Lawless Land

by Dusty Richards

  “When I got back early this morning, I had this waiting for me.” Bowen waved the paper and then handed it to Sam T.

  Dear Gerald,

  After due consideration, I am afraid at this time the formation of the Marshal unit may not be the best idea. I know you have spent considerable time and hired men to come implement this plan. Everyone will be compensated for their expenses as well as you, but some things have arisen, both in Tucson and in Washington, that make it imperative we don’t begin this operation at this time. I know you will understand.

  Respectfully Yours,

  John Sterling

  “So what happens next?” He handed the letter back to the major. Had he come all this way for his expenses? Perhaps he was going into the mining business after all and it wasn’t a lie he told them at breakfast. Shirley’s sharp words niggled him. Think about your future.

  “I’m going up there and confront him.” Bowen stood up.

  “Now, dear, don’t lose your temper. You and John have been good friends,” Mary said, holding the coffeepot in one hand ready to serve them.

  “Get your hat, Sam T. We’re going to the governor’s mansion.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sam T. shook his head privately at Mary and snatched his hat off the tree, two steps behind the shorter man going out the front door. “Oh, we’ll need that coffee later,” he said.

  Bowen explained on their walk about Sam T.’s salary and what they would pay the two ex-scouts and how Jesus would have things ready for him when he arrived in Tucson. Then he shook his head in deep frustration. “That is, if we can convince Sterling to do this. He’s got the spine of a woman at times.” Bowen’s lips formed a wry scowl and he continued, “This outlaw gang leader that’s been raping and pillaging southern Arizona is called Lamas. He’s probably in Mexico by now, though.”

  “That mean if we settle this with the governor and get started, we can’t even go after him?”

  “Sam T,. I’ve never known something like a border to ever stop you before.”

  “Just testing the water, sir.”

  A thin black girl ushered them into the mansion. Bowen addressed her by name and she showed them to the governor’s office.

  “Sah, this Major Bowen and this man like to see you?”

  “Oh, yes, come in, Gerald.” Sterling looked up from his paperwork. “That will be all, Daisy,” he said and dismissed the girl. She curtsied and left them.

  “This must be Sam T. Mayes.” The governor rose and took his hand. “I am sorry about the inconvenience.” Then Sterling shook his head, looked hard at Bowen, then at Sam T. “Close the doors. I’ve got more news, and it isn’t good.”

  “What is it?” Bowen asked, while Sam T. shut the double oak doors.

  “That damn gang robbed the Halsey stage out of Nogales yesterday, took a mine payroll, shot a prominent Tucson citizen by the name of Tom Stauffer. Massacred the stage-stop people and took Stauffer’s wife as a hostage. I’ve wired Mexican officials to try and stop them if they went across the border.”

  “That’s the reason Sam T. is here,” Bowen said disgustedly.

  “You know we could have a serious international incident over this if we sent lawmen across that border.”

  “You pay a ransom for her and you’ll have a dozen more kidnappings,” Sam T. said and drew a cigar out of his vest pocket. Bowen was right; this man could squirm out of a lot.

  “Listen,” Bowen began, “we have the gang leader’s name and the whole thing is set up. Let Sam T. ride down there, pick up those two ex scouts of mine and go learn what he can about this gang.”

  “We can’t afford to have an incident on the border.” Sterling looked at both of them for an answer.

  “You can’t afford to have this gang continue to pillage either. Your U.S. marshals aren’t doing anything and that sheriff down there is collecting taxes!”

  Sterling poured some whiskey in a tumbler and downed it. Then he straightened. “You’re right, we better do something. Mayes, whatever you do—Oh, it doesn’t matter.” He dropped his chin and shook his head in defeat.

  “Sam T., raise your right hand,” Bowen said. “John’s going to swear you in as an officer of the Supreme Court of the Arizona Territory. You’re going to be a marshal.”

  “Do you promise to uphold the laws, both territorial and federal?”

  “I do.”

