Once a Ranger

by Dusty Richards

  “Fine, except for those night riders. That scared me half to death. The rest is going fine.”

  Guthrey washed up on the porch. “That’s why I rode out here.”

  She handed him a towel. “Mark’s usually back by this time.”

  “It’ll be dark in thirty minutes. I really need to get back to town tonight. Where was he checking the water holes?”

  “We have three windmills on the foot of the mountains. I don’t think he rode into the mountains to check on the springs.”

  “Draw me a crude map. I’ll go see if I can find him.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “I can always eat. Make me a map.”

  “You may fall off into a canyon in the dark.” Her concerned face shone in the sunset’s bloody light.

  “I’ll try to locate him.”

  She rushed inside and drew a map on a piece of paper. “This is the south windmill. Take the right-hand trail down there. The rest are on a path that goes around the base of the mountains. You think you can find them?”

  “I’ll try. Thanks, Olive. Don’t cry; he’ll be all right. I’ll find him or he’ll come on in himself.”

  She sniffed. “He’s a damn good man. He never questioned my past. I hope you’re right. I really love him.”

  “I understand, Olive. You two have a great life here.”

  “Be careful, Phil. I don’t want you hurt either.”

  * * *

  IN THE DIMMING twilight Guthrey set out on the obvious trail as the desert slipped into darkness. The giant saguaro cactus stood about like giant cross-shaped silhouettes. He watched for the cholla cactus, which had a light aura he could see in the dimming light. Surviving in the desert took a tough individual. These ranchers earned their livings in a dry world.

  A small owl flew off at Guthrey’s approach. Some cow out in the chaparral bawled for her calf in a hoarse call that sounded magnified by the crickets’ night music. The clop of Cochise’s shoes clanked on some rock outcroppings as he pushed out of dry gulches. In places, the strong creosote smell from the greasewood scrubs filled his nose.

  A horse nickered and Guthrey stood in the stirrups. The creak of a windmill on the night wind made him stare hard for the tower. Then he saw the windmill, and a horse nearby raised his head, obviously ground tied by training not to run off.

  Where was Mark? His horse was there—Guthrey dismounted and hitched Cochise to the hitch rail near the corral.

  “Mark. Mark? Where are you?”

  He checked the horse, then lit a match to look for blood. Lit another on the far side and saw nothing wrong. The girth was out like Mark had loosened it to give the horse some relief. Guthrey went around the windmill and, in shock, he stared at two boots swinging at eye level. Mark Peters had been hung by the neck, having been pulled up by a rope on the mill’s cross timbers.

  Oh damn. Guthrey’s stomach revolted and he puked. Then he did it again. His hand found the wooden leg of the mill to steady himself. His eyes wet with tears, he saw a note pinned on Mark’s chest.

  In the starlight he scrambled up the mill to get to where he saw the rope was tied off on a crossbeam. His jackknife out, he cut the rope and let the body fall. No way to catch him, but Mark would never know a thing. Guthrey closed his large knife and climbed down.

  On the ground he straightened Mark out on his back. With a match’s light he read the note pinned on his chest.

  We tole you to leaf

  The Committee

  They could not even spell. Guthrey closed his eyes. What a bitter turn of events. How many others would they kill? Mark was only the first and, damn, they hung him in a suffocating, painful act by pulling him up still alive to dangle until he died. Oh God, what will I tell Olive?

  Numb to the bone, he cinched up Mark’s horse, strained to load his corpse on the saddle, and at last tied him down. He staggered over to Cochise, leading the horse bearing the body. This would be a long ride back. A damn long ride back to the ranch house.

  SIXTEEN

  GUTHREY DISMOUNTED HEAVY on his boots in the dark yard of the Peters ranch house.

  “Oh dear God, he’s dead.” Her sharp “No!” hurt his ears.

  Forced to step in front of her, Guthrey stopped her flight to get to her husband. “Olive, I’m sorry. They lynched him. There was nothing I could do; he was dead when I found him.”

