Brothers in Blood

by Dusty Richards

  “Amen.”

  Bo touched his arm. “I will do that.”

  Marge was overcome and told him so walking to the buckboard. “You find words that impress me a lot. Maybe that’s why I married you. Where does all that come from?”

  “Ah, I just try to let it come from my heart.”

  “And you do.” He helped her into the buckboard, then wrapped her in a blanket. “Let’s go home.”

  “Yes. Let’s do that.” He climbed on the seat and clucked to the ready horses. They went home, smartly trotting the team in the unwarming bright sun. Harness jingled and hooves padded the hard surface. And he had his wife with him.

  “Two months?”

  “Yes, they should be here then.”

  “They?”

  “I think at times they may be twins. Don’t count on it.” She shrugged under the blanket. “I’ve never been this far along before. It isn’t a lot of fun, but I look forward to having him or her here.”

  “Well, you aren’t the only one who’s never been this far before.”

  They both laughed and he drove up to the house.

  They took a nap after lunch—an excuse to cuddle and make love. But who cared? He had lots of questions to be answered, and the unexpected death of Jane was another thing to think on. What would Bo do? Go crazy? Probably.

  His days at home passed swiftly. Soon it was time to go back to the task force, so he kissed his wife good-bye. Jiminez drove him to the stage stop and he climbed aboard the southbound coach after sundown. Days were getting longer and he knew spring had probably sprung down south. Everyone had promised him flowers there after the winter rains.

  When they reached the New River Station, the sun came up and showed him the fragile looking paintbrush flowers and a hundred more varieties in fairy-like circles that carpeted the desert floor. He recalled Texas springs, when the blue bonnets and the other wild flowers did that. How he’d loped through miles of it then. Maybe after the loss of two close friends, this was a good omen.

  He hired a buckboard to take him to the ranch from town. Maria met him, surprised he was back so soon.

  “Jose is here. The rest left this morning. There was a robbery of a shipment of silver and gold east of the Chiricahuas. Marshal Blevins said they needed lots of help over there. They said for you to wait here for their return.”

  “I’ll go see if I can help them.”

  “They said to make you stay here.”

  “Oh, they worry too much about me.”

  “Then Jose must ride with you.”

  “Maria, you will need someone here.”

  “If anyone wants to die, we can shoot them. You either take Jose or you don’t go.”

  “All right, we’ll need a packhorse and tell him we leave in two hours.”

  She half laughed. “Good, he has time for his wife.”

  “Will she need more time?”

  “Maybe. Ricky is strange. I said too much. He will be ready.” She blushed, shook her head, and hurried off to get things done, holding the hem of her dress up as she ran for the jacal.

  He laughed to himself after she left. Jose’s wife must be different. Maria seldom complained about anything.

  The two rode out in a long trot leading the packhorse. They had maybe a two day ride or longer to find his task force. No easy job. Jose never complained, so Chet guessed he’d settled with his wife. They camped that evening on Sonotia Creek near Patagonia. Jose was an efficient camp helper, and they soon had supper cooking.

  “Was Jesus feeling strong enough to go with them?”

  “He really did feel good and wanted to go. Ortega said he could rest in camp if he got tired.”

  “Good, he’s tough enough.”

  “He told us more about the girl he lost. A shame.”

  “He never spoke about her to me.”

  “She must have been lovely.”

  “Well, I have buried so many people lately, I hope that’s over for a while.”

  Jose nodded. “That is not fun.”

  The next day, riding east over the open range country, he decided to take the pass over Muleshoe Mountain to reach the San Bernardino Valley where the robbery occurred. They pushed hard and stopped at a widow’s place for the night, deep in the narrow canyon below Muleshoe Mountain pass.

  She fed them and Chet went to sleep in his bedroll. He suspected the woman had other plans for his helper. He had no interest in her himself and soon found sleep.

  Jose woke him before daylight. Squatted beside him, already in his boots and spurs, he spoke softly. “The border bandits have put out a reward for your death.”

  “Which ones?” He sat up in the cool premorn-ing air.

  “She does not know, but the way she explained it, they are offering five hundred dollars for the gringo that leads the task force. That is you.”

  “We’ve really made some enemies, haven’t we?”

  He agreed with a smile. “But I do not think I can protect you good enough. I do not have Ortega’s skills at this business. We need to go back today. This country I do not know, and it sounds like they have many out looking for you. If not, she would not know that much about it.”

  “You don’t trust her?”

  “No. She is too easy to seduce. You know what I mean. She would tell someone you were here if they honeyed up to her. I know she must be lonesome, but she is too lonesome, huh?”

  “All right, let’s ride over the pass and down the valley.”

  Jose pinned him with a serious expression. “When we come back, we will not stop here?”

  “That’s fine. But if I can help the men, I’d like to lend them a hand.”

  “I have the horse packed.”

  “You didn’t sleep, huh?”

  “No. Her word concerned me much about your safety. The last thing Maria told me was you are very important and I should let nothing happen to you.”

