Brothers in Blood

by Dusty Richards

  “That is strange.” Cole shook his head. “I hope it isn’t long. I like northern Arizona, pines and grass for cows. What else did you learn from the widow who left us back there?”

  “Hardest thing in her story was that her husband died in a whorehouse. She’s a real nice-looking woman. I ain’t seen many women in that business that good looking.”

  “All you saw in her was the package. Contents are another thing,” Cole said.

  Chet shook his head. “Aw, I saw more. I wonder if she was cold toward him? I don’t know, but when you open up a package, sometimes the contents can shock you. We all thought JD’s wife Kay was so ignored by him. I even danced and talked to her. I believed her story, but whatever she did to him spun him around so I can’t figure it out for the life of me.”

  “Women can do that to you.”

  Cole didn’t say any more, but Chet knew his man had been burned, too.

  They found Socorro in a full-fledged dust storm. Heads bent down, they went inside the stage office to escape nature’s force. The stage agent agreed to keep their gear.

  “The Pearl Hotel is two blocks south. Best place in town to stay.”

  After thanking him, the three set out for the hotel. They made it into the lobby, grateful to escape the face-stinging diamond bits. Once inside, Chet stopped to brush off some dust.

  “This happen often?” he asked the clerk.

  “Not every day.”

  “Good. That might make us glad when we see an open day. I need two rooms for a week.”

  “Pay by the day or all?”

  “How much is all of it?”

  “Fourteen dollars.”

  He paid the man and he gave them rooms beside each other on the second floor.

  “Where’s a good place to eat?”

  “The cantina next door. They’re the cleanest and best place in town.”

  “Thanks,” Chet said.

  “Are you here on business?”

  “Exactly. Where’s the courthouse?”

  “Two blocks west.”

  “Thanks.”

  The clerk at the hotel was right about the cantina—the food was good. The waitress told them they also did breakfast and supper.

  After supper, Chet and Cole walked to the courthouse. They entered the sheriff’s office and asked the man at the desk for him.

  “Oh, señor, he won’t be in for a week. What can we do for you?”

  “I am here to speak to a prisoner he has.”

  “Who is that, señor?”

  “JD Byrnes.”

  “I don’t know who you speak about.”

  “Let’s get things clear. I am a US Deputy Marshal and I want to speak to this man.” He showed him his badge.

  “Oh, I am sorry, but he is not here.”

  “Then find him. I’ll be back in an hour and I want him here. If he isn’t, there’ll be a federal grand jury here to see how this jail is operated.”

  “How can I find someone who isn’t here, señor?”

  “He’s here. Get to cutting.”

  The man turned his palms up. “I can do nothing.”

  Chet and Cole turned and left the courthouse. Fired up and angry, Chet went to find the lawyer who had represented JD. His office was in a small room in the alley behind a mercantile store.

  Chet pushed in the door. A young man seated behind the desk jumped at the sight of him, and almost knocked over a green desk lamp.

  “Josh Raines?”

  “Yes.”

  “Chet Byrnes. Where is JD Byrnes?”

  “Why? Why? In the county jail.”

  “They say he isn’t there. How can I find him?” He was fast growing weary of all this double talk.

  “Did you speak to the sheriff?”

  “No. He won’t be here for a week.”

  “Where did he go?” Raines asked.

  “Who knows? They’re dumb down at that courthouse. I want to speak to my nephew. What can you do?”

  “I guess go and demand they let us see him.”

  Chet pointed his finger like a pistol. “Get your ass up and I’ll accompany you down there.”

  Raines blew out the lamp and put his coat on going out the door. “You have to realize this isn’t Texas. They don’t do things here like they do there.”

  “We are in the United States, aren’t we?”

  “A territory. Yes.”

  “Was his trial in Spanish?”

  “It was—but that is usual here.”

  “Will that hold up in the territory appeals court?”

  “Probably.”

