Once a Ranger

by Dusty Richards

  “These guys must be real tough. They strangled a man to death with a rope and did that too.” Guthrey flexed his sore hand at his side and wondered about such mad dog killers.

  “They weren’t saddled up yet when I left them,” Vance said. “I don’t think they will move until dark. We have some time to go eat. I know a woman nearby who can serve us some lamb. Then I can go watch them and come back to warn you when they do leave. They are only a short way away from here.”

  “Good plan. Food sounds good. Let’s do that,” Guthrey said, pleased with his man’s work.

  * * *

  THEY RODE THEIR horses up a dry wash to where a couple of wickiups stood, the crude brush shelters had a canvas wrap to shed the occasional rain. The winkle-faced old woman who cooked Guthrey’s lamb had no teeth and stood barely four foot tall in a filthy layered dress.

  Vance spoke to her in Apache, no doubt telling her these were his friends. She smiled. Guthrey and Baker dismounted and nodded to her to be polite. They tied their horses to a mesquite bush and joined Vance, who already sat cross-legged on the ground.

  “Her name is Ki-yah. When she begs in town, she tells people she once was one of Chief Cochise’s wives. She was a whore, but got too old. Two younger ones live in that other wickiup—she says they are her daughters by the old chief who died. They’re whores too and have already gone to town to find some work.”

  “Why are they doing this?” Guthrey asked him.

  “Hey, it is much easier to make some money lying on your back than laboring as a squaw in the Sierra Madres and avoid the Mexican Army with the Bronco Apaches.”

  Guthrey and Baker both nodded they understood.

  Regardless, their way of life had to be tough. The woman served the lamb on some wooden boards used for trays. The smoky mesquite-flavored meat smelled good, and Guthrey’s mouth filled with saliva. The mutton, though it had a peculiar lanolin flavor, was delicious and sure beat all to pieces gnawing on jerky. Hot meat greased his lips and made him hungrier for more.

  “Very good,” Guthrey said to her as she gummed her part. Most squaws would have waited till the men were done before they ate. He’d eaten with Comanche, Kiowa, plus the Plains Apaches as a Ranger; sometimes he wondered whether the meat they served him was dog or buffalo, but usually he was starved to the point that anything made a meal.

  Perhaps living off the flesh trade was easier than being a squaw.

  After the meal, Guthrey paid Ki-yah a half dollar and she wanted to treat him in her wickiup. He declined and the other two snickered because she was plenty eager to fix him up. In the twilight they rode off for where the sleeping Dragoons lay like some giant red body on its side. Vance had a place out of sight in a side canyon. Horses hobbled for the night, they cleaned a spot of twigs and stickers with the sides of their boot soles to spread out their bedrolls on. Vance was convinced, from the tracks he’d checked on, that the gang had not came out from their hideout. Guthrey went to sleep wondering what they planned to do.

  TWENTY

  UP BEFORE DAWN, they skipped a fire for coffee, ate jerky, and drank canteen water. Horses resaddled, they mounted up. Vance wanted to check on the outlaws, but after riding a ways around the mountain, he stopped Guthrey and Baker and drew them off into a dry gulch.

  “What did you see?” Guthrey asked, knowing something brought on this move. He got out his scope to see what had triggered the man.

  “There is a man on horseback coming toward the canyon.” Vance took his telescope and dismounted. He climbed the steep bank and, once on top, lengthened the brass tube. Guthrey dismounted and gave Baker his reins. “I want to see him too.”

  His sore hand didn’t help him climb up the slope, but soon he was on the rim standing in a grove of mesquite for cover. Vance handed him the glass. “I don’t know him.”

  “He’s dressed pretty fancy for riding out here.” On a big sorrel horse, the man in the black suit wore a mustache and looked like a businessman—about forty years old, he had chiseled high cheekbones that would be hard to forget.

  “We need a name for him. Better yet, when he rides out, we may arrest him as part of those killers. What do you think, Guthrey?”