  Sterling dropped back in the chair and poured himself another glass of whiskey. Then, as if he had not thought of it before, he drew two more glasses out of his desk. “We better drink to this. It may be my last official act as governor.”

  “Quit worrying about that,” Bowen said with an impatient head shake for the man. “We now have a spy in our midst.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “He works for Senator Green.”

  Sam T. suppressed his amusement when Sterling slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Not Green.”

  “Stop being so theatrical. I’ll find the lowlife that’s feeding him information. You check your staff—close.” Bowen used his index finger to rap on the desktop.

  “I will, but how much does he know?”

  “That the price of sheep’s going up.”

  “What’s that mean?” Sterling frowned, displeased.

  “That’s what I told the one who trailed me around in Tucson. I don’t think he knows a thing about our business. But I think we have a spy.”

  “It does get involved. Marshal Mayes, good luck. I personally think you need an army. Gerald thinks you can handle it. I hope we all survive this.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll be as discreet as I can be.” They drank up, then Bowen excused himself and Sam T.

  They had started walking down the hill when Sam T. broached the subject of when he should leave for Tucson.

  “Sunday. That should give Jesus time to find the Apache Too-Gut,” Bowen said.

  “Good. My trunk with my things in it will be here by then. Guess I’ll go to the big wedding Saturday night.”

  “Who’s getting married?” Bowen asked

  “Cowboy named Buddy and some ranch woman named VanKirk.”

  “That’s the silly women in the corset on the stage.”

  “Oh?” He glanced over at the major for a reply.

  “Damnedest thing. She must have bought those new clothes in Tucson for the wedding. They had her snugged up way too tight in this corset. And it became a life-ordeath ordeal and she had to get out of it.”

  “And you helped her?”

  “Yes, of course. I was very gentlemanly about it.”

  “Yes, sir, I am certain you were.”

  Bowen gave him a peevish look. “We best not discuss the matter of the lady’s corset around Mary.”

  “Oh, I sure wouldn’t think of it,” Sam T. promised.

  “You’ll have to find out about this Stauffer woman they kidnapped when you get down there. I’ll fill you in on all that I know about the gang. Which isn’t much.”

  “I hope they don’t ransom her.” Sam T. wished, for the woman’s sake. Casting a glance at the big house when they passed it, he shook his head and tried to rein in his patience, keeping up with the Major’s quick stride. His new job had started off very unconventionally.

  Ella Bordeaux used her finger to stir back the lace curtain so she could see the two men striding back up the street together. She already knew the new man was going to do some mining business with the major. Luckily that wimpy little teller Bates gave her the information on the big man when she was in the bank earlier. His name was Mayes. She also had a copy of the telegram from Judge Tripp in Tucson to the governor. The Border Gang struck another stage, stole a mine payroll, killed several people and kidnapped a socialite from Tucson society A Justine Stauffer.

  She recalled the night before with the telegrapher. When Sassy brought him upstairs to her apartment, he shifted so nervously from side to side, she wanted to laugh at his obvious discomfort.

  By the poor boy’s own disclosure she
learned his salary was only twelve dollars a week with the Western Pacific Telegraph Company. Why, at that rate he couldn’t even afford to visit Lily every other month. When Ella learned that was all he earned, she had him sit down and served him some cognac..

  “A young man like you could earn more money if he was sharp enough about business.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He sat there very alert with the drink in his hand.

  “You handle all the messages that go to the governor and others?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then when a message to them comes in, is there a copy, an extra copy of it?”

  “You want me to give you a copy?” he whispered.

  She winked at him. “And in return for those copies you can come every Tuesday night and snuggle up there in the bed with little old Lily until dawn.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” he gasped’ and about spilled the drink in his hand. “Every Tuesday night I could stay here for that long? For that long?”

  “If we can do business, of course.” Ella examined her nails and waited for his reply.

  “I’d give my left-I mean, sure, I can do that. What ones you want?”

  “Copies of the governor’s and Major Bowen’s for right now.”

  “You won’t tell no one?” he asked.