  “Thanks for the concern. We’ll be fine.”

  “I really hope you are right.”

  They saddled and rode off before a light showed in her jacal.

  The steep canyon slopes bristled with junipers, and in the dim dawn light they looked to Chet like stations for ambushers. The hard climb shed stones under their horses’ hooves until they reached the top and a cool wind swept across their faces and their sweaty hard-breathing horses. He looked back. The deep canyon looked less dangerous with them on top. The road went steeply off the pass into the valley below.

  He could hardly imagine a heavy-loaded wagon going off this pitch. Obviously, though, they had, for some wrecked wagons’ shattered remains could be seen off the edge of the road. His roan horse’s stiff-legged descent agreed with his calculations. They reached the small village at the base and found a street vendor who made them some breakfast. She was toothless and smiled a lot while she squatted down cooking.

  “You go far today?” she asked.

  “Clear to hell,” Jose told her.

  Chet almost laughed. She was getting no information from him. Probably just as well. If they had killers out looking for him, any information would be valuable to a poor villager.

  “What is your name?” she asked Jose.

  “Ramon Garcia.”

  “What is his name?”

  “John Smith.”

  He paid her and they went for their horses. Chet said, “Let’s go, Ramon.”

  “Ah, sí, Señor Smith,” he said, and never cracked a smile.

  Her food was not wonderful, but they ate the stuffed tortilla in the cool shadows of the canyon.

  They rode on down the canyon where it opened up on the east side of the mountain into the desert flat. When they reached the next small village, Jose went into the cantina and asked about their men passing through.

  When he came out, he told Chet they were there two days before. The bartender thought they went to Lordsburg, fifty or sixty miles north.

  “Where would you think they’d go down there?” Chet asked, not satisfied they’d gone to
Lordsburg.

  “San Bernardino is the town on the border. I think they would go there. It has border entry. The pack train must have been going there to bring the ore in or out.”

  “I’m for going there.” They set out across the flat desert. A land with less cactus and more grass marked with some mesquite, they reached the village in late afternoon.

  Jose recognized a horse that belonged to his brothers at a hitch rack and reined up. “Get off your horse, señor. Someone might shoot at you. I will find him.”

  Chet stepped down, though he saw no danger from the dust-floured residents of old men and women and some half-naked children. A bleak-looking place. Farther down the street were some adobe warehouses marked with an export-import sign.

  In a short time, Ortega came out with Jose and smiled. He had several purchases in a sack.

  “Good evening, señor.”

  “Great to see you. Where are the others?”

  “At the Peralta family ranch, about ten miles east. It is a good place to camp and I know the ranch foreman.”

  “Any luck on finding out about the robbery?” Chet asked.

  “I can tell you on the way, but everyone is fine. I don’t like this place. Jose said they have a price of five hundred dollars on your head. In this piss-poor place, that is a fortune, and we need to move on.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” Chet saw no threat, but the brothers knew the border better than he did. They rode a long way but saw ranch lights at last. They rode by the main adobe buildings and corrals.

  Ortega spoke to a rifle-armed guard. “These are my kinfolks,” he told the man, and they went on to a small spring-fed lake under some cottonwoods.

  Chet’s pleased crew got up from around the campfire to shake his hand.

  “Good to have you back,” Roamer said. “There must be thirty dead mules about ten miles or so north of here. Unburied corpses laying around. The canyon is run over in buzzards and anything that eats the dead. None of us can figure out what really happened, except the pack train ran into a large band of heavily armed gunmen and were shot to pieces. Every pannier is gone. Most of the packsaddles are gone, and the bodies were stripped of clothing and any identity. Must have happened some time back. Ortega talked to some people who said it was a major operation, and they felt the men rode for Old Man Clanton. But there’s no way to prove it, so we have little to go on.”

  “How’s everything at home?” Cole asked.

  “No problems I could learn about.”

  “That’s good. All of us over here, and we’re not learning a thing.”

  Chet agreed. They might just as well go home. He bet Sheriff Behan never sent anyone over to even look at the site. Win some and lose some.

  “Jose, tell them what she told you over in Muleshoe Canyon last night.”

  Jose told them about their overnight stop and what the widow told him about the warlords in Mexico putting a price of five hundred dollars on Chet for his death.

  “We had not heard that over here,” Ortega said. “But chances are they’d never pay it.”

  “And if I was dead, who would complain?” Chet teased.

  “Your wife would,” Cole said. “We ain’t letting them do that.”

  “Hell, no,” JD said. “Who are these guys offering this reward? I’d like to go find them and end their misery for them.”

  “They will show up,” Ortega told him.

  “Let’s go home tomorrow. You’ve run out of leads. Even if Clanton did it, we can’t touch him in Mexico without an army.”

  They all nodded in agreement.

  Chet laid in his bedroll a long time before he went to sleep. He never took defeat well, but this horrendous crime would have to go unanswered. A well-planned robbery. No witnesses. Someone must have seen those outlaws ride in and ride out, but no one was talking.

