A Good Day To Kill

by Dusty Richards

“I hope we do better,” Chet said.

  “I hope you do. Anything else, gentlemen?”

  “I’ll be back in a few days to set up an account for that ranch,” Chet said.

  “I will have the papers ready any time. We look forward to doing business with you, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  “What now?” Russell asked when they shook hands.

  “Go back to Tubac. Then Shawn and I may look over all this grief I bought for us down there.”

  Russell smiled. “If I ever needed a guard, I’d hire you, young man. Standing up to Weeks like that took a lot of guts. You did good.”

  “My job.”

  “Weeks was impressed, too.”

  When Russell was gone across the street, Chet said, “From a boy I hired, you made the turn today.”

  “Thanks to you, sir.”

  “That stage to Nogales won’t leave till five o’clock. I know a real expensive place for us to go eat lunch. Let’s try that.”

  “Do I look good enough to go in there?”

  “No, you need a new hat first. That one is kinda old and floppy. There’s a wonderful hat maker right down the street.”

  When they entered the shop, the bell on the door rang. A Mexican man came out and met them.

  “What can I do for you, señor?”

  “My friend here needs a new hat. Not those,” Chet said about a cheaper hat on a lower row. “One of those up there.”

  “This hat is one of my very best. It costs eighteen dollars. American money.”

  Chet wondered what other kind of money there might be. Oh, maybe paper pesos? “You like that?” he asked Shawn.

  “Oh, that is way too high priced for me to wear.”

  Chet held his finger up. “I’m buying this hat, not you. Do you like it?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Try it on.”

  He did so with gentle fingers. The grayish ash-colored felt cowboy hat looked very fitting on Shawn who was as handsome as Reg wearing it.

  The hat man made a critical-looking face at his customer. “Too big. The wind would blow it away. Try this one.”

  Shawn very carefully exchanged the first one for number two. He nodded when he tried it on.

  “Not too tight?” the man asked.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Give it to me. I can stretch it.” He barely wet the leather lining with his fingertips and then put the hat on a screw stretcher and left it there for a few minutes. “It will fit good this time for you.”

  “Where do you live?” he asked Chet.

  “Preskitt, when we’re home.”

  “Oh, I know who you are. You are the man works for the Force, no?”

  “Yes. My name is Chet Byrnes. This is one of my men, Shawn McElroy.”

  “You and your men are doing a great job down here. I wish you luck. Those Mexican bandits all need to be shot.”

  The hat maker removed the new one from the jig and handed it back. “Ah, si. That is a good hat for you. Some señorita will see you wearing it and fall in love with you, hombre.”

  Shawn about blushed. “It’s way too good a hat for me to wear.”

  “No, when people see you wearing it and they like it, you tell them Obregon in Tucson made it especially for you, hombre.”

  “I sure will.” Then he shook the man’s hand.

  Chet paid for the hat, and they went to lunch in the Towers. When the fine young lady took Chet’s hat, she blinked at Shawn’s. “My, what a great hat you have.”

  “It’s brand new, and please don’t stack nothing on it, ma’am. It came from Obregon’s.”

  “Oh, he is such a fine hat maker. I will guard it with my life. Gracias, señor.”

  A waiter took them to their table. Chet was about to laugh. She was pretty and Shawn was awed that his hat impressed her. Damn, he forgot growing up at times. A young woman did that to him one time over at Mason, Texas, about a big stout Comanche-bred paint horse he’d bought. Boy, after that he always rode fancy horses every time he went to town or courting.

  The lunch impressed Shawn as much as the hat. And when Chet whispered the cost of their eating, he swallowed twice. Then he whispered, “God almighty, Chet, my hat and our meal cost you a man’s monthly wages.”

  “Worth every dime of it. I should be rid of Weeks any day now and in the ranch business down there.”

  “We’re still early for the stagecoach, aren’t we?”

  “Yes. I need to find a mercantile in Tucson to supply the ranch. Let’s look at some of them.”

