, too?” Chet asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Here’s the plan. It’s a fun one, too. We hold your head underwater until your memory improves, or you drown. Brad Crawford spent so much time in the tank, we thought he was part fish. He liked to have drowned.”

  The older man slumped in a chair. “Who are you?”

  “Deputy U.S. Marshal Chet Byrnes. Go show them the loot.” Chet indicated for Nelson to go do it with Jesus and Cole.

  The three were gone only a short while before Jesus returned with Nelson. Jesus said, “The money’s back here, at least.”

  “Ruth Carlson and Brad Crawford are in the Benson jail awaiting federal marshals to bring them here. Since there was mail on that coach, the charges are federal.”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “No, but with your being at the scene of the crime, and the recovery of the gold and money in your possession, we sure will prove you two were involved. I expect with the murder charges, you may even hang.”

  “I am not saying another word. You can speak to my lawyer.”

  Spud stuck his head through the door. “The gold bars are here, too.”

  “I will be out of jail in an hour,” Armstrong bragged.

  “Not on a murder charge, you won’t be.” He turned to Spud. “Tell Cole to come up here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chet picked up the cuffs. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  “You can’t do this.”

  “Mister, I can and I am. You’re under arrest.” He handcuffed them both, then removed a derringer pistol from Nelson’s vest pocket.

  He walked over and hugged his wife. “You asked me a while back if there was something that would settle me down. Well, this is it. When this case is closed and they’re in jail or swinging from a rope, and the money’s all back at the bank and counted, I’ll be ready to sit back and relax.”

  “I could sleep for two days myself,” she said, and nodded that she approved.

  “We’ll do that. Check into a hotel and sleep.”

  Liz shook her head. “These men of yours amaze me how tough they are. They never complain. They’re tough as any men I’ve ever seen.”

  “Good team. This wasn’t their first rodeo, either.”

  Tight-lipped she nodded. “I was there. I remember arresting the rustlers.”

  “I think all of the gold and money not accounted for yet is back there,” Cole said, and put his back to the wall.

  Chet could see he was as weary as the rest. They still needed to lock up the prisoners and count the loot, though. He wished he had a big shot of wakeup to clear his head and mind. These things needed to be handled.

  “We need these men in the jail. The combined city-county jail is over on Congress Street and we’ll need a wagon to take them over there. Then another wagon to deliver this gold and money to the National Bank. As far as I know, Wells Fargo is the owner.” Chet shook his head tiredly, trying to clear the buzzing in his ears. “I know you’re all just as tired as I am, so let’s split up. Jesus, you get us some wagons off the street. Liz and I will take the prisoners to the jail. Spud, you take the horses to the livery and put them up. Cole, when you and Jesus get that money and gold loaded and in the bank, we’ll all meet at the hotel. Jesus, here’s ten dollars for the money wagon. I’ll pay for the prisoner wagon. Spud, you have money for food?”

  “Yes, sir.” He was off to help them load the loot.

  Jesus was right back from the street. “A wagon for the prisoners is outside for you. Another is going around back to haul the loot.”

  “Good. Now go find a vendor and eat something, Jesus. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

  Chet herded the prisoners outside, boosted them on the wagon, and put Liz on the seat. Then he handed her the rifle and climbed on it. “Take us to the jail,” he told the driver.

  The Hispanic man nodded. “Are they killers?” he asked Liz.

  “Sí. Bad, bad ones,” she replied in Spanish. “Evil men.”

  Chet laughed and shook his head. He was too damn tired to hardly think, but they were jail-bound, and he had the evidence he’d need to convict them. Unloading at the jail, he paid the driver and marched the grumbling pair inside, Elizabeth trailing along behind.

  “Marshal Byrnes?” the deskman asked, recalling him.

  “That’s me. I got two federal prisoners here. No bail. They’ll be charged with robbery and murder.”

  “I will lock them up, but you’ll need to fill out the paperwork.”

