Brothers in Blood

by Dusty Richards

  There hadn’t been enough moisture for the Salt River to be high, so he planned to avoid the Hayden’s Ferry. His plan was to cross east of the irrigated land and stay in the desert and meet few people. They skirted Superstition Mountain and crossed the Gila the day after that. Their arrival at Jesus’s relative’s farm above Tucson was quiet.

  His family welcomed them and put their horses in the corrals. Jesus’s aunt fed them supper and breakfast as well, and when Chet paid her she protested, then gave in. He drew a map for his crew to follow around Tucson. They’d split up to meet at a church called San Xavier that belonged to peaceful Indians. Chet would ride into Tucson to meet with Marshal Blevins, then join them on the south side.

  They left at dawn, right after breakfast. Jesus’s aunt kissed Chet before they left, saying he was too generous paying for their food. He put the roan horse down the main road. By eight that morning he was inside the county courthouse being welcomed by Blevins.

  A tall thin man with lots of mustache, he ushered Chet into his office, then sent his assistants to gather the other people for a meeting.

  “I’m so pleased you agreed to do this job. Where are your men?”

  “Going in small parties to San Xavier where we’ll meet tonight. I didn’t want any talk about a posse. We avoided Hayden’s Ferry and slept in the desert. I have five tough men and five packhorses. We’re prepared to take them on.”

  “That’s what I needed to hear. We have telegraph wires strung to Nogales. I can leave word near the stations where I think you might be. The one to Lordsburg also goes to Benson, Tombstone, and Fort Huachuca. That will give us some contact when a crime is reported so you might be able to cut them off.

  “They’ve raided several isolated ranches and small stores. They steal anything loose and usually rape the women. But mostly they take the ranch horses. It was blamed a lot on the Apaches. But they’re now in the Madres or on reservations, so we know it isn’t them. These bandits appear as just drifters or men looking for work. Then, after the crime, they ride like hell for the border on stolen horses with what else they can steal. I don’t know how organized they are, but they must be stopped.” He checked his pocket watch.

  “I’ve invited some businessmen and the county sheriff. He knows you well from other cases and spoke highly of your services.”

  Several men soon arrived—bankers, businessmen, and others—and they shook hands all around. A man named Clinton Sharky spoke for them.

  “We know you are a busy man, but we hoped you would take the job. After hearing only a part of all you’ve done to bring law to the territory, we agreed with Marshal Blevins that you are the one man we need. The sheriffs are supposed to report crimes to you that are committed by border bandits. When and where they happen. Some of them won’t and will try to handle it themselves. But we want you to bear down on these raiders and end our problem. If you can convince them they can’t come up here and steal us blind and get away with it, we’ll pay you two thousand dollars plus your expenses. The government will pay your posse members’ fees.”

  “Thank you. We came as secret as we could. If we can get the reports, we’ll cut them off. In time, we’ll find as many of the sources they use as we can and eliminate them too. Anyone who shelters or aids a felon will be run off, if not arrested. We find anyone doing something illegal, we will arrest them. I have a handful of damn tough men and we haven’t lost anyone so far that we’ve gone after.”

  “It won’t be easy, Byrnes, and we know this, but you’re right about anyone giving them comfort being as guilty as they are. By dealing with them, too, it will help put an end to it.”

  He was glad he’d made that point clear to the group. The men wound the meeting up by saying if he ever needed a large posse they could send him one in short order.

  He thanked them and gathered up his maps, ready to go meet his team.

  CHAPTER 21

  He left the marshal’s office with a dozen maps of southern Arizona, plus numerous reports and descriptions of previous crimes and wanted men. Many of the maps were marked with the reported routes used by the border bandits.

  Headed south for the San Xavier church, he felt confident of the support from the head marshal and his group.

  He found his outfit camped near the mission where they’d found two fat Indian women to feed them. They feasted on delicious beef, flour tortillas, and roasted vegetables. The women were grateful for the money Chet gave them and told him to come back and eat with them again. Chet promised they would return.

