A Good Day To Kill

by Dusty Richards

  “That dress you bought her looked very nice.”

  “I hope she’s not carrying that man’s child.”

  “That would be a concern. I hope not, too.” He ate some more of his meat.

  “If you’re going north tomorrow, do you have a partner to ride with you?”

  “No. I’ll ask Raphael to appoint one.”

  “Kinda late, isn’t it?”

  “No, he’ll have someone.” He finished his food and went to drop his plate in the washtub set up where they could be washed and reused to feed others.

  He caught his foreman eating. “I’m going to ride up north tomorrow; I’ll need a pack horse, supplies, a bedroll. One or two men to ride with me. Be gone about five days.”

  “I will have you covered. Go have fun.”

  “I may take Marge home. She’s tired.”

  “No problem. It is a great party.”

  He told the others he was leaving, then hugged May and her baby. Shook some more hands, and Hampt had his buckboard waiting.

  “When you see Reg, tell him hi. You two don’t wreck going home. It’ll be dark shortly,” said Hampt.

  “You do the same. See you when I get back.” Chet helped Marge in the seat and drove the team around rigs until they were going downhill for the city.

  “Raphael has a man?” she asked.

  “He said two men will be ready at sunup and loaded.”

  “You have wonderful help.”

  “I really do.” He couldn’t say enough nice things about his employees.

  At home, a few hours later, they turned in. Adam and his nanny, Rhea, were already asleep. They climbed in bed and after some moments that brought back memories of their honeymoon, they went to sleep. Even as he drifted off to sleep, though, his mind was busy with thoughts about the high country and the trip ahead.

  CHAPTER 17

  When Chet came downstairs the next morning, Monica had his breakfast and coffee ready. She told him what a nice time she had at the party the night before. Marge came down to kiss him good-bye before he left.

  In the cool predawn, two of his vaqueros rode with him out the gate. Waco, the older of the two, was perhaps thirty and the other rider was Phillipe, who called himself Phil. Both men were armed with cap and ball forty-fives and carried 44/40 Winchesters under their stirrups. Waco was married and his wife, Nona, was still in Preskitt working with the cleanup crew that morning. Probably busy packing up the picnic things.

  When they headed out the gate, he was glad for the warm jumper he wore. His winter coat was on board one of the packhorses and he knew early snows were part of the high country. They went off the mountain, crossed Verde River on a wooden bridge, and headed skyward for the north rim. They’d be at Robert’s house and camp on the rim by midafternoon.

  Robert’s tall wife, Betty Lou, met them, blond braids shining. Her face beamed and she was excited to hear about the big party in Preskitt the night before. Chet filled her in on the details and asked how she liked living up there.

  “Wonderful. I’m getting used to the altitude. I had some headaches at first, but not anymore. Next year, I’ll have a garden and can grow a lot of our food. That wonderful man in Oak Creek sent up lots of produce and vegetables that I canned. He’d catch a freighter and have him bring it up here to me. It worked wonderful, and we got peaches and apples. We were so blessed. And I like my house.”

  “Good. Where’s he?”

  “Oh, he’ll be here about five. I can make some coffee. I make it for him. He drinks it, but I doubt he would tell me if it was bad.”

  “You’re a Mormon?”

  “Yes, and he’s not, but we get along fine. Some of my girlfriends told me not to ever marry a gentile. They said I would never be happy. But I’m very happy, and he’s a thoughtful, great husband.”

  “I’m certain Waco and Phil would drink some, too.” Standing by, hatless, they nodded they would.

  “I’ll make a big pot of it then. I want to feed you three. His men eat over at the cookhouse, but I can cook. He eats it, anyway.”

  “I’m sure if we don’t have to cook it, that we’d eat it, too.”

  His men laughed.

  They took seats at her table. And after more conversation, they raised their cups to thank her and ate some of her rich oatmeal raisin cookies.

  Robert arrived and shook their hands. He looked like he was frosted in sawdust and stepped back outside to remove his outside shirt, and she swept off his pants with a corn broom.