  “I’m short on sleep, partner,” Chet told him. “Tell the acting Chief Marshal I’ll be back to file charges after a few hours of sleep. No bail.”

  “I savvy that, Marshal.”

  “Damn, forgot.” He shook his head to try to clear it. The cuffs off them, Armstrong went to complaining some more. “Shut up,” Chet told him. “Where you’re headed, they won’t hesitate to gag your mouth.”

  Two prison guards took them back to frisk them and issue them stripes.

  Chet thanked the deskman. He took Liz’s hand and they went outside together in the bright warm sunshine that about blinded him. The hotel was two blocks away and he shook his head. “Sorry, it’s been a long spell. I’m so tired, every step is hard. Look for a food vendor. We need to eat something.”

  “I could sleep without it.”

  He hugged her close. “It’s a wonder one of us didn’t fall off our horses coming over here. But I couldn’t let those two get warned that we had arrested Crawford.”

  “I understand. I’m as proud as you are about getting them in jail.”

  They paused for some flour tortillas and beans from an old Mexican lady. He ate about half of his and fed the rest to a yellow cur dog. She did the same.

  “So much for our feast.”

  Even weary and dead tired she had humor. He was damn lucky to have her.

  He paid for three rooms, left the deskman the names of his men, and headed upstairs. The stair climb made him dizzy and once in the room they fell across the double bed and slept.

  CHAPTER 27

  Pounding on the hotel room door.

  Chet rose up on the bed, unsure of the time or for how long he’d slept. The light coming through the window was weak and pink. Sundown?

  The knocking continued.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “I’m coming.”

  He opened the door to find a bleary-eyed Cole sweeping the hair back from his face. “Sorry, boss. Fred Dodge sent word just now that those two killed the Benson town marshal and escaped the jail.”

  “Crawford and the whore?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Damn it!” Chet pounded the door frame with his open palm. “I bet they’re headed for Mexico.”

  Cole nodded. “That’s where my money would be. But you have Liz along. We can go track them down.”

  “Hell, no. Spud can take her—” He stopped as he saw her shaking her head out of the corner of his eye.

  “I am going, too,” she said firmly.

  He sighed. “Get everyone up,” he told his partner. “We’ll eat and get the horses. I’ll bet Shawn and Roamer are headed back to Tubac already. We’ll wire them there. By the time they get the news, Crawford and her will be south of the border already. Wire Dodge that we’re on our way. The U.S. Marshal’s office here will need some details on those prisoners. Damn, looks like another long night in the saddle.”

  Cole agreed. “It was too easy catching him.”

  “I thought that man could keep them in jail until I got someone out there to bring them in here. That’s what I get for thinking, huh?”

  Jesus and Spud were there by then.

  “Ragged-looking bunch. Liz is coming. We’ll go eat.”

  “They kill that old man?” Spud asked.

  Chet nodded. “Desperate men do desperate things. He must have felt he had nothing to l
ose.”

  Everyone agreed. Liz joined them, finally, looking amazingly fresh. “Where to next?”

  “Food.”

  “Oh, do we get to eat?” she asked.

  “This time, yes,” he said. They went downstairs to the restaurant. He picked up a tablet and two pencils in a general store on the way to eat. While they waited on supper, he wrote out the entire story about the crime, from the involvement of the two businessmen, and the prostitute—Ruth—helping them learn the shipment schedules, to the killing of the outlaws to cover their tracks. He also listed the name of the witness in Preskitt who pointed them out. He ended the letter telling them about the money and gold bars that had been recovered and now resided in the vaults of the Benson and Tucson National Banks.

  Then he detailed what he knew about the Benson jailbreak, the murder of the jailer, and where he was going next. He signed his name, folded the paper up, and addressed it to the acting Chief Marshal.

  “I hope they can read it.”

  “They will,” she said. She’d read it as he wrote. “This’ll do the job.”

  “I’m going down to the courthouse and giving it to the desk man. You guys get the horses. We’ll ride all night and get over there in the morning—sleep a few hours and then find out what direction they went. I also have to wire Fred Dodge and Tubac for the Force.”