  They spent several hours prowling stores. None of them really stood out, so Chet made no decision about which one to use. Jesus knew lots about Tucson, and his relatives lived there. He could find them a supplier that was a good one.

  They climbed on the stage and made the run south to Tubac. Chet wondered about Stephanie Combs, the young lady who’d ridden down with him last trip. If she’d been on this trip, she might have talked to Shawn. She wasn’t important to Chet, but she sure might have sparked Shawn’s attention.

  He had to find a week to go back to Preskitt and check on his wife and Adam. How much longer could he lead this Force? He wanted to resolve a lot of this across-the-border raiding. Until they built a stronger law enforcement structure down there, this job would continue. But it wasn’t limited to Mexicans. There were more would-be stage robbers in southern Arizona than any other place he knew. Many of them weren’t Mexicans, but Anglo thugs who were forced west by law enforcement in Texas and perhaps in New Mexico.

  More commerce in the Arizona section, like the mining industry, made the country more vulnerable than all of southern New Mexico, where nothing but sheep wandered the southern part of that territory. Apaches were still running around. Things weren’t too settled in this land, and his Force had a need to fill.

  When Chet and Shawn got off the stage at the ranch gate, it was after midnight. He thanked the driver, tipped him, and they hiked up to the camp under a starlit sky. When they arrived, Jesus got up and spoke to them.

  “It was pretty quiet, except when I challenged Weeks about his man Masters. But Shawn stepped in and bluffed him away,” Chet told him.

  “Good for you. He’s a big bully.”

  “You didn’t go with them to the ranch?” Chet asked Jesus.

  “When Roamer got back, he thought one of us should stay here. So Roamer and Ortega turned around and went to see about some raiders who robbed a store and post office between here and the Fort.”

  “That’s fine. We need continuity,” said Chet. “Get some sleep. We’ll assess things in the morning.”

  “Oh, you have a telegram. May and Hampt have a boy, named him Miles. Reg and Lucie have a girl they named Carla.”

  “Well, our diaper team begins. All we have left is sis to have one.”

  “You will need more ranches,” Jesus teased.

  “We have enough of them.” Chet went to turn in. Hell, he had plenty of them to look after as it was. He hoped his men held up managing them. With an attempt to put things aside, he went to sleep still thinking about all the things that needed done.

  CHAPTER 11

  Chet looked for Roamer and Ortega to be back soon. Breakfast for the three went quiet. He planned to write his wife a letter and notes to congratulate the two sets of new parents. Hampt must be busting his buttons over a boy. Reg would be equally glad to have a girl. Hell, his wife was his equal as a ranch hand—her offspring could hardly be less of one.

  The day passed and his deputies didn’t return. Perhaps he should go see about them. Maria picked on him some about his enlarging family. Her comments were attempts to tease him, but even her tries didn’t make him laugh. He went to sleep at dark and woke up in the night.

  Cole was back. He went to meet him and lit a lamp. “You’re getting around late. Something wrong?”

  “We had a few problems, but they’re straight now. They’re low on supplies. I think it will be a great cattle ranch. I’m impresse
d with what we’ve seen. There are about a hundred sixty mother cows in that end of the ranch. So you did good buying them, but no way are there any two hundred or three like we first heard about. But we’re out of food. I guess when Masters left, they never got any more supplies.”

  “I’m going to send Jesus with you to Tucson in the morning. You two can buy a wagon and team and Jesus can find us a good supplier. I’m sure Mr. Holmes at the First Arizona Bank will back my needs with the supplier. Go by and get a letter from Holmes to present to whichever store you two decide to use.” Jesus had joined them and nodded that he understood.

  “I don’t dare leave here until we hear from Roamer and Ortega. In the morning, you two can go handle that. Will that be soon enough?”

  “I think so. Those men he hired will damn sure work, but they all have families. They’ve saved us lots of time counting cows. And we saw lots of places to develop water, where it simply goes in the ground now.”

  “Sounds good. Does JD like it?”

  Cole, weary from his trip, nodded and sat back. “He’s really learning a lot. About people and his job as their boss. I think he’ll do damn good over there. We’re just short on food and a few things. Weeks never overfed them, according to what we’ve found out.”

