Lawless Land

by Dusty Richards

  “That’s fine. What about Mrs. Stauffer?”

  Jesus quickly explained the removal of Mrs. Stauffer by the back way of the hotel to Narrimore’s ranch.

  “She’s alive, anyway,” Sam T. said, perplexed by the matter.

  They discussed Too-Gut’s capture of Sarge and the demise of the Yaqui. Sam also explained the strange actions of Lamas heading north.

  “He might hide in the barrio in Tucson, there are many bad men there.”

  “I’ve already sent a telegram to the Pima County sheriff to be on the lookout for him.”

  Jesus wrinkled his nose. “He hardly ever goes in that part of town.”

  “Well, we can’t do much until daylight,” Sam T. said. He flexed his sore arm to escape some of the pain. “Both of us need some rest, then in the morning you can take Too-Gut and get her some food and fresh horses. Big Boy gets a bait of grain in his belly, he’ll be all right for me to ride.”

  Jesus nodded as Sam counted him out thirty-five dollars.

  “Enough?”

  “Plenty. I will meet you in the morning after I do that?” Jesus asked.

  “Yes, I’ll either be at the hotel or the livery. You tell them to be ready to ride. You better get some rest, too,” Sam T. said, and they parted.

  The next morning, dressed in his newly purchased brown suit coat and white shirt, Sam T. sat in a Nogales cafe eating a hot breakfast. Loud, heavy footsteps drew his gaze to the cafe door. The man who crossed the room toward him was a robust, red-faced individual wearing a tailored suit. His beady eyes seemed too small for his bloated face.

  “You’re Sam T. Mayes,” the man greeted Sam in a gruff voice. “The name’s Marcus Wainwright. Sheriff of Saguaro County.”

  “I’ve heard of you,” Sam said tonelessly.

  “Yeah, and I’ve sure heard plenty about you, Mayes. Where is this Stauffer woman?” Wainwright demanded as he pulled out a chair and sat down uninvited. “I want some answers, Mayes!”

  Sam gritted his teeth and studied his fork in an effort to control his first impulse, which was to hit the obnoxious man in his big mouth. The dull ache in his arm and his scraped knuckles deterred Sam T. from action.

  Raising his iron gaze to look in the man’s face, he spoke with quiet, cold contempt. “This is not your territory. I don’t have to answer one gawdamned question. Either you change your tone or get the hell out of here.”

  Wainwright’s face reddened. He looked ready to explode. “Listen, you—”

  “No, you listen! If you were in your district doing your job, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Bullshit! You’re a damned bounty hunter. I know who you are.”

  “I’ve warned you twice,” Sam T. said coldly.

  “Warned me?” Wainwright scooted his great girth forward on his chair and abruptly changed his attitude to one of smiling persuasion. “Listen, Mayes, I’ll pay you five hundred dollars to find that Justine Stauffer woman, but it better be fast.”

  Sam T. looked at his plate of congealing eggs. What in the hell made Justine Stauffer worth five hundred dollars to this man and worth a thousand to Narrimore? And what about Lamas? What was she worth to him? Sam knew there had to be an answer. Maybe there was even a connection between the three men, with Mrs. Stauffer providing the mysterious link.

  “There, that made a difference,” Wainwright said smugly, obviously mistaking Sam’s silence for acceptance of his offer.

  “What do you need from her?”

  “The last report Tom Stauffer made on the Silver Lady Mine. That wife of his must have it.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  Wainwright cleared his throat and shrugged. “I’ll still pay the money to get her, because she probably knows what that report said.”

  Sam T. studied the man’s face for any change as he asked, “Are you Narrimore’s partner?”

  “Hell, no. What’s he offering to pay you for the woman?”

  “A thousand,” Sam T. said without a blink.

  Wainwright blew his breath out his nose like a snorting horse. “Oh, hell. All right, Mayes. I’ll give you twelve hundred, but you only have two days. Where is she?”

  “In a safe place,” he lied blandly.

  “Well, you heard what I said. You’ve only got two days to get her to me. After that, you can kiss the money good-bye.” Wainwright rose awkwardly, grunting from the effort of moving his bulky body

  Sam T. watched him through harrowed eyes. “Is this report more important than the woman?” he asked.

