A Good Day To Kill

by Dusty Richards

  “His grandson can do that job. He’s solid enough.”

  “Here I am investing five hundred dollars plus in you, and you’re getting me a well driller who will show up and drill, right?”

  “Yes, sir. I will need an advance of money to get it hauled down there.”

  Chet squatted down on his boot heels in the shade of the rustling cottonwoods. “Now let’s talk about all this, partner. Those pieces in those boxes are the best windmill made?”

  “You ought to see the machine-milled gears, and they run in oil-filled gear boxes, not greased gears outside that gather dust and grind them away. These blades also turn and pump in much less wind.”

  “What keeps the oil in and them turning?”

  “There’s packing on the shaft that, in time, you will have to replace, but the gears run in oil and it has better and more bearings that other mills don’t have. It’s a super product. I thought I could sell hundreds, and if yours work, I will.”

  “So, my money and your neck are on the line?”

  “The system is a solid one. It will work or I’ll live down there and make it work.”

  “I spent five hundred dollars plus a fifty for two tanks. Do I pay the freight bill or does it come off the finished price?”

  “It will cost a hundred dollars to freight all this equipment and the pipe you’ll need, down there.”

  “That includes your blacksmith equipment to work on it?”

  “Yes, it includes it and me, too. You have a well now?”

  “Forty-fifty feet deep. You can’t pump it dry with buckets, but it never has had a windmill on it.”

  “There are shallower wells that water small farms, and some deeper that go dry.”

  “They do the same in Texas. I savvy all about wells.”

  “You want me down there in, say, five days?”

  “Yes. You have the timber for the mills?”

  Randall smiled. “I was so optimistic, I bought them, too. It’s in that next shed.”

  Chet pushed himself to his feet. “What will Crazy Ed charge?”

  “Twenty-five cents a foot and his food.”

  “Him and his boy?”

  “Yes, his grandson.”

  “My cook may quit. No, we can feed him. Will he be there in five days?”

  “Or sooner.”

  “You go south, take the right-hand fork here off the Nogales road. The ranch is about twenty miles south of there. Don’t turn off. Go south on those tracks. It’s due west of Tubac, but you can’t fly over those mountains.”

  “I know where that is. You’re Chet Byrnes, right?”

  “Yes, I work for U.S. Marshal Blevins.”

  “Oh, yes, you are with the Force?”

  Chet nodded. “I head those men. This, however, is my ranch. I have six in northern Arizona. This one makes seven.”

  “These mills are the latest design. They will pump lots of water for you when the wind blows.”

  “Before you leave, send me a telegram to Tubac, and one of my men will ride up to lead you in there.”

  “Thanks. Oh, that used to be Buster Weeks’s old ranch? He talked to me about a windmill for down there a few years ago. I gave him a cash price and never saw him again.”

  “That used to be his place, yes. Here’s the freight money. I want a receipt. When we’re pumping water, I’ll have the money to pay you.”

  “I trust you do. Of course, the winds got to blow.” He made him a receipt on the back of a page.

  “Glad to have met you, Randall. I’ll see you in hell.”

  The man laughed. “I didn’t buy it.”

  “It can be a great ranch. I’m a cattleman and I know it can be.”

  “It simply needs rain.”

  “That’s all hell needs.” Chet stepped in the saddle.

  “Mr. Byrnes, thanks, you won’t regret it.” Randall waved at him.

  Chet rode for Jesus’s relative’s place on the river. It would be nice to hear some soft music and the quiet peace of their place. If Jesus had some adobe masons to work, he’d feel better. At last, they were doing things. But much like rebuilding the Verde River place, anything worth having was always a big struggle and cost money.

  When he arrived in late afternoon to Jesus’s relative’s place, his uncle came out to greet him. “Ah, Señor Byrnes. Come, there is much food and music here tonight.”

  Chet hugged Jesus’s uncle and followed him to the sounds of the music. Jesus came to his side. “We are celebrating. I have six men to go build your stand and the houses.”

