A Good Day To Kill

by Dusty Richards

  Chet looked at Cole, then shook his head. “Our boss has spoken. Mr. Taylor, we’re going to find you a bed. Cole will put up your horse, and we’ll get up early, pack our pack animals, and go over to Hackberry and start there.” He hugged Lucie and laughed.

  She shook her head. “I know him way too well for you to leave him behind, Chet.”

  Both the ranch hands were at the house by then and got filled in on the situation. They took Taylor with them to get some sleep, and then they planned to be up early and head for Hackberry. The two hands were concerned and wanted to join them, but understood they had to stay and help Lucie run the ranch.

  Long before dawn, everyone was up and busy using lamps to saddle and load the packhorses. The women were making breakfast and food for them to take along to eat on the trail. While they drew up their cinches, the fragrant smoke from Lucie’s cookstove carried to them on the cool morning air, and she called them to come get it.

  They washed up on the porch and went inside to eat. The smell of food filled the dining room as the two women rushed platters of pancakes, fried bacon, and oatmeal to the table. Without many words, they set in to eat their meal. Chet knew they realized this was the last good meal they’d have for some time. He’d better enjoy it, too.

  Chet kissed Lucie’s forehead, hugged her sister, and thanked them both for all their hard work. Outside, he stepped in the stirrup and swung in the saddle, and they headed out under the stars. He wanted to be in Hackberry before it was too late in the morning to help form the posse. In the confusion, his horse forgot to buck and that fact pleased him. They were all trotting their horses, and the surrounding dark bunches of small pines looked foreboding. But there was nothing out there that would halt or veer them off their course.

  Three hours later, with the sun rising, the cluster of Hackberry’s buildings came in sight. When they rode up the main street, a black funeral wagon sat parked before the church. No doubt, for the marshal’s internment.

  Reg had already described the three brothers to them. Tee Berkley was in his twenties, Norm Berkley was probably twenty, and Hayes about seventeen. Their father had been killed a few years before in a gunfight with some area ranchers, started by him being caught with some stolen horses. After his death, his three sons became the town bullies. According to the stories Reg heard, they’d had many run-ins with Marshal Dave Crown.

  “Folks were sick and tired of those three running over people. There was a secret meeting a week ago to send them packing. I think they learned about it and had nothing to lose, so they shot Crown and robbed the saloon and the store, because those were the only places in town had any money.”

  “Is the post office in that store?” asked Chet.

  “Sure, why?”

  “Then I have the authority to go after them. I’d go after them anyway, but this robbery makes it a federal posse and I can hire deputies that will be paid.”

  “What does that pay?” Reg asked.

  “Dollar a day and an allowance for expenses incurred.”

  “They pay that like they do those cattle you sell the Navajo Agency? In script?” Reg acted amused when they dismounted before the saloon to hitch their horses.

  “Same way, but you can discount it and let someone else wait for it to be paid.”

  Several men came out to welcome them. The Justice of the Peace, who called himself Judge Webb, was a portly man who shook their hands.

  “That Indian tracker we sent for will be here soon,” he hurried to inform them.

  Chet spoke up. “Good. Cole and I are U.S. Marshals. Since this involved a post office, I’m forming a federal posse.”

  “Very good,” Judge Webb said. “We’re lucky to have you here. I have read about your hard work down south.”

  “Thanks. Does anyone here know which way they went after the crime?”

  “Back to their ranch,” a tall man holding open the batwing doors spoke up.

  “They still there?” Chet asked.

  He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  “How far is their place from here?” he asked Reg.

  “A couple of hours’ ride.”

  “I’ve waited for Indians before. Let’s get everyone out here on the porch so they can all hear me.” The men all came outside and Chet told them what he wanted.

  “I only want men in this posse who can safely leave and not leave a wife and children in harm’s way. I want men who are tough and can ride hard fourteen hours or more a day. They must have stout enough horses or mules that can do that. This chase may take up to several weeks. The rest of you need to comfort the folks here, help put this brave lawman in his grave, and leave the law enforcement to the professionals.