  Wainwright looked at him impatiently. “Of course. Why? Do you have it?”

  Sam shook his head. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You just remember—two days, that’s all.” He turned and went toward the door.

  Sam pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. He recalled Taggett, the stage line manager, saying after the robbery that he had given a mine report to the deputy. The paperwork was probably sitting right in the man’s office unless his man had thrown it away.

  Sam rolled and smoked a cigarette while he considered his options. Maybe he should ride to Narrimore’s ranch and find out for certain if Mrs. Stauffer was there. He knew her value to both men now. A damned mine report and one that meant more than the life of an innocent woman. What did all that have to do with Lamas?

  Jesus mentioned the Tucson barrio was a hideout for thieves and cutthroats, but the Pima County sheriff did not patrol it. Lamas could be concealed in that area. Well, he’d sent the telegram anyway.

  Inevitably, Sam’s thoughts returned to Justine Stauffer. He considered Jesus’ report of how Narrimore’s men had whisked her out of Nogales. At the moment there did not seem to be any positive action Sam could take. Jesus should be back soon if he had no trouble finding Too-Gut and Da-yah’s camp.

  Sam T. paid for his breakfast and walked slowly back toward the jail. He kept his eyes on the riders in town, expecting to see Jesus among them.

  “Mayes,” the marshal greeted Sam as he ducked into the jailhouse. “Did Wainwright find you?”

  Sam nodded and quickly changed the subject. “How far is this ranch Narrimore owns?”

  “A day’s ride east. Somewhere near those mines on Slide Creek. You thinking about riding over there?”

  “Maybe. I keep thinking that Lamas is holed up in Tucson, but I’d like to ask Narrimore a few questions.”

  “About Lamas?”

  “No. If they are in cahoots, he wouldn’t have offered a reward for Justine—I mean Mrs. Stauffer. Any word on that other gang member, Black?”

  The marshal shook his head. “No, he’s denned up somewhere.”

  Sam T. tried to sort out all the puzzling facts of this case. Maybe if he rode over and checked on Narrimore and Mrs. Stauffer, there would be word of Lamas’s whereabouts when he returned. Jesus seemed to have ideas of his own. Perhaps the two would put their heads together, if he ever got back to town.

  Sam T. left the jailhouse and started toward his hotel. Down the end of the street, he noticed a figure wearing a familiar-looking sombrero. With a smile of pleasure, Sam T. stepped off the boardwalk and waited for his scout.

  “Good morning, amigo,” Jesus greeted Sam with a wide smile. “Our friends send their greetings.”

  Sam acknowledged the words with a curt nod. Now that his scout had returned, he was anxious for them to be on their way. “If you’re ready to take off again, I’d like for us to get moving.”

  “Sí. I am ready. You have learned something more?”

  “Maybe. Get my horse from the stable. We’re going to Narrimore’s to find Mrs. Stauffer. I’m concerned that she might be caught in a web between two ambitious bastards.”

  Jesus looked around, kept his voice lowered. “Should I get Too-Gut and Da-yah?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what we might find at Narrimore’s. The woman might not even be there.”

  “No word of Lamas?”

  “No, nor Black.”

  Jesus nodded thoughtfully. “I h
ave heard that sometimes Black stays at a ranchería north of here.”

  “How far from here?”

  “Oh, a few hours.”

  Sam considered the idea of going after Black. “Can we swing by there on the way to Narrimore’s?”

  Jesus nodded. “It is not too far out of the way.”

  “Good. You get the horses and I’ll get some more supplies. Oh, and watch out for Wainwright. He doesn’t need to know our plans.”

  Jesus agree and spurred his horse onward. Sam watched him for a moment. He shook his head in dismay and hurried to the mercantile for supplies. Damn, this job was becoming more complicated by the minute.

  Lamas exchanged his own clothes for a less conspicuous costume, including a peon serape and a weather-beaten sombrero. He left the Guiterez brothers’ place on a sorry horse. Avoiding the main part of Tucson, he had ridden west, then south. He had sent word for Black to meet him at a small farm on the way to Narrimore’s. The Guiterez brothers would bring four pistoleros and join them sometime during the day. Earlier, Franco had ridden out to pick up some fresh horses for the long ride.