  “He’s either in charge or the go-between.”

  “Will we arrest the rest of them?”

  “I am considering it. I need one more piece of evidence to take them in.”

  “What could that be?”

  “Anything—Burroughs had a watch my wife’s father’s killer had taken from his body and he let some guy win it in a poker game. That evidence hung him.”

  Vance shook his head wearily. “I didn’t find anything else but those nooses.”

  “I know. Maybe we let him slip back to where he came from, learn his business, then arrest him. You ever recall seeing him in Tombstone?”

  “No. But there are many people in that town.” Vance shook his head. He had no answer for that.

  “We better wait and see what the killers do next.”

  Vance nodded. “I hoped we’d get them red-handed.”

  “We still may do that.”

  Baker had taken the horses off east to a watering hole a little way over while they watched for the exit of this new man. In an hour Baker was back, and near noon the man exited the canyon.

  “His horse has a spade brand on its left shoulder,” Vance said, studying him through the glass.

  “Good, we can find him later.”

  “You think they’ll ride out sometime today?” Baker asked.

  “That or they’ll go back to Tombstone,” Vance said. “The other day when I snuck up, I heard them say they were so upset about having to stay out here because they didn’t bring any whores and whiskey out, and they thought they might go crazy.”

  Baker bent over laughing. Guthrey shook his head. “Hard to imagine. But these men are hardcase jerks and have no respect for anyone.”

  * * *

  WHEN EVENING DREW close, Vance heard horses coming out of the canyon. If this group were going back to Tombstone—or even planning a stage robbery, unlikely as that seemed—they’d be leaving their shelter sometime during the day, not at night. Guthrey knew what they must do: send Baker to Tombstone to wire Zamora and tell him to send forces to both ranches. The threatened ranchers should not be left unguarded. The killers were going to one of the ranches tonight.

  Baker left slowly, so the killers wouldn’t notice a fast rider making dust, and headed for Tombstone. With Baker planning to catch up with them later, Guthrey warned him not to overrun the killers in the dark. Then he and his tracker set out to follow the gang at a safe distance. One thing Guthrey knew: It would be slow and could be a long time getting there. The danger to avoid was running into them stopped somewhere waiting to make the raid.

  The night settled in and the animals of the night began their vocal sounds. Coyotes howled, desert owls hooted to mates, and the crickets chirped. Saddle leather creaked and steel horseshoes made muffled strikes on rocks. Bats darted about catching bugs as the twilight evaporated into a star-filled night outlined by the Dragoons’ bulk on his right. The big paint horse carried Guthrey forth through the chaparral.

  Vance was very intent in listening for the gang they followed. He pulled up and they watched the silhouettes of the riders as they scrambled, in a line, up the rise among the towering saguaros’ crosslike outlines. Reined in, Guthrey spoke to Cochise. He didn’t need him to squeal at the other horses. Though there were some mustang bands in this region, the killers might be spooked. The horse shifted under him, impatient, but made no sounds.

  At last Vance said, “They’re over that ridge.”

  “They could be going to any one of the ranches. This move had to be a plan to reinforce their threats.”

  “There are eight men out here.”

  Guthrey nodded and they moved out again to follow the raiders. On the rise, Van
ce pointed that they had gone left.

  “That means they’re probably going to either the Cody or Davis Ranch. Good, because Cam has no guards to help him. I simply hope the others have not been lulled to sleep by no activity.”

  “They may go to the far ranch first, then strike the one closer before they escape,” Vance said, riding beside him.

  “Be nice to know which they’ll try first.” Guthrey flexed his stiff hand. The fingers still worked, but not like usual.

  They caught sight of the raiders again trotting across an open stretch. Guthrey stepped up their speed for a distance. A thick smell of creosote floated on the soft night wind as the desert cooled under the stars and their horses kept a steady pace in pursuit. Guthrey hoped that Dan and Noble had been warned before these outlaws struck that ranch. They had done all they could to get word up there, but it all took time.