  “This is Cole Emerson, one of my men. That is my nephew, Reg Byrnes, who ranches up here, and I’m Chet Byrnes. And now, you that meet the requirements should get your horse, bedroll, slicker, and get out here with us. Someone can bring that Indian tracker on to catch us.”

  He noticed a younger boy leading his mustang out with the handful of volunteers.

  “How old are you, son?”

  “Sixteen, sir.”

  “You better stay at home with your family.”

  “I ain’t got none of them. Apaches killed them all five years ago. It’s just me and Crowbait. I need to go along. Marshal Crown looked after me. They killed him. I can shoot good as any man. I can ride that horse of mine farther than any man here can ride his.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Spud. Spud Carnes.”

  “Alright, but no wild shooting at them when we surround them and they agree to surrender.”

  Spud made a face like Chet didn’t know anything. “You know them boys killed him?”

  “No. Do you?” Chet said.

  “Yeah. They’ll die fighting, to stop you bringing them back.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause they know that judge down there in Preskitt will hang them till they’re dead fur what they done to Dave, and then I’ll feel justice was served, sir.”

  “Yes, I imagine you will. You’re in the posse, Spud.”

  “That make me a deputy U.S. marshal, sir?”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “Good, I’m proud to ride with you and the rest.” They shook hands.

  Chet spoke to the next man who joined them. “I’m Chet.”

  “Dirk Mayes. No family. I do day work on ranches.”

  “Welcome to my posse.”

  The next one spoke up. “Benny Drews. I don’t have a wife and I want to go with you. I’ve been riding horses and cowboying all my life on my father’s ranch. I’m tough enough to stay hooked.”

  “I can vouch for him. He courts Lucie’s sister, Fern,” Reg said. “And that next guy coming rode in the Army with General Custer in Kansas. He’s Connors.”

  “You know my rules?” Chet shook his hand and the older man nodded. “Glad to have you along, Connors.”

  The last man was black. He wore overalls and carried an older model Spencer repeater in his hand.

  “That’s Deacon Moore. He’s the blacksmith here.”

  “Mister Byrnes, they can get along here without me for a while. Dave Crown helped me get started here in my business. He staked me to enough money to stay here till folks trusted me to fix their broken things and shoe their horses. I won’t hold you up none.”

  “Deacon, you can ride with us.”

  After he shook the man’s tough calloused hand, he turned to the judge.

  “Have a good man follow us with that Indian to their place. He don’t catch us by then, we’ll go on without a tracker.”

  “He should be here by now.”

  “I know. But Indians live in a different world than we do. They can’t help it. We’ll figure it out. Thanks, nice meeting all of you. Been better under other circumstances. I know you’ve lost a good man here. We’ll try to catch his killers.”

  CHAPTER 19

  His posse was ready to ride out. There were nodding heads i
n the crowd of men, and women standing on the porch murmured soft blessings for him and his men’s success. Chet mounted up and they left town.

  He and Cole rode behind Reg and Bennie Crews who would show them the way to the Berkley ranch. Pushing their horses in a trot, Chet felt satisfied he had a working posse.

  They moved through the vast rolling country west of Hackberry on the tabletop of the rim, with scattered pines, junipers, and bunch grass. A great cow country by his consideration, but the lack of an easy market without long drives would keep the country from prospering until the iron rails came. Only the good Lord knew when that would become a reality, but his outfits would be ready when it arrived.

  Bennie rose in his stirrups and looked back at Chet. “The Berkley ranch is at the base of that mountain range.” He pointed ahead of them.

  “Thanks.” He turned and the rest of his posse nodded that they’d heard and understood.

  If they weren’t at their ranch, where would they go? A good question. Chet doubted the Indian tracker would ever catch up with the posse. Somehow they’d manage, though a tracker would be helpful. They had a vast country to search, and those three probably knew every nook and corner of it, if they hadn’t quit the entire area.