  So far hiring the brothers had cost Lamas almost a thousand dollars. The Guiterez brothers were not cheap, but they were very cunning and he needed them. Besides, the more he considered her body, the more he felt the white woman was worth the price. He had enormous riches from all the robberies and Don Marques would pay well for the rifles, so why should he be concerned about his costs?

  In disguise and on his way out of town, Lamas jarred the dull horse with his heels. In a week he would be back in his hacienda with the gringo woman tied up in his bed. This time, he vowed, he would keep her chained up until he needed her supple body.

  A smile cracked his lips as he rode past barking mongrel dogs and jeering children. If they only knew who they ridiculed, they would shrink away. He was satisfied that his disguise worked.

  He arrived at the small farm in the late afternoon. He noted the big horse tied to a mesquite. Black’s batwing chaps hung on the saddled horse. A quick glance around revealed Black squatted by the corral, a rifle across his knees.

  “Well, amigo, have you heard all the news?” Lamas dismounted.

  Black nodded. “I went out once and tried to find you.”

  “Much has happened, Ezra,” Lamas said wearily. “We will ride tonight to this ranch of Narrimore’s. The Stauffer woman is there. An informant told me also that the rifles that I ordered for my good amigo Don Marques are there too.”

  “How many will ride with us?”

  “Six good men and you and I.”

  Black fell silent for a moment, digesting the information. He asked abruptly, “What about this man in the brown suit that I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Ha! When he comes this time, we will set a trap and kill him.”

  At the sound of approaching horses, Lamas turned sharply, his hand on the butt of his gun. It was only Franco and the hired men. Lamas dried his palms on the sides of his pants. He felt better than he had in days. A new wave of confidence spread over him. Soon he and his army would ride again and soon Señora Stauffer would be back in his bed.

  Justine smiled at the young cowboy who brought her supper to the shed. She tried to avoid staring at the handle of his Colt. He acted obviously uncomfortable with his task and avoided looking at her directly.

  “Ma’am, you’d best eat before it gets cold.” He cleared his throat, shuffled his feet and searched around for a place to put the tray down.

  “Sorry about all this, ma’am.” He gestured awkwardly at the crude surroundings. “Me and the boys are just doing our job. We ain’t too sure why Mr. Narrimore has you in this place.”

  Here was a perfect opportunity for her. She wished she had the boldness of a whore. If she could pluck up the nerve, she felt certain she could get close enough to the cowboy to press her body against him. Then swiftly lift the Colt out of his holster.

  “Rudy!” the guard at the door shouted. “Get the hell out here. You know the orders. The boss said not to talk to her!”

  “Yeah, all right.” With a flushed, crestfallen face, the cowboy turned. At the door he paused a moment, then shook his head and shrugged.

  She drove her fingernails into her palms and groaned with frustration when the door closed after him. She cursed her restraint. If only she had tried, she could have seduced the cowboy.

  No way. She could never degrade herself like that again. A vivid scene flashed through her mind, the revolting image of her unbuttoning her dress to distract the pockfaced gang member Jimmy. That vision was quickly followed by another scene, one even more humiliating than the last. She remembered all too clearly trying to be pliant and seductive in Lamas’s arms. The sound of his amused, knowing laughter filled her ears and threatened to drive her to the breaking point.

  Sam T. and his crew wound their way across the small pass in the black rock hills. Too-Gut rode in the front, then Sam and Da-Yah, with Jesus in the rear. The ranchería, where Black was reputed to stay, was deep in the catclaw brush ahead. Sam T. glanced back and could see over the Santa Cruz Valley far beyond and beneath them. When he turned in the saddle, through a veil of mesquite he could make out two broomtails standing hipshot in the corral. He released the thong that covered his pistol’s hammer and tried to ignore the sharp twinge in his forearm as he did it.