  “Mucho gracias.” Chet felt better. Things, though expensive, were taking shape.

  Guitars played and couples danced under the Chinese lanterns. He had come to a peaceful place. Thank God. Amen.

  CHAPTER 13

  His mill man, Randall, wired Chet at Tubac that they were leaving for the Diablo Ranch on Wednesday. Chet planned to cross over the mountains that day and then go up to meet them on the road. He figured the freighters could get way down there the first day and the second one get to the ranch. He wanted JD to decide which plan he wanted from the several house plans he’d drawn up. But to have the water system in would mean a lot, and a sure sign of progress to everyone over there.

  He wrote Marge all the plans so far and how they were soon going to see some real progress. With no idea about the time involved in windmill construction, or when it would be up, everything moved too slow for him.

  He and Shawn left the camp to Roamer, Jesus, and the two younger Morales brothers, Starting up the mountain in the early morning, the air was cool. Hooves clacked on the rocky base. When a rifle shot ricocheted off the hillside in a noisy karang sound, Chet quickly dismounted, jerked his rifle out of the scabbard, and tried to spot the source of gun smoke above him on the steep-faced mountain. He slapped his horse on the rump to get him out of the line of fire and ducked low to find protective cover.

  Shawn knelt behind a large boulder to his right. Another shot ricocheted off a rock formation to their left.

  “How many are up there?” Shawn asked.

  “So far, I think, one. Stay down and work to your right when you can. When he stands up to shoot, you may get a better shot at him from out there.”

  Shawn agreed and crawled on hands and knees for several yards. Then, in place, he nodded at Chet. “I’m going to shoot at him.”

  “Let me distract him first.” Chet rose and fired three shots in rapid succession at the spot in the junipers he thought concealed the shooter. Then he dropped down and a bullet spit off the rock next to him. Shawn took two shots and someone yelled like they had been hit. Shortly after that, another rider left on horseback. His horse scrambling on the loose rock, he headed for the top of the mountain. Despite a charge on foot uphill, Chet couldn’t see to shoot at him for all the brush.

  “I think you hit one of them,” he said to his man.

  “I had part of him in my sight. What now?”

  “Take our time and go up there. One of them got away. I couldn’t ever see enough of him to shoot at him.”

  “He was out of my sight. I’ll get the horses. Mine is downhill and looks fine.”

  Chet agreed with him. “Mine’s up ahead. We’re lucky they didn’t shoot them.”

  Shawn nodded. “Hey, it got damn serious.”

  “Damn serious. I wonder how they knew we were coming up here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe they were coming over to get us, heard us coming, and took up to ambush us.”

  Shawn looked hard at the mountain above them and shook his head. “I’d of liked it better if we’d got that other sumbitch, too.”

  “We will, in time.”

  “You’re the veteran in getting out of ambushes. I’m still learning.”

  “You’re learning fast.” He spoke softly to his horse and about slipped on the cliff side of the horse after shoving the rifle in the scabbard. His hand caught the saddlebags and he stepped around them. Whew, that was close.
/>   “Long ways off that side,” Shawn said, eyeing the thousand-foot drop-off.

  Chet agreed and pushed his horse uphill until they reached a wide enough shelf to hitch their horses in a juniper. Then with his six-gun in his fist, he went around some more and spotted the bloody man on his back. He was Hispanic and his sombrero lay nearby.

  Shawn joined him and looked down at the body. “He ain’t ambushing anyone again.”

  Chet nodded and knelt beside the body. The man wore an old ball and powder .44 in his holster. By his clothes, he wasn’t prosperous. But he’d never seen him before. He picked up his rifle and hung it by the thong on his saddle horn.

  “Let’s load him on his horse. Someone at the ranch may know him.”

  Shawn went for the man’s horse and brought him back. “This is a big W branded horse. Isn’t that the brand you bought from Weeks?”

  “It is. Someone at the ranch may know him then.”

