Brothers in Blood

by Dusty Richards

  “He showed up. Said he wanted me to tell you I knew where Sam Crane’s killers were hiding and lead you to his place. His men would ambush you and your men. I took his money and rode over here. Hell, he might of killed me if I’d said no after he gave me that token for her and the hundred dollars. He said just lead you over there. His men would be laying in wait to shoot you.”

  “Why?”

  “He said ’cause you had the entire bunch of border bandits scared to come over here anymore. He couldn’t make any money, because he couldn’t get them to come over and rob anyone for him. I’m not lying.” He acted more nervous every minute.

  “Boys, I guess we’re doing a helluva job to have them try this.”

  His men laughed and relaxed somewhat.

  “Kin I go now?”

  “No. You’re going to take us to that place on the creek. You have to earn that money he paid you.”

  “Oh, shit. They’ll kill me, so I won’t talk. I mean, I don’t want to die. He’s got some mean sons-a-bitches down there.”

  “Name them.”

  “Butcher Crab, One Eye Elms, and I don’t know the Mexicans’ names.”

  “You heard of them?” Chet asked the brothers.

  “Crab broke out of prison below the border. Elms is a slick knife man,” Ortega said. “I thought they were down in Mexico.”

  “I guess he hired them recently. He really talked like if he could get rid of you, he’d have no more trouble making raids again.”

  “You’ve seen them at Tombstone?” Chet asked.

  “Oh, yeah. That place is so busy, no one bothers to arrest anyone unless they break the law in town. Then you get your head busted in.”

  “After we raid this ranch on the creek, then you can show us this place Hatfield has, right?”

  “I can draw you a map.”

  “You ain’t listening to me,” Chet said, glaring at him.

  “Yeah. Yeah. I can do that.”

  “Tell me about the bloody raid over in Skeleton Canyon where the silver pack train was robbed.”

  “I wasn’t there. I mean, I wasn’t nowhere near that.”

  “You’ve heard stories. I want to know all about it.”

  “They said the word came down the coins had been stamped at Silver City and the pack train loaded with them was coming back. It was in a telegram in code sent to Tombstone. A rider took the message to Old Man Clanton’s ranch and give it to him. I don’t know if that old sumbitch can even read. But he called in all his cattle rustlers and the rest of his men to lay that trap. I heard his men scouted that train—knew their every move—from Lordsburg clear on down to the morning they hit them. They brought their own pack train and hit them at dawn.”

  “I thought Clanton had so much business selling beef to the Army and the Indians he didn’t need money?”

  Kinkaid sent a hard look at him. “Yeah, he does. But he won’t ever get enough. He hordes it.”

  “What are we going to do with him?” Jesus asked, indicating Kinkaid.

  “Handcuff him, so he don’t leave. Tomorrow, Cole and Shawn will be back to go with us. We’ll start at the creek place and take it. Then, the next day, we’ll arrest his boss, Hatfield.”

  “He ain’t no boss of mine.”

  Chet looked directly at him. “I want to be sure you go with us to get them,” he said right in Kinkaid’s face, who stumbled backing up from him.

  “Put a handcuff on him and put him on a chain.”

  “I ain’t going to—”

  “Damn right. You ain’t doing one thing to warn them, either,” Chet said.

  “Maria is bringing lunch. Have a seat, hombre,” Ortega told their prisoner.

  He obeyed, but looked dumbfounded at his new situation.

  Chet’s mind raced. They had to surprise the outlaws when they struck them. This could prove to be as serious a situation as any his posse had handled so far. In past situations, the wanted criminals were on the run. These killers were dug in, to ambush him and his men at any cost.

  “I’d like you to go along,” he said to Ortega. “Those other two will be ready to ride in the morning.”

  “Si. I would love to get my hands on that bunch, too.”

  Chet clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll get them.”

  This could be the big break in the border criminal activity—which meant they might all be able to go home soon. That notion pleased him mightily.

  CHAPTER 32

  Five of them, plus the antsy snitch Kinkaid, rode out early the next morning to find Hatfield’s place on Patagonia Creek. Not knowing how long they’d be gone, they took a packhorse along. Chet’s plan was to scout the place first from the backside and locate the outlaws. The willows in the bottom were head high to a man on horseback, so he knew not to ride into the ranch from that direction. He suspected they’d post a shooter there to ambush them.

  They made camp north of the ranch and Ortega, Cole, and Jesus took off on foot to check out the ranch. They left Shawn with Chet and Kinkaid in the camp. In a few hours, they were back.

  Under the stars, with no fire so as not to be noticed, Chet squatted on his heels with his men in a circle. They talked in low voices.

  Cole began with a report of what they’d found. “There are four men at the ranch. That big guy named Butcher Crab, a skinny gray-headed guy that Ortega says is Elms, and two pistoleros we couldn’t put handles on, but they’re tough enough looking. They carry rifles all the time and are serious killers, we have no doubt.”

  “They act like they’re nervous about something. One of them came back while we were down there, probably from being posted to ambush whoever came through the willows,” Ortega added.

  “Good. I have a stick of blasting powder. We can cut it in two, then load and deliver to wake them up,” Chet offered.

  “Load it,” Cole said.

  The rest nodded their agreement.

  “Should we drop in before sunup?”

  “Yes. They all sleep under a squaw shade in hammocks. I doubt they have any guards posted. A couple of sticks of blasting powder should wake them up disorganized as all get-out,” Cole said.

  “What about Kinkaid?” Jesus asked.

  “Chain him to a tree,” Chet said, and his man moved to do that.

  They made a small shielded fire to see how to cut the stick in two parts, load and fuse them. Then they moved on foot to take their places around the camp, moving slowly so as not to be heard, in case someone was awake.