  The next day they rode to Tubac. Camped on the thin Santa Cruz River nearby, Chet and Roamer went in to check out the cantina in the small village. The place had a low roof, smelled of unwashed bodies, and had flickering candlelight. The puta who worked there was at least seven months pregnant and the bartender was a scruffy old man with a white beard.

  “New around here, ain’t’cha?” the bartender asked.

  “No, we’ve been coming here for years,” Chet said. “What do you serve?”

  “I got hot piss for beer and bad whiskey. Which one do you want?”

  “How bad is the whiskey?”

  In a deep bass voice, he said, “Bad stuff.”

  “They say lots of Mexican bandits come up here and rob people.”

  The bartender shook his head. “Or they come from Tucson.”

  “You saying they don’t all come from the damn border?” Chet asked.

  “Damn right. They live right up there.” He pointed his index finger that direction. “You going to drink or talk?”

  “Bring the whiskey. You ever been robbed?”

  “Do I look like I have? Hell, no. I shoot them coming in the door and drag them outside for the buzzards.”

  “Done that lately?”

  “Not in six months. My name’s Charlie. The whiskey is four bucks. I don’t give credit.”

  Chet slapped the money on the table.

  “Bring them a bottle of bourbon and two glasses,” Charlie said to the puta.

  She delivered it, shook her boobs at them, and asked if they needed anything else.

  Chet told her no, while Roamer used his jackknife to cut the seal on the bottle. Then he splashed some in the glasses. Over at the bar, three lanky vaqueros with big rowel spurs on their boots eyed them suspiciously.

  After his first swallow, Roamer coughed. “This damn stuff is worse than he said it was.”

  Chet took a sip and agreed.

  The tallest of the three men at the bar came over and took off his sombrero. “You hombres don’t live around here?”

  “We may,” Chet said. “You know any good ranches around here for sale?”

  “No real good ones, but some are for sale. Would you want to look at them, if I showed them to you?”

  “You sell real estate?” Chet asked, and indicated the chair.

  “Thank you. Oh, I do anything to make a living that won’t get me in trouble.”

  “You don’t work for a ranch?”

  “No, my two brothers and I do day work. I figure if I show you a good ranch, maybe you would make me your Segundo.”

  “You have a glass? We have plenty of whiskey left. Tell your compadres to come, too.”

  He told them in Spanish to bring their glasses over and they quickly complied.

  “That is Jose and Bronco, and I am Ortega.”

  “That’s Roamer, and I’m Chet.”

  Jose let Roamer pour two fingers in his former beer glass. The other one downed his beer, then held his glass out for two fingers with a polite, “Gracias.”

  “Where are you from?” Ortega asked.

  “Texas,” Chet said.

  “How big a ranch do you need?”

  “What size are they?”

  “Most are two sections of deeded land and open range.”

  “One with good water?”

  “There are some fine ones on the Santa Cruz River.”

  “Where will I find you?” Chet asked.

  “Ups
tream a mile.” He tossed his head south. “It has a Two Eight Slash brand. You can’t miss it. You need any help, call on us.”

  The other two said, “Sí.”

  “Nice meeting you.”

  “We have to go home now or our women will think we are using Lupe, eh?” Amused, Ortega indicated with a head toss the pregnant woman who worked there.

  “They might,” Chet said. They all chuckled and the three men left.

  “Those three look like the real thing. They might make good help,” Roamer said.

  “They might find me a good ranch.”

  Roamer frowned at him. ‘What would you do with another one?”

  “Put JD to work running it. But, yes, they could be hired to help us if necessary. They were like Raphael’s help, good workers, I’d bet on it.”

  “We’re going to headquarter here?”

  “First, we need some leads. Then find out how they come and go. Then we’ll decide where to set up.”

  “I see where we’ve got lots to learn down here, ain’t we?”

