Once a Ranger

by Dusty Richards

  “Nice to have you helping us,” Zamora said to Vance.

  The man nodded. “I like the work.”

  “We’re going back to check this place out.”

  “Do you think they work for Walter Pierson?”

  “I’m not sure. But who else would hire enforcers to run folks off?”

  “My thoughts too.”

  “Who is this Pierson?” Vance asked in the hall.

  “He runs the largest ranch in the county. My men hate him. But we don’t know he’s part of these killers. You can’t go accuse someone like him unless you damn sure have the facts and evidence. And when we do, if he is involved, we will run him in with the rest. Till then we’ll keep him in mind. But, amigo, we are going get to the bottom of this.”

  Vance grinned. “Sí, we will find out.”

  * * *

  IN NO TIME they were headed southwest toward the Dragoon Mountains. Clouds began to build and Guthrey felt certain they’d cry some rain on someone in the region before sundown.

  Robbers Roost, as he called it, was in a tight canyon. Probably the rough shack belonged to a company cutting timber in the area. Lots of logging signs but they were all old. This was a snug log cabin with a good spring feeding a large stone mortar tank and a water supply tank.

  A thunderstorm caught them and they took shelter in the cabin.

  Guthrey searched for anything he might find and he could learn something from. One was a perfumed letter from Fort Stockton, Texas, no doubt from a whore.

  Dear Tim, darling,

  There damn sure ain’t no work for me here. I’ll be coming to Tombstone on the next stage, darling. I’ll mail you another letter when I get there so you can find me. I sure miss you, and them running us out of Dodge was a crime. Why, them councilmen that did that, I’d tossed them in my bed for free I bet a dozen times. Ain’t no justice for a lady of the night.

  Love You So Much,

  Theresa

  “You want to read it?” Guthrey handed it to Vance. “One of them is Tim someone—wait.” He found the envelope. “Tim Clark. Damn, that matches Peters’s notes.”

  Vance smiled. “When I found those nooses I knew they had stayed here. Now we must find Tim Clark, huh?”

  “There were more than three men on the first raids. They could get to the Peters Ranch by sneaking around the mountain and not many would see them go to his place. But they had seven or eight men in total by the reports when they carried the torches and threatened the other ranches.”

  “I bet you could hire men for that in Tombstone,” Vance said.

  “I don’t doubt it, but I need to prove they did it. If we had the men hired for it, they might talk more than this last three would, especially if I have a murder warrant. And I need lots of information on them to make a case in court.”

  “Time will tell, huh?”

  “You’ve done good.”

  Guthrey sat down on a bench at the table. On a piece of paper advertising an auction sale, he began to draw a crude map. “They must have left here and rode to Peters’s and threatened him. Easy, no one saw them. Then they must have ridden by back trails to the Cody Ranch. That meant they stayed in the chaparral along the base of the mountains, avoiding being seen, striking at night, and going back into hiding. Then the next night they raided the Davis Ranch; they live this side of Codys’, maybe ten miles, and went back in hiding. This made three ranches in a line from east to west and they never crossed the main stage route, though it sounded like they had swarmed the whole area.”

  “Are we going into Tombstone?” Vance asked.

  “I think my appearance there might spook them. Someone would say the sheriff is here. I don’t want them spooked. Not yet.”

  “I can go and learn about the horses they ride. Find out where they stay when they are in Tombstone. Also notice when they leave town if I find them.”

  “You must be careful. They learn that you’re a spy, they’ll cut your throat. These men are killers.”

  “I have no fear of them, but I will watch closely.”

  “I’ll give you some money to live on, but in a week or ten days report back to me. If things get hot, you get out of there right then.”

  Vance smiled. “I can do that. I can send you a telegram from Pedro Espinoza—that means things are breaking or going to happen.”

  “That’ll work. Be careful.” He gave his man ten dollars in change and folding money.

  “I will spend it wisely.”

  “I know. You’ve done a great job. I’m counting on you.”

  “See you then, amigo.”

  * * *

  GUTHREY RODE COCHISE back to Soda Springs that afternoon and arrived at the jacal about sundown. Cally quickly joined him and asked about his day while he unsaddled.

  “We found the cabin hideout in the Dragoons. The man in Mark’s tally book named Clark is Tim Clark. His lady of the night is joining him in Tombstone. We think those three killers are staying in Tombstone and we figure they hired some men from in town there to make the raids. That’s their headquarters and we’ll investigate some more about it. That’s all I can say. I was pleased my new deputy did all this work. Maybe he can find out more about them.”

  “Good. My sheriff is digging up the facts.”

  “Oh, it isn’t easy.” With Cochise loose in the pen, he swept her up in his arms and kissed her.”

  “Water in the barrel?”

  “Sure but it will be cold.”

  “Anything else happen?”

  “Dresscoe found the redwood lumber we need. It will be here in ten days.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “I was pleased. Will you be here until this Peters matter is settled?”

  “You want to go home?”

  She swung on his arm. “Not unless I have you.”

  “Then we stay awhile longer.”

  “Fine.”