  “I’ll write Holmes the letter tonight for you to carry to him. I want you to wire Marge to send his bank five thousand dollars and sign it with my name. I’ll write it out. I should have seen to more details. We left Tucson too soon. Jesus, do you know a good supplier in Tucson?”

  “My choice would be one run by a Mexican that my family uses. They are fair. Andre Santos Mercantile.”

  Chet nodded in agreement. “We’ll use your selection. Can you find a team and wagon there to use as a chuckwagon later?”

  “Since it isn’t a buckboard, could we buy mules, if they’re available?” Cole asked.

  “You two are my purchasers for a team. Just get it done.”

  “We can handle it,” Jesus said. “Let us get some sleep.”

  “Amen, and thanks,” Chet said.

  The next morning, he wrote the congratulations letters and worded the telegram to send to Marge. That job done, he ate Maria’s breakfast. Jesus and Cole headed out for Tucson to settle the food situation, and things in camp settled down.

  Midday, a boy of twelve or so rode in on a drawn small horse.

  “Are you Chet Byrnes?”

  “I am, sir. What do you need?”

  “I’m a messenger for a man calls himself Roamer. He said to give you this letter.” He pulled a folded paper from inside his shirt and handed it to Chet.

  He unfolded the paper and read:

  Chet. We are at a border village south and east of the fort. The bandits operating in this region go back and forth. We think they are at a hideout about ten miles south of the border. I hate to cross that border without enough help to drag him back. We will wait on your word. Roamer and Ortega.

  “Where are they?” he asked the boy.

  “Canner Creek.”

  Chet frowned at him. “I never saw it on the map.”

  The boy shook his head. “It don’t got a post office there. I kin show you there.”

  “I savvy no post office. We’ll see.”

  “He expects us,” Shawn put in.

  “Yes. You need to load a packhorse. Bedrolls.”

  “What’s your name?” Chet asked the boy.

  “Frank Peters.”

  “Frank, you can lead us over there as soon as we get ready. When did you eat last?”

  “Early this morning.”

  Maria had come on the run to find out about the messenger, and he pointed the boy toward her. “Maria will feed you. Tie your horse, though I doubt he will run away.”

  “He’s a good horse, mister. I rode him from way over there. I started before the sun came up this morning.”

  “You live over there?”

  “Me and my maw do.”

  Shawn nodded at the boy. “How old are you, Frank?”

  “Twelve.”

  “You’re mighty young to be doing this kinda work,” Shawn said.

  “Mister Roamer didn’t think so.”

  Chet clapped him on the shoulder. “Shawn is just kidding you.”

  They both laughed.

  Maria fed him while they loaded a packhorse and saddled their own horses. Chet had one of his good roans to ride and Shawn picked a big stout bay gelding. With rifles in their scabbards and plenty of ammunition, they loaded Frank on his horse and started east.

  Chet told Maria they were going to help Roamer and her husband with some bandits on the border. He figured she knew the bandits must be in Mexico and they wanted him along to apprehend them. Another no badge deal. He hoped this one worked as well as the other two.

  The boy on his short-legged horse kept up with them. The next day, they were in a place Chet had never been before in the live oak and juniper country. The road would have been rough on anyone trying to sit on a wagon seat pitching them from side to side. There were some signs of mining dumps and several shacks on the hillsides. Then Frank pointed out a corral with horses. “That’s where he’s at.”

  Roamer came to the doorway of a rambling building with his hat cocked on his head. “Where’ve you guys been?”

  “Following Frank,” Shawn said. The three shook hands. A tall thin woman in a wash-faded dress in her thirties came in the room and nodded at them.

  “Frank’s mother runs this boardinghouse. Carol, this is Chet and Shawn,” Roamer said.

  “Nice to meet’cha guys,” she said. “We’ll have supper shortly. As soon as the miners that live here come in.”

  “Thanks, ma’am. We appreciate Frank riding over there and finding us, too.”