  “Of course not. Do we have deal, Brad?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am.”

  “First you better drink the cognac,” she said, motherlylike, to him. “Then we need to get you down there, so you can jump in her bed, boy. She’s been ready for over a half hour waiting for you to get here.”

  “It starts tonight?” He blinked his eyes in disbelief.

  “You’re dealing with an honest woman, Brad. You do your part and I’ll do mine.”

  “I could go to prison for doing this, you know.” He set the glass down after draining it

  “I’ll never tell and you won’t, so who will ever find out?” ,

  “Yeah. She’s really waiting?” He tossed his head in that direction.

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  She watched him disappear as anxious as a dog after a . gyp in heat. Oh, well, she had the communication matter covered.

  Ella stepped back from the window now. That plan worked easier than she had expected. Earlier this afternoon, Brad had brought the telegrams over himself after he delivered the governor his copy. Maybe Daisy B. knew something more about those three men’s latest meeting. Later she’d send Sassy after ice cream with her to find out. It made her feel much better to have things under her control.

  If she could only figure out Senator Green’s telegram of the day before. What kind of sheep business was Bowen in anyway?

  CHAPTER 9

  WITH his fingers laced behind the back of his head, Lamas sat in the straight-backed chair. His legs extended, he studied the tips of his polished boots and listened to Sanchez’s report.

  “A man called Narrimore has put the word out in Nogales that he would pay a thousand-dollar ransom for the white woman.”

  “How much did he say?” Lamas turned his ear to be certain he heard the man correctly

  “Word around Nogales is that he will pay a thousand dollars for the Senora Stauffer.”

  Why? Lamas wondered. Did that gringo want this white woman for himself? Perhaps this rich hombre had felt her silky flesh and enjoyed her subtle body as much as Lamas himself had. He could hardly have enough of her. Her naked presence stole his breath—no woman in years had done this to him. Maybe he would grow tired of her in time, but at the moment, the very thought of her luscious body made his guts roil. Perhaps too, this man’s offer might be a trap.

  Sanchez went on about how this Narrimore had many tough gunmen to back him up. Yet, Lamas schemed, there might be a way to collect the thousand dollars from this rich gringo, then slip in and filch the treasure back from under his nose. Perhaps he would not even give Narrimore this high-breasted woman. Not for any amount. Then too, maybe he would find a way to take the money and run. That would be a great trick.

  Sighing with gusto, Lamas contemplated the talk in the cantinas if he could pull off such a sly thing. People would laugh and say, Lamas is a desert fox. He has taken the gold and kept the woman. The rich gringo must be grinding his teeth in frustration.

  Yes, that would be a wonderful trick. Idly, Lamas poured some mescal in a goblet that sat atop of the long table. He lifted it to his smiling lips and Black entered the room.

  “Lamas, I’m going north for a couple of days.”

  “Have a drink, Ezra.” Lamas offered it with a big grin. “I need to discuss a matter with you.” He turned back to Sanchez. “For now, I don’t know what I will do about her. Here is some money. Go visit your woman. I know where I can find you.” He put four ten-dollar gold pieces in the man’s brown hand.

  “Gracias, Don Lamas.” The man put on his sombrero and hurried off.

  Black pulled up another chair and straddled it backward facing him. After he poured himself a drink, he pushed his Stetson back and looked attentively at Lamas, who said, “A rich man named Narrimore from Tucson—he spread the word in Nogales he is willing to pay us a thousand dollars for Señora Stauffer.”

  Black whistled. “Hell, she’s more valuable than we thought. When do we collect?”

  “In good time. Perhaps, amigo, he would pay more?” Lamas suggested slyly.

  The Texan nodded and sipped his drink. “That’s possible.”

  “When you go north, find out all you can about this Narrimore.”

  Black lifted a brow in inquiry before a comprehending smile flicked across his sun-browned face. “Lamas, you old fox, you’ve got a plan, ain’t you?”

  “Sí. There are people in Mexico City who would pay much for such a smooth-skinned lady, no?”

