Brothers in Blood

by Dusty Richards

  “But, Marshal, the town posse gave up and these men found them and brought them in,” the reporter complained.

  “All you can print is that law officials apprehended the three bank robbers and brought them in.”

  “That doesn’t make much of a story.”

  “Young man, these men rode miles and worked hard to find these outlaws, and their identity needs to be kept under wraps until their job is done.”

  “I want that story when you release it, sir.”

  “You will have it then. Thanks.”

  Blevins took Chet’s arm. “I have a private dining room reserved at Nellie Cashman’s restaurant. They’re holding it open. Shall we go eat?”

  “Sure. We’ll put our horses up at the OK Corral Livery and be right up there,” Chet told him.

  “I want to say, I can’t believe what all you’ve done. It’s amazing. Without even a description, and you found them.”

  “Marshal, we work hard at this. I want these men to have those rewards, and we’re also taking their horses, guns, and saddles.”

  “Sure. The Arizona Bank in Benson offered two hundred apiece on them. I’ll get it for them.”

  “I’ll tell them. They’ll be very pleased. See you at Nellie’s.”

  When they dismounted at the OK Livery, Ortega asked, “Are we dressed good enough?”

  “Good enough for me. Don’t worry. There’ll be people in there wearing fancy duds like that sheriff back there, and there’ll be old prospectors who ain’t changed clothes in two years.”

  Ortega laughed and Bronco joined in. They strolled up the boardwalk watching all the traffic and commerce going on at night.

  “Busy place,” Ortega commented.

  “Very busy. Twenty-four hours a day. I saw that when we came here to rescue a young woman last fall.”

  “You get into everything,” Bronco said.

  “Nearly everything. By the way, Blevins said the reward from the bank will be twice what I told you.” Chet led the way across the street and turned south to go to the café.

  Shawn whistled through his teeth. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Yes. It makes the callouses on our butts worthwhile.”

  “Ah, si,” Ortega said as they entered the restaurant. When they told the man at the door they were with Marshal Blevins, he showed them to a side room.

  When his men stood around looking apprehensive, Chet waved for them to sit down. A waiter poured red wine in their glasses. About that time, Sheriff Behan showed up with Marshal Blevins and Cohill.

  Chet only knew what he’d heard about Behan, but felt he was a threat to his organization because of the sheriff’s connection with Old Man Clanton. The less the sheriff knew about his outfit the better.

  The banker, Cohill, sat beside Chet and appeared friendly. “I understand you have several ranch holdings in the upper part of the state, Chet?”

  “Yes, we have land and cattle around Preskitt and in the Verde Valley. I moved here a couple of years ago and haven’t hardly had time to sit down since then.”

  “How did a man as busy as you find time to do law enforcement?”

  “Mr. Cohill, when the law can’t do it, someone needs to. Those three robbbers rode right through Behan’s backyard. We captured them last night in Naco. Myself, this young cowboy, and those two vaqueros. We rode over from Tubac the day before. We found them with only slim descriptions and information we gained from the public.”

  “I can see why Blevins speaks so highly of you. But tell me, who runs your ranches?”

  “A half dozen smart men I hired. I’ll put my operation against anyone’s. They’re well run and making money.”

  “You have a contract to feed the Navajos?”

  “Yes. And we deliver on time and sell them good beef. They were buying cheap beef you couldn’t eat whenever they got it there. The deliveries weren’t on time and short. We deliver good beef to several points, like the contract calls for.”

  “Who handles that?”

  “A former cavalry sergeant who married my sister. We call him Sarge.”

  “Who else rides with you, besides these vaqueros and the young man?”

  “A young man from Mexico who can track a mouse over rocks. A great Texas cowboy, a super deputy sheriff I borrowed, and my nephew who is a good hand.”

  “Where will you go next?”

  “Back to Tubac and wait for a telegram from Blevins.”