  No sign of Black. They rode abreast toward the lowwalled cabin. Every muscle in Sam’s body tingled. A woman appeared in the open doorway. In her thirties, she appeared to be white. Thin-built with slumped shoulders, she wore a wash-faded dress. Her steel blue eyes looked them over suspiciously. She spoke abruptly and shrilly in Spanish.

  Jesus answered her, then rapped out a question. After listening to her spout a mouthful, the scout turned to Sam T. “She says Black left yesterday if we are looking for him.”

  “Ask her where he went.”

  In their vocal exchange, he heard the name Lamas several times. He wasn’t surprised by Jesus’ next words.

  “Lamas sent for him.”

  Sam frowned in disgust. “Well, ask her where they were headed.”

  A translation wasn’t necessary. The vehement shake of the woman’s head, her shrug and her uplifted palms gave Sam his answer.

  He tipped his fingers to his hat in thanks, then turned Big Boy away. They rode back the way they had come. Sam glanced back at the house and corrals. This was not a grand place and the woman had been nothing special to look at. Black had made his choice of lifestyle long ago when he became an outlaw. Sam T. felt no sympathy for him.

  “Too-Gut,” Sam called to his scout, who was riding ahead. “Have you ever been to Narrimore’s ranch?”

  “Two times.” The Apache held up his fingers. “The army watered their horses at Narrimore’s place while chasing Geronimo into Mexico.”

  “How far from here?”

  “Plenty of miles.” Too-Gut pointed ahead with his rifle.

  “We better go there.”

  Too-Gut nodded.

  Sam sighed and turned to check on Da-yah and Jesus. He supposed if anyone saw his crew, they would think them an odd-looking posse. Mayes’s army of misfits, he mocked himself silently. It seemed like they had to ride all over the damned desert to pick up bits and pieces of information.

  Later, Sam and his assistants stopped to make camp at a small spring. Da-yah went about her chores silently while the men sat in deep thought.

  “No word from the major, Sam T.?” Too-Gut asked, in a tone devoid of expression.

  “No, nothing,” Sam said, unable to look at the Apache. Surely Bowen with all his influence could come up with a pardon for these Apaches. People like Wainwright and his deputy were the ones who needed to be shipped out.

  “Major big man,” Too-Gut said confidently. “Him figure a way for us to stay with you.”

  Sam nodded, but did not comment. He couldn’t believe a whole tribe of Indians were being punished because of one renegade known as Geronimo. The major needed to
find some detail that would allow Too-Gut and Da-yah to stay off the reservation and help him.

  Lamas and his outlaws headed south toward Narrimore’s place. Franco’s selection of horses proved excellent. They held a steady pace down the Santa Cruz Valley during the night. One of the men that the brothers hired, whose name was Checko, had been to Narrimore’s ranch before. Lamas allowed the man to lead the way.

  At dawn, they stopped at a friendly Mexican’s place to rest and take care of the horses. Black stayed close to Lamas. Obviously he felt little kinship with the Guiterez brothers and the four hired men.

  “Lamas,” Black said in a low voice, “when this is over do you think those two brothers and their men will accept what you pay them?”

  Lamas looked up at the taller man and frowned. “Why are you so suspicious of my amigos?”

  “There’s six of them and only two of us. I don’t like those odds. They may act like they work for you, but I wouldn’t like to count on it.”

  “So we should ride with our eyes open, no?”

  Black nodded. “Exactly. That Stauffer woman is worth lots of money, and anyone in Mexico would buy the rifles.”

  Lamas had already thought of that, but he wasn’t going to let Black know that he had any doubts about the brothers’ loyalty. Having weighed his options, he had decided he had no choice but to trust the brothers and their hired men.

  “Perhaps I am too trusting, but you, Ezra, are too suspicious,” he said mildly.

  “Maybe. But I’m still going to keep an eye on them,” Black said with a grim frown.

  Franco walked over to them. “Checko says the woman who lives here will give us food, and then we must ride. It is still many miles.”

  Lamas nodded in agreement. Then, to ease the tension that Black’s disapproving silence was arousing, he clapped Franco on the back and laughed heartily. “It will be worth the ride, amigo. In Mexico we will have a big fiesta when we have finished with Senor Narrimore.”

  “Sí. That will be good.” Franco laughed.