  She smiled and hugged the boy. “He’s my man. His paw died in a mine explosion couple of years ago. We had this boardinghouse and the miners asked me to stay. I’ve got a hundred proposals, but they just never fit, so me and Frank live here and run the boardinghouse for Mill Town. We used to have a post office.”

  “Well, he’s sure a big, grown-up boy. Shawn asked him if he wasn’t kinda young to do this job. He told him Mr. Roamer didn’t think so.”

  They all laughed. Roamer nodded his approval. “He’s my man. Let’s put your horses up.”

  Chet, Shawn, and Roamer took the horses to the corral while Roamer filled them in.

  “Ortega has been watching this bunch. There’s a half-dozen of them down there in some jacales. I think they’re satisfied no one can go down there and get them. They’ve made several raids over the border. They’ve been raiding ranches along the border, hitting Mexican families and white folks, too. Really have had a reign of terror, and no one has been able to stop them.”

  “Who’s the leader?”

  “They say a guy called Manuel Robles. He’s a tough hombre. One Mexican family we talked to said he’s a prison escapee. Supposedly murdered a family and was sentenced to life in prison, but he busted out. He raped some women up here, but I doubt any of those women will testify against him. I do have enough men say they will.”

  “That’s what we need, and any evidence of things they stole, if we can find them.”

  “I bet we can do that down there. They stole several saddles that are marked and can be identified, if they still have them. They also took an old pistol from a man named Decker Coleman. It’s one of those first Paterson Colts, and his father’s name, also Decker, is engraved on it. He was a Texas Ranger. I have a list of other things, but that revolver would really tie them to the crimes.”

  “You know, someday, we are going to get caught by the Federales down there arresting these outlaws. We’ve been real lucky so far.”

  “Want to wait till they make another raid?” Roamer asked.

  “No, someone might get hurt. Early tomorrow morning, we ride in and arrest them.”

  Roamer nodded in agreement.

  They left before daybreak. Carol had made them breakfast. Chet paid and thanked
her for keeping his men and for Frank’s help.

  “Anytime you need something, I’ll be here till these mines peter out.”

  “Thanks, Carol. Good luck to you and that boy.”

  “You guys are doing lots of hard work. The real people down here appreciate you.”

  The way into Mexico was by pack train trails. Under the stars, they went through the tough mountain terrain and, at dawn, Ortega met them.

  “You ever sleep?” Chet dismounted and shook his hand.

  “They are all still here. There are some women and children, so we need to be careful.”

  The other two agreed.

  “The big man lives in the jacal on the rise. He has two wives. There are four more men that live in the other jacales. Some have women, some don’t, but he’ll be the toughest one. The others are not that tough.”

  “You’ve done a helluva job of scouting them out. Thanks. Roamer, you take the casa on the right. Shawn, take the one on the left. Ortega, I’ll take the main one. That leaves you the other one.”

  “Unless you catch him empty-handed, he’s going to fight like a tigre.”

  “Goes with the job.” Chet scoffed it off.

  Ortega shook his head. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I’ll be fine. Let’s take them.”

  The others nodded. Their horses hobbled and six-guns in hand, they started to slip up on the jacales. In the dim first light, Chet came in the clearing and headed for the one on the rise. He walked around the corner and heard someone snoring in a hammock. A smile crossed his mouth. The big man was sound asleep not ten feet from him. Ortega must not have been on the south side, and not able to see this hammock. He stepped softly until he was on the far side of the hammock. Then he stepped in and pressed the muzzle of his pistol in the man’s face.

  “Don’t move an inch.”

  The man’s shocked eyes flew open. He realized the pistol was cocked and ready to send him to his reward.

  “Who are you, hombre?” he demanded.

  “I’m a rancher from Arizona. I’m taking you back there for trial for stealing and raiding ranchers.”

  “You can’t do that to me.”

  Chet jammed the pistol’s muzzle in his face harder. “You ready to die? I have no use for you. Roll out on your knees, get flat, and put your hands behind your back. I’m going to handcuff you, but if you make one move, I’ll damn sure shoot you.”