  Chet double-stepped the lawyer toward the courthouse in the dust-biting wind.

  “Your client was not Mexican. Was he provided a translator?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because I’ve hired the most powerful law agency in Santa Fe and I expect you to support them. Where are those horses? What did they do with them? I want them returned and examined. We’ll find their owners.”

  “I don’t know if we can do that.”

  “Why in the hell not?”

  “I think they were sold.”

  “By bid?”

  Raines shrugged. “No, just sold.”

  “Then the sheriff benefited from this frame-up, didn’t he?”

  “You’re saying he did this to sell those horses?”

  “He sold the horses. Right?”

  By this time, they were inside the courthouse lobby and Chet cut off his questioning.

  Ahead of him, Raines walked into the sheriff’s outer office first, and the deputy frowned at him. “What are you here for?”

  “I came to speak to my client, JD Byrnes.”

  “He ain’t got no business to talk to you about.”

  “Diego, go get him.”

  “I don’t work for you or that gringo behind you.”

  “I am his attorney, and you can’t deny me talking to my client.”

  “Get out of here or I’ll arrest both of you.”

  “Where is the sheriff?”

  “He is not available.”

  “Tell Hernandez to come see me. The State Attorney General is coming from Santa Fe to talk to him, and he can be prosecuted if he is found failing to uphold the laws of the territory and nation.”

  “What can that bastardo do?” the deputy asked, motioning toward Chet.

  “They can charge Hernandez and try him in court.”

  “He is the sheriff. They can’t do that.”

  “Diego, there are higher men than a county sheriff. Tell him we need to talk before the State Attorney General gets involved.”

  “He won’t care. They can’t tell him what to do.”

  “Give him the word. Also tell the judge and prosecutor that we need to have a meeting.”

  “All for this gringo with you?”

  “Tell them this is serious. He won’t want the governor down here, too.”

  “I will tell him, but it will do no good. He is the law here and what he says is the law. No one sees his prisoners unless he says so.”

  Raines held up his hand to silence him. “Do what I said. Tell him we mean business.”

  Then he turned to Chet. “He will listen to good sense. Come on.”

  Not satisfied with the way things stood, Chet followed the young lawyer outside. Once back in the wind, he pulled down his hat. “What do I need to do?”

  “If you have a room, go back and rest. We will work this out.”

  “Does this sheriff think he’s above the law?”

  “Pretty much so, since no one has ever challenged him. A Texas rancher paid him two thousand dollars to get his son released, when all the kid did was shoot someone who was beating him up. I think the sheriff thought JD’s father would do the same.”

  “I’m his uncle, and a Deputy US Marshal. I intend to clear his name of this hoax.”

  “Maybe we can reach some compromise at a meeting with the county officials.”

  “I am not paying a sheriff to release an
innocent man.”

  “I understand. I also understand the court business in this county. He will call for a meeting.”

  “I’ll be at the Pearl Hotel.” He ducked his head away from the wind. “Where is the telegraph office?”

  “Across the street.” Raines pointed.

  “Thanks. Does he run that, too?”

  The lawyer shrugged. “I will let you know what we need to do next.”

  “Thanks.” They parted and Chet went to the telegraph office where a clerk was sending a message out on the key.

  “Be right with you,” he said.

  Chet nodded and took a yellow paper and wrote on it in pencil.

  To: Mrs. Marge Byrnes. Prescott, Arizona Territory.

  We are in Socorro. Looks like a long affair. What is the Santa Fe lawyer’s name? When will he be here?

  Love you, Chet.

  “I can send that right away. It’ll get there in twenty-four hours. Anything else?”

  “No. How much?”

  “Seventy-five cents.”

  Chet paid him.

  “Thanks. Where can I reach you for the reply?”

  “Pearl Hotel.”

  “I know where that is.” The short man with the celluloid visor nodded. “Any time you need me, pound on the door. I’m here twenty-four hours a day.”

  Still filled with fury, Chet went back and found his men in their room.