  He wondered what else he could do about the murder. Not much until things opened or his man found out enough to make some arrests. It was good to be back in Cally’s company; she relaxed him. He needed lots of that.

  In the morning he’d get his men’s heads together—maybe they could figure out what to do next.

  NINETEEN

  IN THE OFFICE the next morning, Guthrey, Baker, and Zamora talked about their problems behind closed doors.

  “Yes, Vance did a great job of finding that place in a deep canyon. They left a packhorse and all their things. He’s going to try to learn if they have horses stabled in Tombstone that match the Box K brand. If we get a telegram from Pedro Espinoza, things are going to break.”

  His men laughed.

  “It is serious though. We speculated they hired some hard cases to make those torchlight raids. All those ranches they raided are in the south part of the country. They never crossed the stage line road and could keep in the chaparral and out of sight. Those three killers who met Peters are lounging around in Tombstone. I didn’t go down there, fearing my presence might scare them into running off. Vance is down there checking things out. In a week we’ll know lots more.”

  “Were those nooses there?”

  “Yes. We left them so they wouldn’t know we had found their camp. Vance’s pretty smart for a man raised as an Apache. A minister on the reservation actually raised him and that’s why he can read and write but he grew up with Apaches. Was a warrior too and that was how he won the girl who became his wife. Her death ended his Apache days. I was with him and, in regular clothes, he looks like one of us.”

  Baker shook his head. “We were lucky to get him when you wrote for help.”

  “Worked out good. Now we need to keep the guards up. I don’t think these killers are through. Who they work for I still don’t know, but somehow this time I am half convinced they are part of Pierson’s men.”

  “Maybe V
ance can find out?”

  “Yes, he’s not known down there so we may get a break. Keep his name and presence under your hats. We don’t know the enemy that did this violent act. They may walk among us.”

  “I replaced the two men at the Davis Ranch,” Baker said. “The other two had work to do.”

  “Fine. Has anyone checked on Dan and Noble?”

  “They said they were fine, saw them two days ago over at the Cody Ranch,” Baker said.

  “Thanks. All we can do is wait, watch, and listen.”

  * * *

  SEVERAL DAYS LATER, Guthrey left the office to have lunch with his wife. Two men standing in their own wagons were having a cussing match in the middle of the road. He frowned and headed over there.

  “Hey, quit cussing out here. There are woman and children all around.”

  “Who in the hell are you?” demanded a red-faced man seated in the wagon on the right, headed for town.

  “I’m the sheriff of Crook County, and you don’t stop cussing, I’ll arrest you and toss you in jail.”

  “By God, you don’t look tough enough to do that, mister.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “None of your damn business. I’ll cuss where I want.” He had to rein in his sweaty team to keep them in place.

  “Hold that team,” he said to a big, strapping boy coming to see what the problem was.

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said, then jumped to it.

  The other man, whiskered and wearing overalls, came off his wagon like it was on fire. He charged like a bear at Guthrey. For his trouble, Guthrey gave him three fast fists, and the man stopped in his tracks. With his boots planted, Guthrey swung again and struck him.

  The attacker staggered backward two steps and with a roar came at him again. All he got this time were two more fast, hard blows to his face. One fist had bloodied his nose, and he looked wild, slinging blood all over and trying to get at Guthrey.

  “Why, you—” He went into a torrent of cuss words that made Guthrey so mad he let go with a haymaker that put the man on his back—silence.

  “What’s wrong here?” Baker shouted, coming on a hard run from the courthouse.

  “Who’s he?” Guthrey asked the crowd.

  “Henry Ackers,” a woman under a sunbonnet said in disgust. “He’s drunk like usual.”

  Guthrey looked around but the other man had driven off. “Who was he arguing with?”

  “His neighbor Clyde Fremont.”

  Guthrey frowned at Baker, who had jerked the man up and disarmed him. “Lock him up and charge him tomorrow, in city court, for disturbing the peace. Young man, take his team to the livery, and he can bail them out and pay you a dollar. Leave your name with the livery man.”

  “I sure will, sheriff,” the youth said. “Did you learn to fight like that as a Ranger?”

  Guthrey held his sore hand in the other one. “Yes, that and backyard brawls.”

  The crowd laughed. With Baker now handling things, Guthrey was going home to soak his hand. It would be sore for days. And he knew just how sore.

  * * *

  “YOU GOT IN a fistfight?” Cally asked, inspecting his hand at the table.

  “Nothing else I could do. He charged me.”

  “Do you need to see the doctor?”

  “Naw, I’ll be fine. Sore, but fine.”

  She hugged him and laughed. “You should stay out of fights. Especially fistfights. I wonder if we should go check on the ranch while you have time?”

  “I should go check on Dan and Noble out at the Davis Ranch, I guess. Those two will think I left them.”

  “Do you think those killers will strike again?”

  He shook his head. “I have no way of telling. They could, any day, maybe. Though I am more interested in who hired them. I’m hoping we can find that answer.”

  “Your man found them.”

  “He’s a pretty smart tracker and I am fortunate to have him.”