  “You figure they’re chasing them with a posse?” Cole asked, finishing his coffee.

  “By now whatever posse they had has faded. Crawford’s not your average dumb outlaw. He completely lost us at Rye. If he could do that, he’ll have no trouble losing a posse of useless townsfolk. We have one advantage, though. I don’t think he had any more money left at Saint David. He’ll have to rob for what he needs.”

  “He’ll leave tracks somewhere,” Jesus said. “I don’t care how smart he is. He’s a gringo in Mexico with a redheaded woman. People will notice him.”

  “And there’s your answer. Let’s move out.”

  After shooting off the wires to Dodge and the Force at Tubac, Chet dropped the letter for the U.S. Marshal off at the jail desk and he paid the man five dollars to be certain who got it. The jailer tried to give him his money back.

  “No. You deliver it in person in the morning. I want to be certain he gets it.”

  “I will handle this very carefully, sir.”

  He and Liz hurried out of the jail. His men and the horses awaited them at the hitch rail. It was pitch-dark already when they wound their way out of the walled city and headed east on the Butterfield Road toward Benson. A half moon shone on the tall cactus forest as they rode.

  He was glad to be away from the city. Tucson was a pretty stinky place. Chet wouldn’t miss its atmosphere. No one there collected the dead animal carcasses, and it wasn’t unusual to find turkey buzzards and stray dogs arguing over the corpses in the street. Smelly toilets and uncollected garbage piled high all made the town a less-than-enjoyable place to visit, let alone live. Chet always wondered why they kept moving the capital back and forth from there to Preskitt, but he knew there was lots of power in Tucson and the money to go with it.

  With the city smells out of his nose and the creosote aroma replacing it, they rode hard for Benson and what he feared would be a long search for Crawford and his partner. A very long search that may very well lead them south of the border.

  CHAPTER 28

  The sun was about up over the Chiricahua Range when they topped the mountain west of town. Far beneath them, the village was sprawled along the San Pedro River. Fred Dodge must have been on the lookout for them. He was the first person Chet saw upon entering the town, jumping out of a chair on a store porch to come meet them.

  “You have the others in jail?” he asked without preamble. Then he saw Liz and removed his hat. “Beg pardon, ma’am.”

  Liz bowed in the saddle. “Mr. Dodge.”

  Dodge looked back to Chet. “Well?”

  “Yes, they’re there. And all the loot we could find is safely in the bank.” He dismounted and nearly fell as his sea legs about folded under him. He looked back up at his wife. “Get off slow, Liz.”

  “I will.”

  “Has anyone found how he got out of the jail?” Cole asked the marshal.

  Dodge shook his head. “Not much to tell. He cut the jailer’s throat from behind and got the keys off the body. Damn bloody mess, let me tell you.”

  “Ah, hell.” Cole spat. “He must have had a knife concealed somewhere we didn’t find.”

  “Seems to be a theme with this hombre,” Jesus agreed.

  “He must have held him up after he cut his throat, managed to get the keys off him,” Dodge continued. “The poor man sprawled forward when he was let go, else he never could have got them keys from inside the cell.”

  “He’s a tough one,” Chet admitted. “He outsmarted us at Rye and shot his own men to silence them.”

  “Well, they stole some good horses and headed for the border. A posse rode out after them two hours later, but we haven’t heard anything from them.”

  “We need a few hours’ sleep. We only had a few winks in Tucson. Nelson and Armstrong are in the jail on robbery /murder charges. It may be hard to make that one stick, but they were in on the crime. They can’t be bailed out. For now. Their share of the money and gold is at the Tucson National Bank being counted.”

  “Good. I’ll have my associates handle that end and the loot, too.”

  “We need to put up these horses and catch a meal. If you can find out anything about the posse and where they are at, leave us word, please.”

  “Where are Roamer and Shawn?”

  “On their way back to Tubac. They took the loot to the bank here when we rode for Tucson so we could head off those two before they could run.”