  “You don’t think it was Masters shot at us?”

  “It damn sure points to him.”

  “Whew.” Shawn shook his head as they loaded the outlaw’s body and tied it down.

  “I’ll lead him,” Shawn said. Chet mounted up and they started up the mountain.

  “He might try us again,” Shawn said in warning.

  “Yes, we better watch for him.” He nudged his horse to moving up the mountain trail in his ground-gaining walk. They soon neared the top and a cooler wind swept his sweaty face as he reined up. In the saddle of the pass, he could see there wasn’t much place for a shooter to hide on this far slope. Except for a few pancake cactus beds, there was no place to even hide a horse until they reached the desert floor. The shooter must have already reached the floor on that side. He couldn’t see him, but he’d had enough time to escape the area. Chet started his own horse off the steep west side. The sure-footed mount slunk down the path like a big cat. Two attempts were too many times to make an effort to kill him. He needed to end that man’s career at being an attempted killer.

  Chet wondered about his wife and baby. He was already missing some things about Adam growing up, but he’d catch up in time. If he was at home he’d probably be busy working on the ranch anyway, but being away from them bothered him. They made the last part of the trail and reached the desert floor of tall cactus amid some mesquite thickets. Headed north, they trotted their mounts. He didn’t find any tracks to show where the shooter went, so they rode on toward the headquarters.

  Midafternoon, they reached Rancho Diablo and several men came running over to them. JD came in fast on a horse and slid to a stop to survey the corpse. “What happened?”

  Chet indicated the dead man. “We think it was Masters and this man that shot at us coming over the pass. Masters got away. This guy was riding one of your horses.” Chet swung down.

  Shawn dismounted and threw the reins at JD, who examined the horse for the brand.

  One of the ranch employees took hold of the dead man’s hair and lifted his head. “This is Bueller. He used to be Masters’s foreman and left when he did.”

  “I figured it was Masters who shot at us, along with Bueller here. Shame we didn’t get him, too.”

  There was lots of talk going on among the crew about the man. Ortega joined them and scowled at the dead man. “They hated him. He was a slave driver.”

  “Good, then he’s in hell. Let’s get him in a grave. How have you been? Hey, JD, get the others out here. I have some news for the ranch. But first I want to talk to Jesus and his men.”

  While Ortega gathered the crew, Chet went to find Jesus. He found him overseeing the brick makers. Six men could make a lot of adobe bricks in a few days. The ranch wives were hand-cutting straw to make the bricks stronger, and already there were many rows of bricks drying in the sun. Two men stomped the reddish clay and straw until it was mixed. Then with trowels, they filled the wooden forms that held six bricks. When the bricks dried they shrunk from the wood; then the workers slid them out of the molds, careful not to break even one. The bricks then were set up slanted on each other to further dry. Already several rows of them wound like a serpent along the ground.

  “This is going great. Come over for my speech.”

  Jesus followed him, and Chet began to speak to the ranchmen. “I’ve hired a man named Randall to set up a windmill. He’ll set up a water holding tank and make a faucet to get water from it.”

  He let Ortega translate before he started again, “Jesus, you know, has six men making adobe bricks. They’ll build a stand for that tank next. There’ll be ditches to dig to bury the pipe he’s bringing. There’s a well driller coming to drill more wells. There is also a second windmill for the second well.”

  The men nodded in approval to each other.

  “We have two houses to build, and then we’ll build you and your family bigger quarters. When you are out on the ranch, bring in any young palm trees you find and replant them here. When the water system is complete, and if we have enough water, we will buy seeds for the women to plant and raise food. I want this to be a great hacienda for you and me and everyone.”

  One man stood up and held up his hand. “If—we have—enough agua, can we grow grapes for wine?”

  Chet shouted, “Si.”

  They all cheered.

  “They are as excited as I am,” JD said. “What else?”

  Randall had telegraphed Chet that he’d started for the ranch. “Tomorrow, you need to send a man up there to meet him and his freight haulers bringing the mills and pipe.”