  “Sheriff Guthrey,” Baker called out, and Guthrey hurried to the doorway.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Telegram from Pedro whoever that says to meet him at Dragoon Mine.”

  “That’s one Vance sent to me—that was our code. They must be on the move. Get a horse to ride and tell Zamora to watch things here. Get a rifle and some ammo as well. There must be something underfoot down there. We need to ride over there and find out what.”

  “Are you going with your hand that swollen?” his wife asked.

  “I have to go.”

  “All right, but I’ll worry about you anyway.”

  Baker had headed back for a mount while Guthrey went to saddle his horse. Tossing the saddle on Cochise’s back hurt like hell, but he made no sign for Cally to interpret that he was in any pain. He quickly cinched the horse up, fit the bridle on, and tried to tie his bedroll on behind.

  Seeing his ineptness with his hand, she elbowed him aside and finished the job on her toes. “There. See what I mean?”

  “I will be fine.”

  “Sure. A one-handed gun shooter. You couldn’t hit a barn left-handed I bet.”

  “It will work out.”

  “Sure, in a month or six weeks.”

  He swept her up with his left arm and kissed her good-bye. “I love you, Cally.”

  “You know I’ll worry about you.”

  “I will be fine.”

  “Just so you are.” She stepped back and he swung into the saddle as a sharp pain ran clear to his shoulder.

  With a smile for her, he headed for the office to catch Baker. His .44/40 Winchester was under his right fender skirt and the big paint was single-footing it.

  The day’s heat was rising and big clouds had gathered in the south. It should rain somewhere before sunset. Baker joined him and they left Soda Springs in a long trot. Guthrey used his left hand to hold the reins and worked his right one to try and maintain some use of it. It felt awkward to him but it was the best he could do. In three hours they reached the Peters Ranch and stopped to talk to Cam, who was busy shoeing a horse.

  Olive came down to join them. “Phil, nice of you two to drop by. I can’t give up your jailer; he’s too good a man for me to lose. He’s been treating stock for screwworms. They are sure bad this year.”

  “My man at the Bridges Ranch says so too. We need to push on and meet someone. Glad things are going so well.”

  “Oh, they are,” she said and about blushed.

  Guthrey nodded and they rode on.

  “That’s what Cam wanted, wasn’t it?” Baker asked with a sly grin.

  “Exactly.”

  “Didn’t I hear somewhere that you knew her before?”

  “Olive? Oh yes, when I was Ranger back in Texas years ago. She’s a nice lady. What Cam wanted.”

  “Wonder what Vance found.”

  “By dark he should meet us somewhere down here near that camp where he found the other two ropes. I have no idea what he learned but the man is sharp on finding out things.”

  “I bet none of us would have found those nooses,” Baker said, booting his horse to keep up with Cochise.

  “He must have learned more about those killers or he’d never have telegraphed me to meet him.”

  “You been hearing that thunder?”

  “It may rain on us. You got a slicker?”

  Baker said, “Yes.”

  “We might ought to shake them out.”

  In minutes the dark clouds engulfed them and cold rain ran off their hat brims. Both men smiled at the luxury, and in a short while a rainbow showed up in the direction of Tombstone and the storms moved on. But more rain was coming and the notion they’d get more made Guthrey smile. “Won’t hurt a thing.”

  “No, never look upset at a rain in this country; you may not seen another for six months.�
�

  By late afternoon, they were close to the trail that led into the Dragoons. Guthrey saw his man come riding out of a draw to join them.

  “What’s happening, Vance?”

  “Your man Clark is the one rides the Box K horse. He and seven more rode up here yesterday. They are waiting, I think, for someone. I rode into Tombstone late last night to wire you when I figured they’d gone to sleep and weren’t making a raid. One of the four with Clark is the Mexican. His name is Alvarez. Soto Alvarez. He’s wanted by the law in New Mexico, a woman told me.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Baker said.

  “No idea about their plans whatsoever?”

  “Only thing I know is they didn’t leave the whores and hell-raising because they were tired of it. A couple of them asked Clark how long they had to wait up here.”

  “No idea?”

  “Clark told them until the man came and gave them orders. Then they could earn their money.”

  “You were that close to them?”

  “Sure, I’m an Apache.”

  Baker shook his head in dismay at the man while taking off his slicker as the heat began to rise. “Do you think they plan another raid?”

  “Something. Maybe a stage robbery. But I think they plan a raid somewhere.”

  “You think they do other things besides lynch ranchers.”

  “Yes. A few nights ago I saw them stab a gambler to death in the alley and take all his money. They did it right in the alley behind the Oriental Saloon. He was drunk and had won some big pots in a high-stakes game. While he was pissing in the dark back there they went up behind him, cut his throat, got all his money, and were gone.”

  “The law know anything about it?” Baker asked.

  “No, and they could not prove anything either.”

  “An Apache saw it.” Guthrey shook his head, amused.

  Vance shook his head warily. “These men are ruthless. They murdered some drunk whore in about the same way. She was mad about something and mouthed off to Clark out loud in a saloon about how he was a cheap bastard. In thirty minutes she was dead on her back in another alley.”