  “Oh, Phil, what will I do?” Her tears came in a flood under the starlight. “But why? He never hurt a soul.”

  “The note pinned on him said he did not leave.”

  “Leave? This is his land. Why did he have to leave it? Those bastards! Oh, Phil, you must find them.”

  He agreed. “Get a lamp. We need to hitch up and get to Soda Springs. They may be killing more ranchers right now.”

  “Oh.” Her hands covered her distraught wet face. “I never thought about any more being murdered. Will they do that?”

  “I fear they might. Get the lamp so I can see to hook the team up. We need to hurry.”

  “I will. I will.” She raised her hem and ran for the house. He started for the corral to catch the horses. He’d need the light to harness them. But time was important and until he had some of his men at those others ranches he wouldn’t sleep.

  Olive brought the candle lamp and held it up while Guthrey took the first set of harnesses off the corral to toss on the horse. Quickly he settled it, and once the straps were in place, he did the other one. Then, holding the bridles, he backed the horses up to the buckboard tongue. The team was soon hooked up and he led them around in front.

  With Olive standing beside the buckboard, sobbing, he nudged her onto the spring seat, apologizing all the way. “If I’d expected any trouble, I’d have come out here sooner. I was down on the border arresting the man who killed that family a month ago.”

  “I know, Phil. Mark was such a trusting man. I bet he didn’t know those men’s intentions when they rode up.”

  “I’d bet the same thing.”

  “Did you see anything down there to lead you to his killers?”

  “No, it was dark and I had no light.”

  He reined the horses around, and they set out for Soda Springs under the stars. Olive was crying again, this time on his shoulder. The loss of her husband had her deeply shaken and he could understand that. But why would they lynch him? To show they meant business? If Pierson and his bunch were behind his murder, they’d damn sure pay for it.

  When Guthrey got back he’d send a couple of good men out to the scene of the crime and have them search for clues. Criminals always made mistakes, and somehow he had to find that evidence. But he also had to stop the killing. He reined in the team going around a corner, then made them trot hard. Folks would damn sure be riled up over Mark’s murder, and they had a right to be.

  His arm around Olive’s shoulders as they went down the straight stretch, he tried to comfort her, but she was too upset. Cally could help her. He’d leave Olive with his wife. Women shored up other women better than men did.

  They were out on the main road and headed for Steward’s Crossing. It would be another hour to daylight. The team was doing all it could to get them there.

  * * *

  THE SUN HAD not cleared the Chiricahuas when he reined up at the jacal’s front door. Cally came rushing out, wide eyed, and about ran into him. “What’s wrong?”

  “They lynched Mark Peters yesterday and his wife, Olive, is here with me. I want you to tend to her while I take his body to the funeral home. There’s more that I can’t explain right now but I fear there may be more deaths.”

  “Oh, heavens. Help her down. Olive, I am so sorry. We can talk inside.”

  He physically lifted the woman off the buckboard and put her on the ground. “Olive, my wife, Cally.” With a gentle push he sent her toward the open doorway under his wife’s protection. “I’ll
be back.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Cally assured him and he drove on to the courthouse. He reined up the horses going up the rise and spoke to a young Mexican boy named Roso.

  “Roso, you run up and tell Deputy Baker and Deputy Zamora that I need to meet them at the jail right away.”

  “Sí, senor, I can find them.”

  Guthrey tossed him a dime; the boy caught it in both hands and smiled. Then, barefoot, he tore out.

  A young man named Cripps woke up to Guthrey’s pounding on the back door of the Combs Funeral Home.

  “Sheriff, what can I do for you?”

  “I have a murdered man in the buckboard. I will need a report on his death for a court hearing. Your boss will understand.”

  Dressed in a nightshirt, the boy asked, “Who is he and who killed him?”

  “Mark Peters. Lived on his ranch over east, and I don’t know who killed him.”