  “Sorry, I made a mess, hon. It’s just great the boss came by to see us.”

  “Yes, we’ve had a nice visit. I can sweep it up. It isn’t like it’s cow manure.”

  They all laughed. Robert told them where to unload their horses and to put anything a bear could eat in the shed and bolt it shut good. The two agreed and he sat down with Chet at the table and had some of Betty Lou’s coffee.

  “What do you want to know?” He spread his calloused hands out on the table.

  “I’ve looked over the books for your operation. Marge sends you the reports. What you’re doing here is keeping us open. I want you to hire a Segundo, as the Mexicans call them. A man who can run this place when you’re gone or want to take a few days off. We can pay him ten more a month. But when we have meetings over at Preskitt Valley, your wife needs to come over and shop.”

  “That sounds good, doesn’t it, hon?”

  “Wonderful. Mr. Byrnes, I mean, Chet, Robert works seven days a week. But you know that.”

  “I know. Him skidding logs is a great way to make money, if you have a good man in charge. I never imagined it could be so profitable. We set it up to keep the mill running.”

  “Thanks for trusting me. I was pretty young to have that much responsibility,” Robert said. “But I have some good men, too. They don’t shirk any work that I ask them to do. Today, we had some tough places to get the logs out, but we’re right on schedule. I was down there making sure they were able to get them out.”

  “How is the mill doing?”

  “They have lulls that worry me. Then they get mine orders or house orders and away they go. They don’t want the log-hauling part back, either. They thank me all the time for our on-time deliveries. I keep an eye on their log supplies and make sure they don’t run out.”

  “You’re doing it well. And even got this Mormon gal brewing good coffee.”

  Robert smiled and hugged Betty Lou, who stood beside his chair, around the waist. “I promised her she wouldn’t go to hell for doing it.”

  They both laughed.

  “Keep up the good work, you two.”

  “How is your baby?” Robert asked.

  “I thought you’d never ask. Adam’s doing fine. May has a boy named Miles, and Susie is waiting for hers. She came over to the Verde place a little scared she might be going to lose it. But she got better and went back home to the Windmill Ranch. Sarge, you know, had a horse wreck and broke his leg. Victor is herding the cattle to the Navajos now.”

  Robert shook his head. “Man, there’s lots happening.”

  “An outfit like this, there’s something all the time.”

  “Reg’s baby doing good?”

  “Last I heard, she was fine.”

  Then he told them about JD and the new Rancho Diablo. After a nice supper and a big breakfast the next morning, him and his two supporters rode north for the big San Francisco Peaks, which the Navajos considered sacred.

  Midmorning, he found several freighters and rigs stopped in the road. He rode up where they were gathered and looked over the situation.

  “Something wrong here?” he asked a man standing nearby.

  “They found a feller that’s been shot. Says he’s been robbed by two men.”

  Chet tossed his reins to Phil and dismounted. “I’ll go see what I can do.”

  They had the man lying on an old military blanket beside the road. He looked badly shot up.

  “What’s his name?”

  A heavyset man
pushed off his knee to stand and talk to him. “Says he’s Talburt Eden and he comes from Goldfield. Said he had lots of gold on him and his horses, and that they took it after shooting him.”

  “Does he know the ones that shot him?”

  “He said Don Sheets and Kelly Monroe.”

  “He knew them?”

  “Yeah, they all mined together down there. Got in an argument last night and they shot him and took all the gold.”

  “What brand was on the horses they took?”

  “He never said.”

  “Ask him. That will make finding them easier.”

  The big man knelt down again. “What brand was on your horses?”

  “A JT on a bay and the sorrel horse had an Eight-H on his shoulder,” the wounded man gasped out.

  The man rose and Chet told him, “We got that. There isn’t a doctor short of Camp Verde. I don’t know of any up here.”

  “Hey, you guys, headed south,” said the man. “Take this man to the sawbones at Camp Verde.”

  “Reckon he’ll live that long?” Chet asked.