  The posse rode up the two tracks with Chet in the lead. Bennie knew their mother, and told him it was her standing on the porch and the younger woman beside her was Tee’s wife, Abbie.

  “Good morning. We’re here to arrest your sons for murder.”

  “You sonsabitches get off my land. My sons didn’t kill anyone that didn’t need to be. That old bastard’s been picking on them forever. Get the hell off my land,” she shouted. Gray-streaked hair hung in her eyes and she wore a hard look on her sun-wrinkled face.

  “Search the place,” he said to his posse. “The house, too. Reg, you and Bennie can do that.”

  “I’ll kill you—”

  The two tall men set her aside and went in the front door with hardly a word except a low, “Excuse us.”

  The others went to check out the rest of the place. He dismounted, keeping an eye on the two females in case they got out of control. Tee’s wife looked pie faced about it all. Either in shock or some mental state. When the two came out shaking their heads about the search, he wasn’t surprised. He’d felt sure they weren’t in there.

  Spud rode up. In a low voice, he said, “I found their tracks. They rode north.”

  “How many horses?”

  “Three. One mule.”

  “Good job.” Chet looked north. He hadn’t expected them to go that direction. The great barrier of the Grand Canyon lay that way and he hadn’t heard of a way to cross it anywhere up there. No telling.

  “We have their tracks, men,” he said. “Saddle up.”

  He ignored their mother’s threats and swearing to see them in hell. With a nod to Spud, he said, “You show us where they went.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Those mule prints meant they had a pack animal with them and maybe supplies to carry them a great distance. No telling, these were tough, horse-savvy people and they’d ride hard to avoid their capture.

  Spud and his mustang had already set out to follow them. Cole came back with the others, swung up on his horse, and rode him over to Chet. “I figure they have a day on us.”

  “No doubt.”

  Reg caught him when they rode out, not listening to their mother screaming about her innocent sons. Shaking his head, he said, “That was the messiest, filthiest house I have ever been in.”

  “You’re plumb spoiled.” Chet chuckled, imagining the scene in there. He’d been in those “pig pens” before, too.

  “Your boy find their tracks?”

  Chet nodded. “Spud’s on the ball. Says they have a mule, which means they have supplies.”

  “Don’t you think it strange they went north?”

  “Yes, but they have plans to run for it, I think.”

  Reg nodded. “Lucie tells me there’s some rough country west of here, but I’ve never seen it.”

  “It is tough country, but it don’t look like they wanted to go there,” Bennie put in as they spread out in a line to trade notes.

  Deacon rode over and Chet turned to him. “What did you find?”

  “One of those horses has a bad shoe on his right front foot.”

  “Thanks. We can wish them all the troubles they can have, huh, Deacon?”

  The black man agreed with a grim smile and reined his horse behind them.

  The day progressed. To tide them over until evening, Chet’s bunch shared some of Lucie’s biscuits and bacon with the rest, washed down with tinny-tasting canteen water. Midafternoon, they took a break to stop and stretch. Connors rolled a quirly and puffed on it, looking pleased with the break. He shared his makings with Dirk, who did the same. Chet walked around, flexed his stiff shoulders, and wondered about Marge and his son. How were they were managing, and how long would it take for Lucie’s letter to get there to inform Marge of his latest chase?

  “There’s a ranch ahead to the right,” Dirk said. “Couple of brothers live there. They’ve got water and they’d let us camp there tonight. Mathews, Nick and Murray.”

  “Thanks, we can head there,” he said after hearing the cowboy’s longest spiel since morning.

  He loped his horse up to his scout’s position. “We’re thinking we should go over south to a ranch that has water and a place to spend the night. Can we pick their trail up tomorrow?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “Good. Let’s cut off here and go get some food and rest. They won’t outrun us.”

  “Strange they avoided this place we’re headed, ain’t it?” Spud asked.