  “Do any good?” Cole asked.

  “Not really. Raines is setting up a meeting with the sheriff.”

  “A meeting about what?” Jesus asked.

  Chet sat down and told them the entire story about the Texan who bought his son’s freedom.

  When Chet finished. Cole said, “This smells worse than the sheriff’s office at home.”

  “Yes, it does. I wired Marge for the name of the lawyer coming here from Santa Fe. I guess all we can do now is wait.” He knew one thing for sure—he must sit on his temper. Things in this dusty town weren’t going to move fast enough to suit him. He got up and paced the floor. “I just hate that I can’t talk to JD.”

  “We don’t have an answer, either,” Jesus said.

  That was the problem—there was no answer.

  CHAPTER 3

  Firecrackers popped like gunshots. Rockets exploded overhead in the night air and threw out blue and red fans. It was New Year’s Eve and the Chinese population filled the sky over Socorro with colorful explosions.

  Louise, the waitress from the café, hung on to Cole’s arm. Chet and Jesus went along with them to the dance hall down the street for what she called a New Year’s Eve fandango.

  The fireworks were interesting, but Chet’s mind was on JD’s problem. Herman Thomas, the lawyer from the Santa Fe firm of Sullivan, Branch and Alter, was on his way. Chet had sent them a telegram introducing himself and telling them where he was staying. The sheriff’s meeting was set for January second in the courtroom. Raines made the arrangements, but acted like that was too sudden for them to do anything.

  Chet wrote a long letter to Marge about his impatience at how things were creeping along despite his moves to hurry it up. Luckily, he found a local man who said JD was in the jail and all right, which eased his mind somewhat.

  When they were inside the dance hall, Louise asked, “Will you dance with my aunt? She can dance very well.”

  “Of course, if I can step on her toes.”

  “I don’t believe that. I bet you can dance real well.”

  “She will see.”

  Wooden benches lined the walls around the large room. Louise took him to an empty space, then she and Cole went to find her aunt.

  “Her aunt, she is a widow,” Jesus said. “I think she is tall. Louise said she was. So she will be pleased to dance with a tall hombre.”

  Antoinette Carmichael was tall. Almost as tall as his wife, and a beautiful woman with a light tan complexion and a smooth-skinned face graced with dancing brown eyes and sleepy eyelids. Her hair was pinned up and she wore an expensive blue dress that flattered her full figure.

  “Ah,” she said after her niece introduced them.

  “She says you will step on my toes. Let’s see if you do.” And she held out her arms.

  The music was playing, so he swept her away. Head high, she could damn sure dance and he could lead. They swung around the floor almost by themselves, but he knew he had a partner that could really dance.

  “Louise says you are married.”

  “I have a lovely wife back in Arizona.”

  “You have not been married very long?” She dropped an eyelid to look at him for an answer.

  “No, only near a year. She was a widow and now she’s expecting in May.”

  “You never had a wife before her?”

  “No. I was serious about some nice ladies, but never married before.”

  “She must be a lovely woman to snare a bachelor like you were.”

  “Yes, she is. Do you have any children?”

  “No. Two died soon after birth and I never had any more. My husband was killed in a mine cave-in. He was a big tall Texan like you.”

  They whirled around as if they had danced together for years. She was so quick to take his lead it was automatic. He couldn’t understand why someone hadn’t chosen to court her.

  “You have no man at your door?”

  “No. My husband has been dead over a year. I no longer wear black, but I am too fussy. I don’t like drunks. Louise says you don’t drink.”

  “I have a beer or two. I’ve only been drunk a few times and didn’t like it.”

  “I won’t marry a drunk, so you see that narrows a tall woman’s chances of being courted.”

  “I’m certain you’ll find a man. You dance like a ballerina.”

  “Oh, have you seen one of them dance?”

  “Yes, I did. In Abilene, Kansas, at the end of a cattle drive. It was a traveling company of dancers.”