  “Yeah, he’s lived so far. He’s worth trying to get him there. You the law?”

  “I’m an excuse for one,” Chet said to the big man in the flannel shirt, who was busy spitting tobacco aside.

  He wiped his lips with a bear paw of a hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Chet Byrnes.”

  “Why, you’re a U.S. Marshal. Okay. We’ll try to get him to a doctor. Boys, easy like, load him in the back of the first wagon.”

  “Can you report the crime to the authorities?” Chet asked them.

  “We’ll do that.” He looked around for support and many of the others nodded.

  “Good. Then we’ll try to find his attackers.” Chet took the reins from Phil and gave them a head toss and the three of them rode north.

  Waco did a lot of leaning out of the saddle for a ways to look at the tracks in the dirt road. When he straightened up, he nodded. “I can track their horses. They’re fresh shod and make good prints.”

  “I guess that will be the next thing, to find them. Thanks. Show Phil what we’re following.”

  “See that print there? That horse steps hard on his right front shoe. He may be a little lame. But he puts it down harder.”

  Phil looked to where he pointed. “I think I see it. I see their tracks that the wagon didn’t press out. But I never saw that in the prints.”

  Waco laughed. “The more you track him, you’ll figure out a lot about the horse you follow. Look at how different horses step, then check their hoof-prints.”

  “Where are they going?” Phil asked Chet. “We’ve never been this far north.”

  “There’s a road ahead runs east and west that folks call the Marcy Road. A Captain Marcy came out of Fort Smith and went to California. He mapped it, reported the water sources and the mileage. We used his maps coming out here from Texas. There’s another road goes north and skirts the Grand Canyon. Going to Utah. We went up there and rescued some people held by kidnappers up there.”

  “Jesus told us about that trip. He said it was cold and tough.”

  “It wasn’t for the faint of heart,” Chet said, amused. “It was hell, but cold. We need to get these two before the snow falls up there.”

  “They can’t be far, and they don’t know a lawman is after them already.”

  “Three lawmen. You’re my deputies.”

  Phil looked over at Waco and pointed a finger at him. “Señor Thomas, you are a U.S. Deputy Marshal.”

  “Ah, Señor Milgram, you are one, too.”

  Chet shook his head, laughing. “Deputies, we need to move faster. It’ll be dark soon, and I’d like to find them before sundown.”

  They trotted their mounts and crossed a great wide-open meadow surrounded by the ponderosa pine that covered the country. The sun would soon set, and he hoped to reach Reasor’s Ranch on the far side of the great meadow before complete darkness. Reasor’s, a saloon, café, and store served as a resting spot for travelers.

  “What if they are there?” Phil asked him as they trotted their horses.

  “They won’t know us, any more than we’ll know them. When we find those two branded horses, we’ll know they’re there. Then, we’ll see what happens.”

  The sun was down and the long twilight of the western country had set in. Even in the hill country of Texas it never stayed light so long as it did in Arizona. There were five still sweaty horses at the hitch rail at Reasor’s. When they dismounted behind the spent-looking hipshot animals, the lights went on inside the log building that served as saloon, café, and store. Waco quickly looked at the red horse’s left shoulder and stepped out nodding.

  Chet, in a stage whisper, told Phil, “Go around back. Don’t shoot unless they come out armed. Order them to drop their guns. Then you be ready.”

  “I savvy.” He left on the run.

  Waco, face grim in the gathering darkness, nodded he was ready. Chet went up the three steps and onto the porch. There were no batwing doors, and he could see the store portion. The café and saloon were to the right. When he came into the light and his eyes focused better, he saw two trail-dust-floured men at the bar turn and blink at him.

  “Which one of you is Sheets?” Chet asked.

  “Who’s asking?” the mustached one asked.

  “A U.S. Marshal.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Get your hand away from that gun unless you really want to die.”

  “Alright. Alright.”

  “Disarm them, Waco. You two are under arrest for the attempted murder of your partner and robbing him.”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “Oh, I can. I have a dozen witnesses to testify they heard him say you two shot and robbed him.”