  “My heavens, I know him. He was a blacksmith too. He fixed my father’s things. He was no gunman or horse thief. Why did they kill him?”

  “I don’t rightly know. Grab his feet, I have him by the chest. Let’s get him inside. I have lots to do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They toted him inside and put him on a marble table.

  “Thanks. I’ll check on him later,” Guthrey said and hurried out to head for the jail. He set the team down at the front door and hurried inside. The night shift jailer Randolph was sipping coffee when Guthrey reached the office.

  “What’s wrong?” the man asked.

  “They—someone lynched Mark Peters on one of his own windmills.”

  “Holy shit. Who did that?”

  “I don’t know, Randolph. I’ve sent for Baker and Zamora. What worries me the most is there may be more killings going on right now at other ranches. This may only be the first spark of things to happen.”

  “Damn, who’s doing that?”

  “I assure you, if I knew who did it, I’d have already arrested them.”

  “Oh, I know. But no one’s seen anything?”

  Guthrey shook his head. “No witnesses.”

  “What kin I do for you?”

  “Send word to the Bridges Ranch for Noble and Dan to come here and help.”

  Randolph set down his cup. “You watch things here. I know a boy who can ride up there and get them.”

  “That sounds swell.”

  Randolph flopped his weather-beaten hat on his head and rushed off. On the verge of exhaustion, Guthrey dropped into the swivel desk chair. He’d need some sleep before he rode anywhere else. When his two men got here, they could go guard one of those other ranches that might be next. His deputies, who he expected to arrive shortly, would know someone else to send to the other place. His jailer in charge could mind the office. He’d be spread thin but they’d make it.

  The memory of seeing Mark’s boots at eye level about made him vomit again. These killers had to be hard to do such a cruel thing. Strangling a man to death by pulling him up in a noose. Guthrey’s body shuddered in the chair. No way could he imagine what went through their minds when they did that. He had to stop them before they struck again.

  “What’s wrong?” Baker asked, rushing into the office. “The boy said you needed us right away.”

  “Someone murdered Mark Peters yesterday.” He took out the paper and spread it on the desk. “Here’s the note they pinned on his chest.”

  “Why, they can’t even spell. They back shoot him?”

  “No, they lynched him by pulling him up the side of a windmill while he was strangling in a noose. It was gruesome.”

  Baker made a sick face. “Why?”

  “’Cause he didn’t leave like they ordered him to. That’s the word they mean, not leaf on a tree like they spelled it. My concern now is we need to guard the other two ranchers they threatened before they kill them. I hope we can in time. I sent for Noble and Dan—they can watch one of the families.”

  “I can get two more men from here in town to take care of the Davis folks on the south, I’m certain.”

  “Good; you handle that. Noble and Dan can go to the Codys when they get here. That will leave Zamora here to hold down the fort. I want you and me to go back to that scene on the Peters Ranch in the daylight and look for clues.”

  “I’ll go locate those two men and be back ready to ride over there. What about his wife?”

  “She’s with Cally right now.”

  “Good deal.”

  Zamora arrived and Guthrey explained the situation again. When he finished telling him the whole story, Zamora said he and Baker would go and search the murder site and that Guthrey needed to get some rest.

  Guthrey didn’t argue.

  “And we will put up Mrs. Peters’s team. You go to bed. You’re a sleepwalking man and out of it.”

  Guthrey took a pencil and, on the back of an obsolete wanted poster, drew them a map to the windmill. The deputy said they could find it. He thanked them, satisfied things were going to be being handled, and then he headed for their place in town. When he got there, after he waved off eating anything, Cally led him around to the hammock in the lacy shade. He took off his boots, hat, and gun belt and crawled in, grateful for the chance to close his dry eyes.

  Cally kissed him. “I already thanked God that you were all right. That poor woman Olive is really shaken by all this.”

  He nodded. “That’s why I brought her here. So am I.”

  Then he slept.

  * * *

  TWO HOURS LATER, Dan and Noble arrived. Cally had explained about Peters’s death. They wanted to know what they could do.