  “I’ve heard of them and seen pictures. I am flattered by your words. Tell me about your nephew who is in jail.”

  “It’s a long story. We finally have a meeting on the second with the sheriff. They’ve denied me talking to him. JD had to smuggle a letter out of the jail to tell me about his phony trial. Did you ever meet him when he was cowboying around here?”

  “No. I heard some gossip is all.”

  When the dance ended, he showed her to a place on a bench where Jesus sat. They sat and he began telling her about JD’s case.

  In the end, she agreed the sheriff had too much power. She’d also heard about the other Texas boy whose father had to buy his way out of jail.

  “You didn’t offer them money?” She smiled knowingly at him.

  “No. I want him cleared of those charges. Might have been a damn sight easier to pay them than go this route, but I can’t stand for injustices to go on.”

  “There are many that agree, but Hernandez counts the votes. Excuse me.” She rose and took Jesus’ hand.

  “Come with me. You can dance, can’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Some of my family girls are seated on a bench over there and dying to dance with you.”

  She turned back to Chet. “I will be right back. This nice cowboy needs to dance. It is New Year’s Eve.”

  Chet agreed, amused at this strong woman who led his man across the room to meet her girls. She reminded him in many ways of Marge. He’d like to be home to take her to the schoolhouse dance, but this JD jail business had to be settled.

  Antoinette returned, swept her skirts underneath her, and took a seat beside him. “Young men that age can be so shy. You have two polite nice young men that work for you. Do they go everywhere with you?”

  “Yes, they do. My wife and my main ranch manager say I need them with me because of the things I get into.”

  She laughed. “They know you well then.”

  They danced again and then, sitting, he told her about Texas and why they had to leave.

  “Oh my, you have an
empire going for you now.”

  “Yes, I’m told that. Did your husband leave you set up?”

  She nodded. “I have three men that work for me on the ranch. We have two hundred mother cows, and growing. The Rafter A is my brand. Like your wife, I rode with him and we had lots of fun. I can run the ranch by myself—another reason I am so choosy. I don’t want to be set back as a wife in the house and have him run the ranch.”

  Chet nodded. “Let’s dance. Dancing with you helps me forget how mad I am.”

  “I bet your wife does that to you.”

  “Yes, she does, and I treasure her for that very thing, as well as for other things. After I bought the big ranch, I headed home with JD’s younger brother, Heck. He was about sixteen and had really straightened up. In a stage holdup, not fifteen miles south of Preskitt, some outlaws robbed us. I knew one of them, but in the dark he didn’t recognize me. He and the other men took the boy as a hostage. I chased them down on a stage company horse, but they’d already killed the boy for no reason.”

  “Oh, no.”

  His hand in the center of her back, he straightened and they danced on. “Toughest day of my life, bar any others I ever had. Marge heard about it and she drove there in a buckboard to help me take his body back. His father was killed in the feud up in Kansas while taking our cattle to market. When Heck was killed, I was struck all over again by the entire situation.”

  “Did that convince you to marry her?”

  He shook his head. “I was grateful, but I still had ties in Texas. In the end, that lady couldn’t leave Texas because her parents needed her. So I came back to Arizona, but I wasn’t ready for a wife. I wanted to make a long camping trip to see more of the territory, and I was going to ask Marge to go along. My sister said that since Marge had been to finishing school, she wouldn’t go with me. She was wrong, though. Marge agreed, without any hesitation, to go. My conscience bothered me about her being single and going, so we made that trip our honeymoon.”

  “That was thoughtful. You are a wheeler-dealer, aren’t you?”

  “I guess you could call me that. Was your husband one?”

  “Yes. When he died, he still had many irons in the fire that I had to settle. Some were good, some worth nothing. That was fine, only he could have made them all work.”

  They danced until midnight when someone blew a trumpet and confetti fell from a high net onto the crowd. At that, he kissed her and wished her a Happy New Year.