  “I really want to thank you. We’ve made a first count and they’d spent little of the bank’s money. I never expected to see a cent of it again. Blevins says your men will get the reward money.”

  “They did the work. They took chances. They deserve it.”

  “I don’t disagree, but why pay them all of it?”

  “They deserve it.”

  “All right. Say, I heard today that the big man went to screaming for help when you were bringing him across from Mexico. And that you hit him on the head, then roped his feet together and beat the horse to get him out of there.” Cohill was shaking with laugher by the time he finished.

  “Well, I wanted him across the line and no problems with the authorities. So we extradited him.”

  “And you don’t take any part of the reward. You are one helluva generous man, my friend.”

  At that, his men stood up and applauded him, then the rest joined in. Chet stood and made them stop. He said, “The men that ride with me lay their lives on the line every day. I appreciate them and they take care of me, too. Thanks.” He sat down.

  It’s a good night, but I wish Marge was here.

  CHAPTER 25

  In the morning, they quietly headed for Tubac. Shawn led the packhorses and they rode along with Ortega busy roping odds and ends beside the road.

  “You ever roped a mountain lion?” Chet asked. He’d heard men talk about doing it.

  Ortega laughed. “One time. And was he pissed off.”

  “About you roping him?”

  “Yes. Oh, he was furious. He got on his hind feet and scratched all the air around him, growling like a rabid dog. Oh, he was so mad. I knew he was going to charge me, and the hombre with me was afraid to rope his back legs. If he had, then we could have stretched him out and castrated him.”

  Shawn was laughing so hard he was crying.

  Chet was about to choke on his own amusement. Who but a vaquero would think of castrating a mountain lion. Damn, he couldn’t even imagine roping a mountain lion.

  “So what did you do then?” Chet asked.

  “I tossed him the dally and rode like hell to get away.”

  “He run off with your riata?” Shawn asked.

  “Sí. He could have had more than that.”

  The rest of the way back wasn’t near as funny. Chet decided if things were fairly calm when the others got back, he’d run home for a week to see his wife and check on the ranches.

  His helpers arrived the next day and there were no telegrams. JD and Cole returned looking refreshed, with word that Roamer was on his way, and he arrived soon after. Things remained quiet.

  Chet worried because Jesus wasn’t back. The fact niggled him half a day before he spoke about it. “Any of you recall where Jesus said he was going to be, or what town down there he went to find her?”

  “I think he told me she lived in the Carreeza Valley,” Ortega said, looking across the table at his brother Bronco, who nodded.

  “Sí, he told us one time that she lived there in a small village called St. Maria.”

  “That is about three days’ ride down there. Are you concerned about him not being back?” Ortega asked.

  “Yes. Jesus is dependable. Him not being back means something is wrong.”

  Cole spoke up. “I agree. Jesus is proud to be working with us. He told me he never dreamed he’d have such a job, and he’d never risk losing it for anything. No, he’s being detained, or something’s wrong.”

  “Then we better go find him, huh, boss man?” Ortega asked.

&nb
sp; “Yes, but I hate to leave here in case hell breaks loose.”

  “You take Ortega and Bronco. They know the country better than any of us. We get short, or need a guide, Jose can show us the way,” Roamer said.

  Heads around the table nodded in agreement.

  Chet knew he was right. “Maybe nothing is wrong, but we can find out. I’d hate to leave here and not know where he is. Roamer is the boss while I’m gone.”

  “It has been strange,” Cole said. “He wrote her twice lately and she never answered. I figured the way he talked she was waiting for him to send for her. But you never know about women. I was engaged to a girl and went off to Kansas with a herd of cattle. That was in March. I got back the end of September and she was married to a guy I really hated.”

  “Why? Did she tell you why?”

  “Nothing.” Cole threw up his open hands. “I guess she just got tired of waiting.”

  They all shook their heads. Finally, Roamer asked him, “Valerie was still waiting?”