  “They must know this country.”

  “Yeah, but the water ahead is gyp. I’d of stopped here.”

  Chet had no answer for him.

  In a short while, he met the two bearded old men who batched alone out there. Their water was sweet. They acted open to the posse, and the older one said, “I wouldn’t let them three bastards on this place. They came here a couple of times and tried to bulldoze over me and Nick. We sent them packing with our guns. No way they’d stop here.”

  Chet and Spud shared a nod. They had their answer.

  They borrowed firewood from the Mathews to build a cooking fire in the yard. Cole helped Deacon and Reg get things going and Deacon made Dutch oven biscuits. Frijoles were put on to boil. The others checked over the horses and gear to be ready to ride at daylight and unrolled bedrolls. Things set up, they lounged around as the sun set, waiting for the meal to cook.

  The first batch of biscuits took the edge off their appetites and they bragged on Deacon’s cooking as he put in another batch to go with the beans. The meal finished, Reg banked the fire so the beans would be easy to heat for their breakfast.

  Chet got in his bedroll, wishing he was at home and in his own bed after taking a warm shower. He rolled over on his side and went to sleep still wondering where the brothers were headed.

  The next two days they followed the brothers’ tracks. It had become a monotonous business, and they swung around the backside of the sacred mountain headed perhaps for Horse Head crossing at the Little Colorado. Chet knew this was an outlaw hangout and many were thought to be in the area. He’d led a raid in that area six months before to arrest a large gang of robbers. They rode in that direction with no idea what these killers would do, but he had faith in Spud’s tracking them. So far, that had been no problem.

  “There’s a hangout east of here,” Dirk mentioned. “They might be there.”

  “We better send in a small group to scout it.”

  “Be good.”

  “You and Connors might not spook them?”

  Dirk agreed. “They’d sure know if Reg or Bennie showed up.”

  “We can wait and see what you two can find out. Don’t take any chances. You spot them, come get us.”

  They shut down and had a parley. Everyone else rested while the two went on to the
outpost to check on the fugitives.

  “I forgot how long these chases were,” Reg said. “But we damn near rode clear to the Indian Nation to get our horses back that time.”

  Chet smiled at the memory. This chase wasn’t bad yet, but he hoped they’d have some luck at this place. So far, they’d made a wide near circle to get there. His posse rested in a draw while the two went to see if the Berkleys were around there. Time ticked slowly.

  Dirk finally returned. They all rose, brushed off their butts, and moved in to hear his report.

  “We saw Hayes sneaking around. Connors is watching him. The others must be hiding somewhere nearby. He has the mule, so I think he’s getting supplies.”

  “What do you say we should do?” Chet asked the cowboy.

  “Grab him and squeeze out of him where they are.”

  “Good, mount up. Spud, you bring the packhorse and stay back some.”

  “I got him, sir.”

  “Good, let’s go. We’re about to run out of daylight.”

  The small huddle of shacks and a store or two were in a pocket surrounded by grassy hills. When they rode up, the mule and horse stood hipshot out back. He sent Reg and Cole around front, and he and the others rode up to the animals, where they dismounted. About then, someone with an armload of goods started out the door and looked in shock at them, dropped his load, and went for his gun.

  It was a bad mistake. Shot twice, he collapsed in the doorway. Chet, smoking gun in hand, rushed over to the downed outlaw to see if there were any more inside.

  A frightened man in the store, wearing an apron and with his hands held high, screamed, “I’m unarmed. I’m unarmed.”

  “Anyone else in here?”

  “No. No. Who’re you?”

  “U.S. Marshal Chet Byrnes. Where are his brothers?”

  Cole and Reg rushed in the front door. “You alright?” Reg asked.

  Chet waved off their concern and holstered his six-gun. “I’m fine. He looks to be alone.”

  “He won’t be alive long,” Dirk said, and knelt down by the body at the back door.

  “Ask him where the others are.”