  Black nodded. “Kinda like selling the same horse twice, huh?”

  “You keep your ears open, Ezra, and be careful. The stage driver, he is still alive.” Lamas shook his head in disgust. Word was that Grundy too had survived his wounds. They had not left witnesses before.

  Black rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Reckon they’ve got our descriptions out by now?”

  Lamas shrugged. Deep in his thoughts, he absently sipped his mescal. At last he frowned. Who would arrest them? The fat cow of a sheriff at Tombstone and his deputy? No, not those two. “You be careful going up there. This man Narrimore has some hired guns.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be careful,” Black said absently. “Do you have some money?”

  Lamas expected the request. He drew ten twenty-dollar gold pieces from his vest pocket and tossed them on the table toward Black. “You try that Indian girl, amigo?”

  Black shook his head mildly as he rose. “No. I’ll be pushing off now. And I’ll check out Narrimore’s men and see what I can find out about him.”

  It disappointed Lamas the Texan did not strongly deny the business about the Indian girl. He liked to needle the big man and get him testy. But Lamas had seen the flash of desire in Ezra’s eyes when they stripped Justine Stauffer to the waist at the stage stop. Then, before any of them touched her, Lamas had surprised himself that day by preventing his men from raping the woman. Usually he allowed them to use a captive female any way they wanted. But this one, this lily-skinned señora, was to be his. She was too fine for anyone but a leader. Besides, he had been generous with his men. Hadn’t he just given Ezra two hundred dollars? Hadn’t he allowed Sanchez to go home to his wife and children, taking with him enough pesos for plenty of food and drink? Even Sarge and Jimmy were given money for the cantina. But the Stauffer woman was for him alone—for the time being. He drew in a deep breath, then sipped his mescal. There must be a way to get that gringo’s money without releasing the woman to him. Lamas was not ready to give her up—yet. He wasn’t finished with her.

  Lamas remembered the rifle shipment for Marques. He jumped up and hurried down the hallway, his boot heels clicking on the tile floor. He had forgotten to tell Black to check on the rifles at the warehouse. The don would
be anxious to know when they would arrive. “Black, wait!”

  Justine Stauffer lay fully dressed on the bed, her eyes open wide and her fists clenched at her sides. A wave of humiliation and anger swept over her, causing her to tremble as she recalled the Mexican’s hands upon her. Even though Lamas permitted her to take a bath after he had possessed her, she still felt defiled and dirty as though she would never be clean again. But the worst part—she groaned and clenched the bedcover in her fingers—the absolute worst part was that her body had betrayed her. Lamas, as despicable as she considered him, was undeniably an experienced lover. He knew how to draw every ounce of response from a woman.

  Squeezing her eyes closed against the bitter memory, Justine gritted her teeth. Hatred boiled inside her like a festering sore. Hatred of the arrogant leader of the gang, hatred of her dead husband, and hatred of herself. The blazing emotion gave her strength and a new determination to escape her captors. She was not defeated yet.

  One good thing: Lamas brought one of her carpetbags of clothes to this hacienda, so at least she had a clean dress to wear. What happened to the rest of her luggage, she might never know. She rose and carefully smoothed the material. Then, with precise movements, she reached for the hairbrush on the washstand. Since the only door to the bedroom contained a peephole, she feared that some lecherous eyes spied her; she remained fully clothed at all times. Ruthlessly, she dragged the brush through her tangled curls, plotting and discarding plans for escape. She recalled how, in a moment of sheer desperation, she became pliant in Lamas’s arms and whispered promises of passion if only he would release her. His response, deep throaty laughter, caused her, even now, to redden with shame.

  Lamas had not sent for her so far this day. Perhaps he would release her. Perhaps he had gone to negotiate the ransom that he had smugly told her he meant to obtain. Maybe he had given his men permission to use her as he had. Oh, dear God, the idea didn’t bear thinking about. She glanced around the simply furnished room. The high windows were open but barred, and the heavy oak door was bolted from the outside.