  Cole nodded and smiled a slow smile. “Oh, yes, she sure was. Nice lady. I’m proud I found her, or rather that Chet did for me. Boys, I’m a very happy married man.”

  “That makes two of us,” JD said. “I’m like Cole. And we’ve talked how we both have swell wives almost as great as Chet has.”

  “Boys, I don’t brag much about Marge, but she’s a good woman and she’ll keep me on track. I never expected to find a wife quite like her, but she’s as sincere as any woman I’ve ever known.”

  JD spoke up, smiling. “That man didn’t always have good luck with women. He had enough bad luck, in fact, to fill a book.” He looked at Chet. “Can I tell them?”

  “Sure.”

  “A woman he was seeing was finally going to leave her worthless husband. They murdered her and she wrote the killer’s name in her own blood. Bad day. Then a girl he courted in her teens married another man and he was hung for horse stealing. Well, they struck up a romance, but he had to leave Texas and she couldn’t leave her elderly parents. So, he hasn’t had such a wonderful love life, either. But I can tell you, Marge has been good for him and for all of us.”

  Everyone nodded somberly.

  Chet was amazed. JD hadn’t talked that much in years. He’d sounded like a man who halfway understood life. Maybe he was recovering from whatever had eaten him up. Hearing JD made Chet feel good. But his mention of those bad times still made him clutch up some.

  “Cole, Jesus isn’t here to do it, so will you fix us two packhorses for in the morning?”

  “I sure can do that.”

  Later, Chet went off to sleep in his bedroll. He hoped they found Jesus in one piece. He sure didn’t want to have to tell Marge something had happened to the boy. Lord, another distraction to keep him from coming home. But she’d excuse him, since it was about Jesus. At last, he fell asleep.

  The morning was chilly. Horses saddled before daylight and packhorses ready. They all wore jumpers against the biting wind. It wasn’t below freezing, but the strong breeze was sharp. After breakfast, the three took the King’s Highway south for Nogales. Chet would damn sure be glad when spring arrived.

  One never knew when it would rain in this country. Midday, it rained hard and thunder rolled across the land. Lucky they had their yellow slickers on. Chet’s hat felt like it weighed a ton with rivulets of water coming off the front dip. But despite the soggy weather, everyone smiled and trotted their horse to make time.

  They ate a late lunch in a café on the Mexican side that Ortega knew about, and also found them a place to put their horses and to sleep out of the falling moisture. The hip-swaying café owner told them she’d have breakfast ready at five if they wanted it then. It would still be dark, but the road south was easy to maneuver, so Chet agreed. The sooner this was over the sooner he could go home.

  The old warehouse was dry at the end where they slept and the next morning a young boy brought them a candle lamp to see to saddle by. Rain still pattered on the roof.

  “There will be a lot of flowers in six weeks,” Ortega promised him.

  “I’ll be ready for them.” He tipped the youngster who beamed at the coin in his palm.

  The food was ready and hot at the café when they rode there. When they finished, he paid her and she told them to come back more often.

  That afternoon, the three headed south and reached a ranch that belonged to a friend of the brothers. Benito Orlando was a broad man smiling at the sight of them at his yard gate.

  With a big laugh, he shouted to his wife, Nana, to come see who had arrived. The short woman ran out of the house and stood on her toes to hug them. Then she said to Chet, “Come, these are my boys. Anyone who is with them is mi amigo.”

  After they watered the horses and put them into a corral with feed, they headed for the house to eat.

  “We will be there tomorrow,” Ortega promised Chet with a smile.

  Then they would need to find Jesus, the quiet young man who rode with them. All he could do was hope nothing bad had happened to him. He counted on him so much, for his tracking skill, packing, and cooking ability.

  Chet followed the others into the nice casa where the woman and her help were rushing about to make the food.

  Benito heard the story of the task force and what they were doing. He agreed that the bandits needed to be stopped for the safety of people on both sides of the border.