  “Exactly. Cork that bottle and let’s get back to camp. We split up tomorrow.”

  They waved good-bye to Charlie and left. Being the middle of the week, there wouldn’t be many more customers coming in. Maybe on the weekend there would be more people around. They’d know more by then, too.

  When Chet stopped at the telegraph office, a telegram waited for him and he read it right away.

  TWO MEN ROBBED A MAN ON KING’S HIGHWAY TEN

  MILES SOUTH OF TUCSON. THEY STOLE A HORSE

  WITH A TKY BRAND ON RIGHT SHOULDER. BOTH

  ARE MEXICANS.

  BLEVINS

  Out in the sunlight, he looked at the high rising desert mountains around them. The robbers would probably come that way. “Roamer, you stay around here for a while. I bet they’re coming down that road.”

  Roamer nodded. “Makes sense. I can find that place where we’re camping later. Tell them boys not to drink all that whiskey. I put the bottle in your saddlebags.”

  “Bad as it is, they won’t. Be careful. Those two may be tough.”

  “No problem. Either way, see you later.”

  Back at camp, he told the crew about the telegram and Roamer looking for the robbers.

  Jesus brought him supper and a cup of coffee. “Did Roamer get to eat?”

  “I think he may have gone back in the cantina to eat something. If not, he’ll be here later.”

  “I’ll save him some food, no problem.”

  “Tomorrow, I want us to split up. We’ll go two by two and see what we can find out about the people, places to hide, and how to get them all the way down this corridor to Nogales. Who would you like to go with?”

  “Cole. I think we make a good pair, but you’re the boss.”

  “I think so, too. Send JD with Roamer. Shawn can go with me.”

  “That would work,” Jesus agreed.

  Halfway through his meal, he heard several horses coming up the canyon where they were camped. He set down his plate and put his hand on the butt of his six-gun. The entire camp bristled with ready arms.

  “Don’t shoot, boys. I got the TKY-branded horse and two robbers—both drunker than hooter’s goat,” Roamer shouted. “I’ve got them handcuffed, and Charlie helped me tie them in the saddle. I couldn’t count the money, but there’s plenty.”

  “Shawn, you and Cole count the money.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We can do that,” Cole said. “Blevins is going to think we’re pretty sharp, catching our first ones so soon.”

  “Just lucky. I thought I’d be up all night waiting.” Roamer smiled and shook his head.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Chet said to Roamer, “you and JD send a wire to Marshal Blevins. Have him meet you at the San Xavier church with his men, so they can take the prisoners on to jail. That way, we can lay low and keep out of the papers, I hope.”

  JD and Roamer had the prisoners shackled to a tree in no time and made them shut up. Jesus and the others put up the horses. Then Jesus fixed Roamer some food.

  When they finally bedded down it was past midnight. The outlaws had eight hundred and forty dollars on them, plus the stolen horse, two others, and saddles. No doubt, they might have lost some of the money, but Chet felt they had most of it, mainly because they had no time to spend it.

  He gazed up at the stars. One good deed completed. That was a lucky break; the rest would be much harder.

  Jesus made breakfast, with a couple of the other men helping, while the rest saddled horses and pack animals. The once-drunk outlaws were moaning and holding their heads. Must have drunk too much of Charlie’s bad whiskey.

  After breakfast, the prisoners were loaded and handcuffed to their saddles. Roamer led them on their mounts, and JD led the extra stolen horse. He cautioned them that it might take them a day or longer to meet up with the Marshal, then that long to get back. When they returned, he told them, the others might not be there so check with Charlie for a note telling them where the rest of the team had gone.

  Roamer and JD left in a high trot. The others hobbled the packhorses that were left to graze. Chet and Shawn went to the Two 8 Slash ranch. The sign hung over the gate entrance and Shawn bounced off his horse to open it.

  The place must have some river water rights for cornstalk stubble showed where it had been harvested the past fall. Several chickens clucked about the place and three jacals served as their homes. Each one had clothes hanging to dry on lines.