  “No problem. Chet, years ago, when we were in Texas and I was a kid, I realized you were a doer, but you’ve really became one out here. These guys will dig ditches, or do anything, to make this dream come true. Ortega and I have found them to be loyal and anxious to make it work. It ain’t a job with them—it’s their way of life.”

  Chet agreed and wanted to laugh. His nephew had talked more in the last few minutes than he ever had before in his life. He was learning fast what made a ranch tick—the people who worked it.

  The midday heat was still sweltering. He and JD sat in the shade of a tarp. They got plenty of hot wind and some grit from an occasional dust devil that came twisting across the desert country that stretched for miles to the south.

  “I’m sure we can keep this place going, if you’d like to take a quick trip to Preskitt,” Chet said.

  JD shook his head. “I can go later. She understands I have work to do down here. I need to learn all I can about both the well driller and the pump man. How much were the windmills?”

  “The two cost, with pipe and tanks, over five hundred dollars. Be close to seven hundred, I figure. John is building some windmills at the Verde Ranch, but he can’t make enough for all our operations. This man, Randall, I think, can get us more of them, if we can find enough water.”

  “I understand. I’m learning so much I didn’t know before. But, hey, you want something changed, all you need to do is say so.”

  “Thanks. We need to do things different down here than we do up at the north ranches. We may have to use crossbred bulls, instead of purebred bulls. We’re considering it. Learning to live and ranch with this dry country will be trying, but there’s a way.”

  “I think so, too. What else?”

  “Select a new man to head the adobe crew. I need Jesus.”

  “I can do that. I know he’s part of the team, and with two of us over here that cuts you shorthanded. Where do you think Masters went to after shooting at you?”

  “He knows this country like the back of his hand. He can be anywhere. We’ll just have to keep an eye out for him.”

  “Are you going to get some others to look for Masters?”

  “I’ll get the other marshals to see what they can learn about his whereabouts. You make sure that your men go out in pairs and have rifles.”

  “I never thought about him doing anything to them. But you’re right, he might take it out on them. Shawn and I think they might have been headed for our place
at Tubac and met us on the way.”

  JD nodded. “That could be the case. I better go figure out who can lead the adobe brick maker. I’ll talk to Jesus.”

  “You have time. And we need to select a house plan, too.”

  “Bonnie and I talked about it when I was up there. You’ll be here. Let me go see about the adobe business first?”

  “Fine.”

  They’d get it all resolved. JD was thinking like a ranch manager. He planned to stay over to see how Randall and his deal worked out, plus meet the well driller. Then he’d gather his three men and get back to work. He really needed to set up a team and get excused to go back to ranching.

  Things were simmering down on the border. Fewer reports were coming in about raiders and crimes caused by border crossers—maybe they were finally getting a handle on it. He hoped so, anyway. Annette, the wife of one of the ranch hands and a young mother, brought him some fresh coffee. She and two other wives did the cooking for the men. They were sweet workers and he knew they worried a lot about the patron being there.

  Chet and his men continued to catch up on things. Ortega told him there were some real wild maverick cattle on the place that would pose a challenge to capture. He wanted to hire some vaqueros and round up the broom-tailed mustangs and drive them to Mexico.

  “They eat the grass our cows and horses could eat.”

  Chet agreed but wondered if the cost was worth it.

  “I think I can get some Mexican traders to buy them down there,” Ortega said.

  “How many are there?”

  “Maybe two hundred or more.”

  “How many men would we need?”

  “A dozen men on horseback.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Maybe three weeks. Maybe less.”

  “Can we be sure they’ll stay down there and not get away and come back?” Chet was concerned the Mexican buyers could only handle so many horses at one time, and the rest would hightail it back to the ranch.

  “I see what you mean,” Ortega said. “It would be foolish to round them up and have them come running back.”

  “We might hire hunters to shoot them?”

  “They could make food that poor people could afford, if we could sell them to butchers.”