  Half-groggy, Guthrey tried to clear his foggy mind. “The Cody family over on Pearl Creek is one of the ranches threatened. You two be sure this doesn’t happen to them. Noble, their ranch is near the Pima County line. You know the place?”

  “I do. Go back to sleep. We can watch them.”

  Dan nodded in agreement and Guthrey went back to sleep. He finally woke up in the heat of the afternoon and threw his legs over the side of the hammock, scrubbing his face with his hands. Cally told him that Dan and Noble had already ridden for the Cody’s Ranch to watch it.

  “I have some food for you,” she said from the doorway, poised to feed him.

  Still numb, he nodded. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten, and his stomach was grinding at his spine. Food might be the thing to quiet all that growling.

  On a tray she brought him some burritos wrapped in flour tortillas, a bowl of red salsa, and a large tin can filled with sun tea. He sipped the drink first and nodded his approval.

  Cally sat on the ladder-back chair that he’d hung his gun belt and hat on and smiled at him. “Our two should be over at that ranch by now. Baker came by and told me he sent two men out to guard the Davis family. Baker and Zamora have gone to study the mur—I mean, the spot where they hung him.”

  “Good, we have those places covered. They may not try anything again, but I’m worried these killers have a plan to upset all the ranchers enough to run more off than the last guy ever did, though I have no count of all of them.”

  “Are you all right?” Olive asked from the doorway.

  “I’m fine. You and Cally need to go make arrangements with the funeral director, I suppose today. I am going to bathe and have a shave, then go to my office and try to figure out a way to stop these vicious men.”

  Biting her lower lip, Olive agreed with the plan.

  “We can do that while you clean up,” Cally said to Olive as he finished his lunch.

  “I sure appreciate all she’s done for me,” Olive told him.

  “She’s a wonderful woman. She’ll help you. My men have gone back to look for evidence. We will catch them.”

  “There’s water in the barrel,” Cally said. “I hope it warmed up for you.”


  He laughed. “It may be a short bath.”

  Cally said, “We’re off to the funeral home. Let’s go, Olive, and get that over with.”

  * * *

  AFTER HIS BATH and shave, Guthrey put on the clean clothes Cally had laid out and went to the office. The big jailer, Cam Nichols, was there. At Guthrey’s arrival, the jailer stood up and shook his hand.

  “Bad deal about Mark Peters. He was a helluva nice guy. What will his wife, Olive, do?”

  “I don’t know, Cam. She’s really upset and has no plans I know about.”

  The man closed his mouth and nodded like he was deep in thought before he spoke again. “I’d sure like to have her for my wife if she gets over losing him. Reckon I’d have a chance? My size scares most women away. You have a small wife; what do you think?”

  “I think you could succeed in the future. Maybe dress up for the funeral and afterward offer your assistance. If she accepts you being helpful, she might consider you.”

  “I don’t own a suit, but I do have a nice white shirt and a tie. Would that do?”

  He considered the man’s size. Not many stores had ready-made clothes that large. “I bet you’d need one made to fit you. Sure, dress nice and be helpful. She may see the whole Cam Nichols like I do. A dependable, great guy.”

  “Damn, boss man, you’d make a fighting chicken think he was a duck and could swim.”

  They both laughed. “I imagine the funeral will be tomorrow. Her team is here. I’ll get it set up for you to take her from my place to the funeral home. We can get the jail watched tomorrow.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “I sure would. Best of luck.”

  “Wow, that’s sure nice of you. I won’t disappoint you or her.”

  “Cam, I know that, but a week from tomorrow we have a hanging to attend to. So don’t run off until that’s over.”

  “Run off?”

  “Life’s short out here. Folks have done those kinds of things quickly. I’d honeymoon up on Mount Graham. It’s cool up there. Cally can borrow a cabin for you to use.”

  With a smile, Guthrey nodded at Cam’s shocked face. “I mean that too.”