“Got it from a pepper belly. I just hate the heat, Dick, always have.”
“And you came to Arizona? For what?”
“The waters.” Arvel grinned.
“In the desert?”
“I was misinformed. But, can’t wait ‘til Christmas. Maybe it’ll snow.”
He thought about Dick’s plan a while.
“Do you think our boys might hit the girl, Dick?”
Dick smoked his cigarette and looked up at Arvel. “No. No, I don’t, Arvel. The boys are good, and they’ll only shoot the horses ridden by the brothers. If they hit either of them by accident, no real harm done. We’ll wait until we get them in the right spot, that area they’re heading in opens up onto a big mesa surrounded by hills. We’ll get them in a spot where they’ll be stuck in the open, then we can move in on them from cover.”
“I don’t want the girl killed, and I don’t want to lose any of the men,” Dick nodded in agreement.
They rode on another hour, and off in a distance saw two wagons, heavily laden with a large family. They rode up to see where they were headed, and what business they had out in the middle of nowhere.
“What do you make of this bunch?” Dick squinted.
“They ain’t Mormons.”
Arvel stood up in his saddle, removing his big Mexican hat. “Shalom Aleichem.”
"Aleichem shalom.” The man driving the lead wagon tipped his hat. The woman next to him smiled. Dick looked at Arvel, confused.
“What brings you folks out to the middle of nowhere?”
“I am Ariel Tuckman,” he turned in the seat and looked on at people in his party, “this is my family. We are going out to my brother’s place, a little west of Bisbee.”
They needed two wagons for their belongings and family. There were eight children of various ages, an old woman, an old man, and Ariel’s wife, who was driving the first wagon. They wore black suits of European cut. The women wore dark dresses, finely made but modestly styled.
“We are Arizona Rangers, and on the trail of some bad fellows. How far is it to your brother’s ranch, Mr. Tuckman?”
“We are hoping to arrive by nightfall.”
Dick assigned two men to the caravan. He gave them instructions to get the family to their destination, then go on to their normal assignments. There was no point in trying to regroup with the posse, as their work would likely be done, and they’d waste time trying to find them.
Dick and Arvel watched them ride off. “They are a prolific bunch.” Arvel smiled at Dick, “almost as busy as the Irish.”
As planned, the first scout rode back to report that he had seen them, and they were just a quarter of a mile ahead. They were coming off the downward slope, onto the mesa that was devoid of cover. They would be in the open and vulnerable, just as Dick had predicted. Better yet, the sun would be at the marksmen’s backs, and the murderers would likely not be able to see from where they were being attacked. Dick moved the riflemen up in a hurry. In no time, two shots were fired, and the rest of the group moved up to watch the bad men scurry about, looking for cover. They pulled the girl from her horse and crouched in a huddle. One of the Rangers dispatched her horse with a shot to the head.
Arvel’s job came next, as he refused to let any of the Rangers go. He tied a white flag to the muzzle of his Henry rifle and rode slowly toward the men. He got to within fifty yards, and announced his intentions.
The younger brother called out, “Sod off, you Yankee bastards, we’ll never be taken alive.” He grabbed the girl by the neck and pointed his six shooter at her head.
Arvel dipped his flag, and the miscreant’s head came apart. The other brother jumped into the air exclaiming, “bloody hell,” he put his hands up, “I surrender, I surrender!”
Arvel covered him with his rifle until he was surrounded by the Rangers. The young girl stood by her dead horse. She looked vacantly at the dead man who had been the source of her torture the past days. The youngest and most handsome Texan approached her. She was shaking, despite the heat. He handed her a canteen and she drank. He put his hand out to her and she pulled away. He looked too much like her tormentors. The buffalo soldier came forward. He had comforted young women in this state many times. He spoke to her soothingly. He smiled and offered her a hard candy. She looked him in the eye and stared blankly at the sweets in his hand. He slowly opened up a bandanna he kept in his pocket, asking her if he could cover her head to shade it from the sun. She eventually relaxed and let him help her. He led her away from the corpses and began telling her that he’d be taking her to her relations in Tombstone. She could not speak and only nodded. She walked away, looking back as Arvel addressed the remaining killer.
Arvel rode up to the man. He had had enough. The past several days of witnessing the butchery carried out by this pair had stretched him to the limit. Seeing the girl in this state nearly pushed him beyond. She was about the same age as his daughter, had his child lived. Arvel glared at the surviving murderer, “Which one are you?”
“Figure it out yourself, bloody tosser.”
He cantered Sally over to him, nearly bowling him over. He jumped to the ground and walked up on the man, stopping inches from his face. The man scowled down at Arvel with contempt. He was half a head taller. Arvel put his hand on the grip of his revolver, then decided better of it and backhanded the murderer, knocking him to the ground.
“You struck me!” He held his face then checked his hand for blood.
Dick pulled him to his feet by his collar. “This one’s James. Come on, you. Getting your face slapped is the least of your worries.”