  “We may have to wake the ranch before they strike them. No telling how much warning they’ll have. Between getting the telegraph message, then someone waking help and getting to the ranch, it may all take too long.”

  “No way we could do anything else,” Vance said and held out his hand for them to rein up again. “They stopped.”

  Guthrey nodded. How did his man hear that? “I thought Apaches didn’t like to fight at night.”

  Vance chuckled. “I am an adopted Apache raised by a Dutch Reformed Church preacher on the reservation. I don’t believe in witchcraft and superstition. Yes, if I was a full-blood Apache, I would not be out here with you.”

  “Did you hear them stop?”

  “Yes. An Apache will know when you are moving. They teach children to listen, and when they grow up, they can hear very good.” Vance dismounted to empty his bladder.

  Guthrey did the same. “Whew, I wish I’d learned how to do that. I can hear good for a white man but I missed their sounds.”

  “They are talking as though no one can hear them.”

  “Any clues?” Guthrey whispered.

  “No, they are teasing one of their men about an ugly whore he must use.”

  They both chuckled.

  “He just told them to mount up and that they were going to burn down both ranches,” Vance said.

  Guthrey’s heart dropped. Damn them anyway. Well, they could plan to meet the outlaws head-on first. He swung up on Cochise and checked him. “We need to stop them.”

  Vance nodded and rode ahead of him through the head-high brush and out into the more open desert. Guthrey checked the big horse and ducked under the taller mesquite. Lots of clouds of concern spun in his skull. How was his wife? Would Dan and Noble be awake when they swept in? These were the things that he wished he could have made sure about, them being taken care of. All these concerns made his empty stomach growl as he and his horse moved through the silver night after the killers bent on destruction.

  For the hundredth time, he dried the palm of his sore hand on the chaps he wore to protect against the spiny cactus. The night wound on further and further. He felt it must be near midnight. Time ticked slowly. Trailing known killers intent on burning out innocent ranchers felt like being a rope walker like the one he saw once in Wichita on a high strung wire. One bad move and he’d fall to the ground. He calculated they were an hour out from the Cody Ranch at this pace.

  “They may speed up,” he said under his breath to his man. “If they intend to burn both places.”

  Vance nodded he heard him. He pointed out the line of riders topping another ridge across the desert from them. They weren’t especially hurrying.

  Guthrey and Vance flushed some surprised quail and they exploded. Horses in check, they halted to see if the riders came back—the sound was loud to both of them. Nothing. They pushed on.

  When they reached the basin’s height above the Cody Ranch, Guthrey could see the riders were divided. One bunch went left, the other bunch went right. In a few minutes they’d open fire and charge the ranch headquarters with lighted torches. Guthrey slid the rifle out of his scabbard. The shot was way too far away but it might stop them and wake up the ranch.

  “I don’t know if the ranch has been warned. I need to stop them.”

  Vance jerked his own rifle out of the scabbard. “I’ll try to stop these over here.”

  The explosion of Guthrey’s rifle rang out over the area and echoed back. The blast spooked the outlaws’ horses and some broke loose, bucking, as he kept firing and the outlaws sought to hide in the poor lighting.

  Then a bevy of flashes signaling gunshots from the ranch toward the killers warmed his heart as he forced more cartridges into the Winchester’s chamber.

  “They’re shooting back down there,” Vance said between shots.

  “Yes. If the killers want to ride back, they face us.”

  “Your deputies must have several guns down there.”

  Guthrey agreed as the shooting continued. “I’m riding down there. You try to cut off anyone who heads back. Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  He swung his horse around, rifle in hand, the stallion stomping to be in the melee. They tore off for the faint lights of the ranch house with the shooting about stopped. He soon reached Noble, who kicked some wounded outlaw in the butt, heading him toward the others they’d captured.