  CHAPTER 28

  The trip back to headquarters took two long days of hard riding. But when he dropped heavy from the saddle in the starlight and heard the brothers’ women’s voices welcoming their husbands home, he felt good.

  “Señor Chet, are you hungry?” Maria asked, sounding concerned.

  “No. I’ll be fine. Too tired to eat anyway.”

  “Ortega said you rode a long ways.”

  “Miles and miles.”

  Jesus took his horse and led him off with his own.

  “Thanks, see you in the morning,” he said to his now solemn man.

  “There were no telegrams,” said Maria.

  “That’s good news.”

  “Good night.” Then she rushed off to her jacal. Her husband was home.

  He wished he was—but sleep came easy. Waking up was hard. He dressed and went to the tent where Maria was busy feeding the crew pancakes and oatmeal. About half of the crew were up. He didn’t blame the others for sleeping in. Hey, they had no work pressing them.

  She poured him some coffee. “Pancakes or oatmeal, or both?”

  “Pancakes will be fine. Send someone to town today and buy some good beef and some onions and sweet peppers, and some red wine, huh?”

  Her sweet face perked up. “We will have a fandango tonight?”

  “Yes, we need one.”

  “I am glad you are back. We need to liven up, don’t we?”

  “You know how. If you need more money, let me know.”

  “I can use my bill and you can pay it later.”

  “You have a deal.”

  When it warmed up, he took a bath and shaved. Poor folks in Preskitt were shivering and he was lying in a hammock perfectly warm. The men busied themselves with resetting shoes on the horses and repairing tack.

  Jesus came over with a crate to sit on. Chet swung his legs over the side of the hammock. It looked to him like his man wanted to talk and he was ready. He couldn’t suppress a large yawn.

  “Hard ride back here yesterday,” Jesus said.

  “Yeah, but I’m glad we’re here.”

  “Oh, yes. I came to talk to you. My life, you know, has changed. I had such plans, but they were all around her coming to be with me. My life is like a derailed engine I saw one time, that banditos had blown from a train. It simply laid there. A little steam escaped from it and some smoke from the furnace—but it just laid there and no one could put it back on those tracks.”

  Chet began telling him. “A woman I once loved would not leave her husband who abused her. One day, I went to her ranch and found her murdered by my enemies. It was a bloody crime and she wrote the killer’s name on the sheet with her own blood. In that same room, she had left a letter to tell her husband she was leaving him.”

  “Oh, I heard you tell this story. She was leaving him for you, huh?”

  “Yes, but I never let the husband read the note.”

  “I see what all you must have gone through. Yes, like my story, that is a sad one. How did you forget it?”

  “Got busy fighting a range war that was piled on me.”

  “I see. You say life goes on.”

  “It does, Jesus. There are other good women in this world.”

  “I will look.”

  “Pray, too. It helps. Things won’t be quiet for long. We’ll get busy again. You won’t have time to worry about much else.”

  Looking brighter, his man thanked him and went on. He hoped he’d done him some good.

  Maria came back from town in the buckboard before time for the lunch that Ricky was preparing. She unloaded her supplies and said she had a letter for him and went to find it.

  The letter was from Bo, and brought memories of Bo’s recent losses before he even opened it.

  Dear Chet,

  I learned about a man who has several sections of land in that region you were interested in. There are few improvements. He ran some Mexican cattle down there and let them fatten. So there are some pens—or were—and a few rough headquarters. His name is Hans Krueger and he lives in Los Angeles, California. I suspect he ranches over there.

  I have included a map of his holdings a
nd land relative to where you are. The Rankin deal has been postponed again by the courts. Do you want the store in Camp Verde? It is for sale.

  “NO!”

  I am sober and regret it every day. I did get drunk once and hated it. I know now why you don’t drink. But my life is not the same without her.

  Bo

  “What have you got?” JD asked, dropping by and taking a seat on the bench.

  “A map to a ranch we may go look at.”

  “Where is it?”

  Chet pointed at the map. “This is Tubac. The land is west over those small mountains and lays up and down the basin on the other side.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Water for cattle, for one. No ranch improvements, but there might be corrals and some jacals left.”

  “You went over there, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Lots of grass, but it’s the lack of water that hangs it up.”

  “When can we go back and look some more?”

  “Any time. Crime has slowed up a lot. I know we don’t have all of them rounded up and it’s only a lull, but I think a few of us can go look it over.”

  “I’m ready.” JD looked pleased.

  “I’ll talk to Ortega. He knows that country.”

  “When you get ready, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  He caught Ortega later and told him he wanted to take another look at the land to the west.

  “Fine, who goes?”

  “You, Jesus to cook, and JD who wants to run it, if I think it will work. I have a map of the pattern of the sections the man in California owns. They say he brought cattle from Mexico and fattened them out there. Must not have worked too well.”

  “I never knew when he did that. There are remains of corrals, but I never talked to any vaqueros who worked there then.”