  “Where do you live?” he asked Chet.

  “Preskitt. My business is ranching.”

  “How did you get into this law business?”

  “I guess because not enough was being done about it.”

  The man nodded. “I savvy what you mean. How long will you continue?”

  “Until someone else can run it.”

  “I bet they aren’t looking.” Benito chuckled and Chet had to agree.

  “We came down here to look for one of our own who hasn’t returned from a week off. He’s a very dependable young man. According to my other men, he went to the Carreeza Valley to look for his girlfriend who had not answered his letters asking her to join him in Arizona.”

  “I wish the best to you on this search, señor, and I will pray for your success.”

  “We sure may need it.”

  Chet went to sleep troubled about his missing man. They rose early, she fed them, and they rode for the valley. Midday, they were in a narrow irrigated valley with banana trees all over and with many tropical plants he’d never seen before.

  The boys stopped and picked some small red bananas growing wild on bushes. They tasted different than any he’d eaten, but he’d seen them in Arizona markets before. They reached the village in midafternoon. A typical small community with a Catholic church and a central well.

  They went in a cantina and Ortega asked the bartender about Jesus. The man said he’d never heard of him.

  “His name is Jesus Morales,” Ortega repeated.

  “Not from around here.” He hurriedly left to wait on another man down the bar.

  Chet shook his head for Ortega to not push it. Something was wrong and he had no idea what it was. But Jesus was either dead or in trouble.

  He paid for the beers, but didn’t drink his. It tasted too damn bad. Then they rode to the church and dismounted to speak to the priest they found inside.

  “Father, a friend of ours came here a week ago to find his bride-to-be and he has not returned. His name is Jesus Morales.”

  The priest nodded. “He is in critical condition. Come with me.”

  He took them to a nearby house. On the way, Chet asked what happened to Jesus.

  “He was shot.”

  “Who did it?”

  “I was not there. He was brought to me and we have done what we can for him.”

  Chet looked around. “Is there something evil going on here?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “A bartender would not talk to us about Jesus.”

  “I am not surprised.”

  “Then there i
s some evil power here?”

  “My son, this land is no different than the world.”

  “But where I live, people don’t shoot other people.”

  He led them into a room where the sight of Jesus’s pale sleeping face shocked Chet.

  “Has a doctor seen him?” Chet spoke in a low voice.

  “Oh, yes, and removed the bullet. That was five days ago.”

  “Why was he shot?”

  The priest shook his head.

  “Is the young woman he came for available?”

  “No.”

  “Where can we find her?”

  The priest crossed himself. “She is dead.”

  What in hell was going on? He saw the concern on the other two men’s faces.

  “Who killed her?”

  “Six months ago. She took her own life over a situation she was forced into.”

  “What was that?”

  “She was kidnapped and sold into slavery. Taken to Mexico City and she ended her own life. I fear your friend learned of some parties involved in her abduction and was shot when he confronted them.”

  “Do you know their names?”

  “The two men who died were members of the Tru-cilia family.”

  “Chet.” Jesus was awake, his voice dry and weak.

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “Better—I think.”

  “Father has been telling us about how you got shot.”

  “I am—sorry I could not contact you. I have been—in bed.”

  “You’re in good hands. Sleep and get well.”

  Jesus nodded, spoke to the brothers, and fell asleep.

  In the hall, Chet thanked the priest, his mind on other things.

  It would be some time before Jesus could ride out. Maybe they could get a buggy and take him back, at least to their camp. Would the ride kill him? It shouldn’t, but he didn’t want their efforts to hurt him. Too many unanswered questions.

  But they did know something about the problem, and they’d soon know more.

  They found a place to board the horses and to sleep. Satisfied they were settled, Chet and the brothers set out to learn all they could about the shooting. Chet found a street vendor lady who fixed them supper on her small grill. Soon, they dug into the large tortilla wraps.