  “Took ’em long enough to get here,” Noble said.

  “They came a long ways. We’ve been tracking them.”

  “I’m damn sure glad you warned us.”

  Guthrey shifted hands with his rifle and reached down to shake his old friend’s hand. “I made those first shots to warn you.”

  “We were waiting for them, but thanks.”

  “Guthrey, where did you find them?” Dan asked, coming with a pistol in his hand that he looked like he could use.

  “Hiding in a canyon. I saw the man who, no doubt, is behind all this. We’ll get him next.”

  “Whew, we about gave up on them coming.”

  “They were moving slow. We’ve been in the saddle tracking them all night.”

  “There’s fresh coffee at the ranch house. Where is this deputy Vance they told us about?”

  “He should be over there. He went to see about the rest of the gang on that side.”

  “I want to meet him. Come on, we’ve got all the outlaws.”

  Guthrey shook hands with several ranchers and people he knew on the way as lanterns lit up the ranch.

  Herman Cody shook his hand. “Thanks for sending these two. They’ve been a great help watching for trouble. We sure appreciate all you’ve done. Why, had we not been warned, we’d’ve been asleep when they struck.”

  “We’re glad you’re safe. These men needed to be stopped. I want a count of the men we’ve shot or captured. Before this news leaks out, I want their leader arrested. He’s probably in Tombstone. Is Clark alive? He’s the leader of this gang and I want him up here to talk to.”

  “He’s been shot, but he’s alive,” one of the ranchers said. “He’s on a blanket down in the draw.”

  Guthrey put his rifle in the scabbard and handed Cochise’s reins to a boy. “He’s a stud. Put him by himself. Thanks.”

  “Is Zamora over at Davis’s?” he asked Cody.

  “Yes, and they have several other men there too.”

  “Send them word, but tell them we need to hold this news down.”

  “I’ll go find somebody to do that.”

  Guthrey found Vance squatted by the outlaw leader in the sandy wash.

  “He tell you anything?”

  Vance shook his head and then in tense voice said, “I want to carry him up there and put him on a red-ant hill.”

  “That’s a consideration. Clark, you can take a choice: ants or a doctor? You don’t get the doctor unless you talk.”

  “You can’t put me on an anthill.” Then he broke up coughing.

  �
�Listen, Vance is an Apache. He works for me and I need information. A doctor or an anthill, you choose.”

  He held up a hand in the lamplight. “All right—what do you want?”

  “Name of the man who sent you here?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. He rode into your camp yesterday riding a red horse with a spade brand on him. I want his name.”

  “Sumbitch, you were watching then?”

  “We’ve been watching you for days. Who is he?”

  “Ralph McAllen.”

  “What’s his part of this deal?”

  “How should I know?”

  “He didn’t hire you and these others without a reason.” Guthrey was about ready to put him on the anthill.

  “He’s got a part interest in a ranch over here.”

  “I know which one,” Guthrey said. It had to be the place Pierson ran—the old Whitmore Ranch. “He have an office in Tombstone?”

  “No. He just stays over there sometimes. He’s from El Paso.”

  Guthrey stood up. He knew enough. “Boys, get a wagon and load him. And load the rest of them for jail.” On his boot heels, he started uphill to get his horse.

  Baker rode up. “Did they get the word?”

  “Yes, thanks to your hard riding. And we have the name of the man who hired them. Ralph McAllen. He owns part of the old Whitmore Ranch and, I guess, wanted to expand it.”

  “What happens next?”

  His hand was bothering him by then. Not catching much sleep and riding in the saddle twenty miles more that tired was not what he saw as a good idea. A few hours’ sleep in coach and he’d be more awake to face this guy and maybe his hand would ease up. “I’m going home and then taking a stage to Tombstone. McAllen will be waiting there for news about his ranch-burning plans.”

  “Two of the outlaws are dead,” Dan reported. “Three wounded. Three unscathed. We have all of them in the wagon.”