The young man became more defiant as he watched the Rangers go through his belongings. One Ranger found a collection of photos. The brothers had been chronicling their escapades. The gruesome photos were nearly too much for the grizzled lawmen. The outlaw demanded to contact his father, and be taken to the nearest town, where his lawyer would be summoned. He sneered at the men as they discovered one clue after another of the two men’s depravity. They each had a journal, and Dick Welles began reading passages of it aloud.
“Very impressive, the bugger can read.” The young man laughed nervously, simultaneously looking menacing at the Rangers. “None of this is mine. It all belonged to him.” He pointed to the corpse nearby. My brother made me do these things. I had nothing to do with it. He was always making me do things that I did not want to do. But I never harmed anyone. That was all him. I warn you that my lawyer will know how I’ve been treated, and the British consulate, so you’d better take care.”
He became more agitated as the men milled about, ignoring him. Arvel stood near him, looked at him and smiled. “Nope, don’t see one for miles.”
“One what?” The man was irritated, especially with Arvel.
“A tree. Can’t have a proper hanging without a tree, mate.”
“Oh,” he laughed. “Bleedin’ dime novels. And, don’t call me mate.” He laughed more nervously. “I’ve read of your so-called frontier justice. You’ll not mistreat me. You’re just trying to scare me. Well, I am not bloody-well scared. You are officers, not vigilantes. You can’t touch me. You’re obliged to follow the due course of law. You’ve got to bring me in. You’ve no proof I killed anyone. There’s no call for this. You can’t hang me for any of the things I’ve done.”
“We aren’t hanging you for what you have done, mate.” Dick spoke as he pulled a pigging string from his saddle. “We’re snuffin’ you out so that you can’t do anything to anyone ever again. Some people just need killin’, mate, and you sure are one of them.”
Dick called to Arvel, pointing off to a distant spot. “That outcrop’ll work, Arvel.”
“Looks good to me.” He smiled at the killer. “Guess we can have a hanging after all. “Come along, Lad, we’re gonna show you how to have at least an improper hangin’ without a tree.” The Rangers mounted up, they made James walk ahead of them to the ledge of rocks a distance away. Arvel rode up beside the man and looked dow
n at him. “This is what’s called the final walk…like it?”
Dick sent half of the detail off to Tombstone to escort the victim to relatives she had waiting there. The others gathered up the evidence.
The Englishman continued his protest. When that did not work he threatened, then begged, then began to whine. Arvel looked at him and sneered. “Did all your victims beg like this?”
“Yes…no. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t have any bleedin’ victims. You’ve got the wrong man. I swear.” He began to cry. Arvel glared at him.
“Shut up, mate! You had some high times, and now you must pay. And pay you will so shut up and take it.”
They got him to the top of the outcropping and looked below. It dropped abruptly several hundred feet.
“Sorry, mate, we can’t drop you hard enough to break your neck, looks like you’ll just hang a little while ‘til you strangle.” Arvel got his rope and tied a proper noose. He put the other end around Sally’s saddle horn. He paid the rope out until it was taut and they bound the man’s hands behind him.
“Stranglin’ to death. That’s gotta be the hardest way to go.” Arvel shook his head from side to side as he walked back from Sally to the condemned man.
Dick put his hand on Arvel’s arm. “Arvel.”
“Yes, what is it?” He was irritated now, and resolved to send this boy to his doom. He was in no mood for interruptions. He looked up at Dick, impatiently.
“Should we offer him a hood?”
“Do you want your head covered, Lad?”
The man shook his head. “No…yes!”
Arvel stormed over to Donny’s rack, untied a potato sack and emptied the contents of his dirty laundry. He walked back to the man and put the sack over his head. He prepared to replace the noose.
“Stop, stop! Take it off, take it off, please! I can’t breathe.”
“That’s the general idea.” Arvel continued his task as Dick intervened.
“Come on, Arvel, let’s take it off him.” He got between the two men, removing the shroud.
“Blimey, that smells like a Mexican’s bum!” He lifted his face toward the sky, breathing deeply.
The Rangers suddenly laughed. The young Englishman laughed. He looked at Arvel, then Dick. “Come on Gents. Why don’t we stop all this and take me to town?” He smiled at them.
“No deal, son. You are hanging. Now.” Arvel put the noose back around his neck.
Dick spoke up. “Do you have anything to say?”
“Yes, I do.” He stopped smiling now. He was red-faced and angry. “You are all bastards, you Americans, and I wish I had more time to kill more of you.” His mouth was dry and he had difficulty forming his words. “Bury me facing down, so that the world can kiss my bloody arse.”
Arvel turned the man to face the precipice. “Who said anything about burying you, you bastard? You will be wolf shit by sun up tomorrow, and the animals’ll pick your bones dry.” He kicked the man to oblivion. Sally put her head down, the rope spun around the saddle horn, then whipped free. The young man dropped another two hundred feet. He screamed like a baby all the way down, bouncing three times before coming to rest.