  “My God, man,” Dodge exclaimed. “You guys are super. And, ma’am? You have my sympathy.”

  Liz shook her head tiredly. “I would not miss a minute of any of it, Mr. Dodge.”

  “Well, your husband has done things a great many other men simply gave up on. And my company sure appreciates all he’s done about crime down here.”

  “Come see us in Preskitt,” she said. “We have lots of beds.”

  “Someday. Someday I’m definitely coming. Thank you very much. All of you get something to eat and then rest.”

  She and Chet headed for a nearby café, the boys dragging along behind like tired children. When they were given a table, they all remained standing until she was seated.

  “Be seated, gentlemen,” she said, blushing. “Very cavalier, but I am one of you. Please treat me like that. I love each one of you, but I am Liz the horse handler, remember that.”

  “Liz, we were all raised this way,” Cole explained, motioning for the waitress. “Wait for the ladies to be seated. My momma would’ve slapped my head for not doing that. You go ahead and hold the horses, but you’re still the ranch’s boss lady.”

  “Thank you, Cole. Rest easy on the out trips, though, please?”

  “I’ll try.”

  They ate the meal of eggs, pancakes, and fried bacon. Dodge sent word the horses were being cared for and would be rested when they got up.

  “How long should that be?” Cole asked. “Five hours?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jesus agreed.

  Chet nodded. “We’ll assemble at the livery and ride from here to Tombstone, or wherever the posse went to pick up their trail.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin and stood to help his wife to her feet. “I’ll pay for our rooms at the hotel. They’ll have your keys. Three thirty at the livery.”

  Everyone agreed and they marched out in a group, spurs jingling as they crossed the street for the hotel. Chet ordered the rooms and they each went their own way. He and Liz went to their own, half undressed, and fell on the bed to sleep.

  They met at the livery, as arranged, at three thirty that afternoon. Chet arranged for two packhorses and gear. When they had panniers on them, Jesus and Spud went to the store for supplies. Chet an
d Cole checked on where the posse went, but the only word on that was southward.

  Southward it was. They departed immediately, a bare hour before winter sundown threw them into darkness.

  Chet’s mind worked as he rode in silence. There was no way to catch up to the posse in less than a day’s hard riding, and even then, they’d probably disbanded when they’d reached the border. It didn’t matter, though. No matter the risks involved or the problems to solve, Crawford needed to be brought back.

  Dead or alive.

  Off in the hills, a few coyotes barked in the night, some even howling for a reunion of the pack. The top-knot Gambel’s quails were silent, roosted on the ground in the spiny chaparral. Some white tail deer moved out of hiding to graze in the open areas. A few grumpy javelinas hustled around to find some pad cactus and pear fruit to eat—spines were no problem to them. The desert owls brushed by in silent flight, searching for kangaroo rats and small rodents. Down on the sluggish San Pedro, Chet imagined a mountain lion stopping for a drink of water.

  They made camp around midnight at the base of a small hill. Off in the distance, some cow bawled for her errant calf. Their horses snorted hard in the dust. They wanting to roll on their itchy backs, but they were hitched so as to not run off or spook. Rolling on their backs in this spiny land held too many dangers for them, anyway.

  He smelled the sweet mesquite smoke of the fire. Liz, Spud, and Jesus were hard at work fixing the food. They had a large hunk of prime beef they’d found at the store and bought for supper. Laid on a grill over the red-hot coals, the smell of the cooking meat made his mouth water. There were baked potatoes, as well as fresh-picked green beans grown in some patch nearby. Liz’s peach upside down cobbler was bubbling in a large Dutch oven standing on its short iron legs over more hot coals, a shovelful of glowing ashes on the lid.

  Chet found a spot to sit on a rug of canvas and waited patiently. This region’s ground was covered in sharp goat-head burrs, a low growing plant brought to Arizona by Mexican cattle, planted by their hooves. The canvas sheet would protect their backsides since they had none of their usual folding chairs.