  Chet removed the mustached one’s gun and then the other man’s weapon. Phil was there with handcuffs and leg irons.

  Chet also put their knives on the counter, then his men handcuffed them.

  A small crowd of tough-looking men circled the situation, and one of them spoke up. “Why waste time on a trial? We’ve got some rope.”

  A chorus behind him said, “Yeah.”

  “Gentlemen, I agree with your intentions. But wild as we are, Arizona needs to show we are not the wild west. No, the trial and the verdict of the law is better.”

  “How far back did they do it?”

  “This side of the sawmill. Maybe half a day’s ride.”

  “Where’s the law at?”

  “Preskitt. Let’s all have a drink. I’ll buy the first round and toast a better territory.”

  A big man wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “You must be the big rancher that wears that badge?”

  “My name is Chet Byrnes.”

  “Riley Cobble. You ain’t an ordinary guy.”

  “Yes, I am. But I believe this lawlessness has to stop. I want my family to grow up in a peaceful place.”

  “Amen,” the crowd said, moving in to get their free drink.

  His men took the two over and sat them in chairs. The owner came over wearing a stained white apron. “I have a log shed we can lock them up in.”

  “Good. We better feed my men first. Thanks.”

  “Reagan Reasor. Nice to meet you. My wife can fix you and your men up with supper.”

  “We need to feed them, too.”

  “Oh, I knew that. She’ll feed them. I better get back to work.”

  “Thanks.”

  Chet paid his bar bill for the gang in the saloon portion.

  “It’s three dollars and seventy cents,” the man behind the bar said.

  Chet paid him and thanked him.

  “She’ll have your food ready shortly.”

  “Fine, we can wait.”

  “Boys, boys,” the bartender said, “let’s toast our new friend and his crew, Marshal Byrnes. May the law straighten out Arizona.”

  “Yeah,” went the cheer.

  He ordered a beer apiece for his
men and then sat back in the captain’s chair.

  “You don’t drink beer?” Phil asked.

  “I‘ve lost my taste for it.”

  “What next?” Waco asked.

  “We go back to Preskitt to deliver the pair of them to the sheriff. Stop at home and start back north again.” He lowered his voice. “There’s no one here I could trust to take back all that gold they’re supposed to have on them and their horses.”

  “I think you’re right. No one else should do it.” Waco made a tight-lipped nod.

  “I have never arrested anyone,” Phil said. “But they didn’t fight you?”

  “They’re lucky. They didn’t neither one look like gunfighters to me, and they would have died standing at the bar.”

  “Or coming out the back door.”

  Chet chuckled. “Yes, you were out back there.”

  “I was ready, but when I heard you order them to give up, I said to myself that they’d better do that, and they did.”

  Waco was ready to sip more of his beer. “I was glad, too.”

  Chet agreed—it went smoothly.

  After their meal and with the prisoners fed, they borrowed two candle lamps from Reasor and put the prisoners in their irons behind the locked shed door with a blanket apiece.

  Earlier, they’d searched the pair and found each wore a gold-dust-filled money belt around their waists.

  They were heavy, too. And there were more pouches in their saddlebags. Chet knew there was a lot of gold, but had no idea about the total worth. He felt certain the amount would be several thousand dollars. Not enough to murder a man over—if the man died. Greed ruined many people’s lives.

  “Looked like they had enough for all,” Phil said.

  “Damn shame,” Chet said.

  “Who will get all this gold?” Waco asked.

  “The heirs, I guess.”

  “Can we get in the will?” Phil asked.

  The other two laughed at his plan. They took turns guarding the gold and the prisoners. Chet took the last duty and dawn found them loaded. Reasor’s wife, Nettie, fed them breakfast and they headed south. They didn’t stop until they reached the Verde River Ranch that evening.

  Tom met them and arranged guards for the prisoners and gold. Chet was still several hours away from his wife and their house. At his request, they saddled a fresh horse for him. Tom promised to bring the prisoners in a buckboard with their gold and gear the next day.