Arvel peered over the precipice and looked down at the remains. “Ay, chingao!”
They looked at each other a few moments, and Arvel finally spoke: “I thought you were going to tie it off.”
“I thought you were.” They peered over the deep drop and looked at each other, shrugged, and mounted up.
They rode in silence for a while. Dick continued to look through the collection of photos. He had not seen violence such as this, even in the war. “This would have made good evidence, Arvel.”
“Give them to me. I know what to do with them.”
Dick handed them over to Arvel. Then thought for a moment. “That boy bounced like a rubber ball. I have never seen a body bounce like that.”
“That he did.”
The report he sent to the governor was brief and subsequently passed on through the proper channels. Arvel reported burying both men, as there was a chance Colonel Dunstable would want to collect the bodies. Of course, it was difficult to tell exactly where they had been, and nearly impossible to offer direction to the location of the corpses. By some unknown method, some of the more terrible photos had made it to the editor of the Tombstone Epitaph, and the details of the young men’s terror soon became international news. The rest of the photos were neatly packed and mailed to Colonel Dunstable. It is said that he was found with a single gunshot wound to the head shortly thereafter; the charred remains of a photograph collection found in the fireplace of his study.
The Rangers were heroes, thanks to the newspapers, both Republican and Democrat. Nothing further was said about the villains being taken alive, after the newspapers accounts and the few photos leaked by Arvel. The men were becoming a legend in a very short time. There was a constant flow of glowing articles about them; some of the stories were, shockingly, embellished.
They did not have long to rest on their laurels, as a messenger arrived from Hennessy, reporting that he was missing fifty head of cattle. They were tracked by one of his men, moving south, toward the border.
Nice indeed, Arvel thought. Going from avengers to errand boys, running down some scrawny Mexican rustlers. Hennessy likely lost fifty head in the course of doing business, but, as the annoying Irishman said: “The kind of brigands who steal are the same kind who will kill and butcher.” Arvel contacted Dick Welles, and they were off, living rough again.
Down Mexico way
Dick chose Texan and Mexican Rangers for this adventure. He told Arvel that it took a Mexican to catch a Mexican. Arvel had no idea what this meant.
“Thank goodness Esquimaux didn’t steal those cattle.” He grinned at Dick who did not get the joke. He smiled at Dan, nodded to him and said: “Good thing Indians didn’t do the rustling, Dan, or your ass would be in the saddle.”
Dan blew on a tin cup of coffee, standing in the doorway to the Ranger office. “No sir, I was hired as your secretary; the only thing I ride is my desk chair, Arvel.” He would no sooner ride into the wilds looking for cattle thieves than toil in a mine.
Dan never stood on formality, and Arvel especially liked this about him. He stretched, and looked on at the men preparing to ride out. “You boys have a nice adventure. I think I’ll wander down and have a nice steak for lunch, then come back to the office and lie down for a while. I’ll be keeping an eye on the telegraph wire, so you feel free to let me know how the investigation’s progressing.”
Arvel smiled, and looked over at Dick, who by now was preoccupied with some minor detail. He tipped his hat to Dan. “You are the smartest one of the bunch, Dan.”
They made it out of town and already it was hot. Arvel wiped his brow.
“Well, this is a fine mess. I haven’t slept in my comfortable bed now more than ten days in thirty.” He patted Sally on the neck. “I’m too old for this rough living. I should be back with Dan, resting.”
Dick looked at Arvel’s mules. “You’ve got enough junk on Donny to live well, as far as I can see.” And this was true. Arvel loaded Donny with many comforts, particularly an abundance of water. He did not like to run low on clean water.
Arvel looked back at Donny. “There’s no feather bed and there’s no bathtub.”
They made it to Hennessy’s ranch and purposely avoided the man. They picked up the trail and began following it. Arvel had some fun with his partner.
“Well, you see there. He pointed to some inconsequential spot on the ground. We have four riders. One is a heavy man riding a thoroughbred. Those two, he pointed left, are scrawny fellows, not much bigger than you. And the last fellow is likely half Indian.”
One of the better trackers overheard him, and looked puzzled for a moment. He scratched his head and rode on.
They followed the trail all that day and camped near some good water well before sunset. They were in no hurry. Arvel’s heart was not in it. He was n
ot fond of Hennessy, and he felt that a man like him, who had plenty, could ignore a little light thievery. Arvel did not understand fully the cattle business; he was used to making his money on mules.
The men rested comfortably around the fire. They were well provisioned and one of the Mexicans had killed a deer. Arvel handed out his fancy pre-twisted cigarettes. Some of the men examined them, gave them a good sniff and saved them for later. They rolled their own. They lounged on their saddles and blew smoke at the canopy of stars overhead. This rough living was not so bad.
“This camping reminds me of a story I heard about Kit Carson. Any of you boys ever hear about the time Kit was captured by Indians?” Arvel lounged back and waited for a reply.
The Mule Tamer Page 9