  A few dogs barked at them and curious milk goats bleated at a safe distance. An attractive woman came to the doorway of the first jacal with three small children hanging on her skirt.

  “Buenos dias, señor.” She smiled big at him.

  “Is this where Ortega lives?”

  “Yes, him and his brothers.”

  “Is he off working today?”

  “Si, what can I do for you?”

  “Tell him we camped on the river a short ways past the village. Ask him to come see me tonight. My name is Chet Byrnes. We met last night at the cantina.”

  “Oh, yes. He says you are looking for a ranchero.” She smiled.

  “That and other things. No rush. Shawn and I are glad to meet you, señora.”

  “Gracias, señor. I will send him there.”

  “We may not be back until later today.”

  She shrugged, then smiled like she was pleased. “He can wait.” Then she laughed. “He will be there. He liked talking to you, he said.”

  Two other young women with children stood outside their doors, looking him and his partner over. He waved to them, remounted, and thanked her again before they rode off.

  “You said you met their men in the cantina last night where Roamer caught the outlaws?” Shawn slipped off his horse and reopened the gate. When they were through it, he closed it and got back on his horse.

  “I think they’re brothers or cousins. Real vaqueros like the ones on my wife’s ranch.”

  “Will they help us?”

  “I hope they will offer us a headquarters and watch our things while we’re rangering out here.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “If I can, I’ll hire the wives to cook for us. We were lucky last night to catch those two. The rest will be harder and take longer, I figure.”

  “Jesus will like not having to cook, as well.”

  “I agree. But he beats many cattle drive cooks I’ve known.”

  “Sometime, you’ll have to tell me about those days. When I was little, Dad made two of them trips to Kansas.”

  “They made money, but it was tough times.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Swollen rivers to cross, stampedes, tornados, storms, and gun-crazy men in the cow towns, plus outlaws to rob you or rustle your cattle. Crossing rivers was a big thing. After my first trip, I swam so much the next summer to get ready for my next drive I thought I was half fish.”

  “Dad said there was one guy back in Texas got everyone
’s cattle to take to Kansas. They all knew him, but when he got there he paid off the crew, sold his horses and chuckwagon, and they never heard of him again. Dad lost two hundred head to him.”

  “There was lots of that went on, herds lost in storms, rustled, ran off bluffs in stampedes and they all died.”

  As they rode the King’s Highway south, heavy traffic on this main road north and south included ox carts that squeaked on wooden axles and carried goods north to Tucson or somewhere else from Mexico. Freighters with twenty-team hitches in a caravan headed both directions. Occasionally, a man or two on a burro rode by, with their women walking behind them with a basket on her head. He tried to imagine Marge doing that and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Shawn asked.

  “I thought about my wife doing like that last woman. She’d probably ride the burro and I’d have to carry the basket.”

  They both laughed and rode on in the warm sun. The roan horse was always a pleasure to ride. Head down and in a swinging walk or trot, he was all business. If you needed speed he had it; if you climbed mountains he was like a cat. He sure beat a head-high crazy horse that wore himself out fighting the bit and the rider.

  They stopped for a drink at a roadside well. Several women were in the shallow river across the road, beating clothes on the rocks to wash them. Many were naked to the waist, and the sun glistened on their swinging bare breasts as they worked. It didn’t seem to bother them if anyone saw them exposed.

  “Great scenery,” Shawn said with a grin, and they mounted up to ride on south.

  “I guess we all have different ways to live, but these folks seem to make a living down here and don’t mind casual.”

  “A different way, huh?”

  “Well, we are seeing lots of it. Men ride, women walk. They wash clothes and don’t care. Some even wave at us to be friendly. A different culture is what they have.”

  “Jesus told me about the rich lady you met in Socorro. He said she was tall and good looking.”

  “I danced with her and she treated us well. A widow woman who even made Jesus dance with her nieces.”