  They surrounded the outlaws’ shade. Chet and Shawn on the west side, Jesus and Cole on the east side, and Ortega on the south end where their horses were corralled. Shawn and Jesus were to light the fuses and deliver them with a toss. Everyone would be ready for an explosion of the outlaws when they went off.

  Dawn finally peeked its peach-pink light over the eastern mountains. Fuses were lit and the sticks tossed in under the shade. The explosions were near simultaneous and even lifted the shade’s thatched roof some in a cloud of dust.

  Blinded and staggering, they came out empty-handed and shocked to meet the posse’s guns. Handcuffed, the four were seated on the ground in their underwear under Chet’s sight while his men saddled horses for all of them. They grumbled and cussed.

  “Where will we take them?” Cole asked.

  “Tombstone jail. But if he’s home, I want Hatfield next. Word gets out that we have his men, he may run for it.”

  With the outlaws’ horses ready, Shawn and Cole ran to get their own mounts and collect Kinkaid. In a short while, the caravan was on the road. Chet intended to avoid riding by Patagonia so no one could be forewarned. They pushed hard and by midafternoon were south of Tombstone and, according to Kinkaid, close to Hatfield’s ranch.

  The place sat isolated in a broad grassy valley between the Huachuca Mountains and the hills that shielded it from Tombstone. They stopped to rest in a dry wash and dismounted their prisoners. After they relieved themselves, they sat in the sand draw eating jerky washed down
with canteen water.

  Chet and Ortega went to scope out the ranch house surroundings. The woman Kinkaid spoke about came out to draw water from the well. There was no sign of Hatfield, but if he was there, he might be sleeping. According to Kinkaid, he gambled a lot in town at night.

  “What should we do, boss?” Ortega asked when they slipped back from their high point.

  “If he’s here, take him.”

  “Ride straight in?”

  “We can do that,” Chet said. “Let’s talk to the crew.”

  Back in the draw, every one of his men gathered to hear their results.

  “She’s here, but he may be sleeping. No telling. Why don’t three of us ride up there and arrest him?” Chet asked. “If he’s here.”

  “You stay here,” Cole said. “No sense in you being on the point here.”

  Jesus agreed. “Cole is right. We are here to protect you.”

  “Listen, guys, this is my job. You can protect me, but I’m the lead man in this outfit. I won’t ask you to do what I won’t.”

  “I think, this time, we should ride down there,” Jesus argued.

  Chet waved them aside. “I’m going. Cole, you and Jesus ride with me. Ortega, I want you to come in from behind, in case he tries to escape. We’ll give you half an hour to get in place. Shawn can watch the prisoners.”

  Ortega saluted him and left on the run, rifle in hand. While they waited, the prisoners grumbled. Chet drank from his canteen. The sun was heating up and the breeze was out of Mexico, not over twenty miles south of them.

  At last, they mounted their horses and left Shawn in charge. The bunch grass was thick and brown, waving in the wind. Quail ran about whet wooing out of sight. A few longhorn cows raised their heads to study the threat of the riders, then went back to grazing.

  No sign of anyone at or around the adobe jacal. Then a woman screamed. A man cussed and the door filled with a man in a black suit drawing his gun from a shoulder holster.

  Chet drew his own, stood in the stirrups, and aimed at the smoking gun in the doorway. Something struck him like a sledgehammer blow, and he felt the blast of the bullet in his chest. The six-gun slipped from his hand. He saw the shocked face of Jesus as he holstered his own gun and grabbed for Chet’s horse’s bridle.

  “Kill that son-of-a-bitch,” Jesus swore at Cole, who rode past while he tried to steady Chet in the saddle so he didn’t fall off his horse.

  It was all a bad dream. Chet hurt deep, and the whole world felt like it was at arm’s length. Jesus was on the ground, struggling to ease him out of the saddle and get him down.

  “What in the hell will I tell Marge?” Jesus asked, scrambling to lay Chet on his back.

  More shots, heard only dimly, and Jesus said, “They’ve got Hatfield. He won’t shoot anyone else. Hang on, Chet. We’re going to hitch his wagon and get you to the doctor in . . . Mother of God, please be with him. Oh, I pray so hard for him. He is my father . . . please, save him, dear Mother.”

  “How bad?” Cole asked.

  “He is still alive. Get the wagon. He needs a doctor. There are many in Tombstone.”

  Cole shouted, “You’ve got to live, Chet—” He rushed off shouting at Ortega. “Get the wagon hitched. He’s still alive.”

  Chet’s world went black. Next he knew was when he came around for a short while when he was being transported in a wild ride. Jesus was trying to keep him steady on a mattress while they raced for Tombstone.

  “They are bringing the prisoners,” Jesus assured him as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

  Then he smelled chloroform and found himself lying between stiff fresh sheets. Someone was talking about telegraphing Marge. Upset, he tried to protest. In her condition, she didn’t need to come. But he had no voice, and then he was sent deep under a dark wave that offered to take him away from the pain.

  No. He had to swim out of this. He gritted his teeth, but away he went off into oblivion.

  CHAPTER 33

  The Tombstone Epitaph came out with newsboys hawking the latest news: “U.S. Marshal Shot in Arrest Incident!”

  According to U. S. Marshal Blevins, his chief deputy, Chet Byrnes, was shot last Wednesday while arresting Arthur Hatfield at his ranch south of Tombstone. Byrnes has been in charge of the federal force trying to stop the activity on the border where the outlaws cross over to strike at isolated ranches and businesses. Byrnes, working with several men, had rounded up an outlaw gang hiding in the Patagonia area and was going to arrest and charge Hatfield as their leader.

  When they approached his ranch house, Arthur Hatfield reportedly shot Marshal Byrnes. His men brought Marshal Byrnes to Tombstone and Doctor John Engles stated that his patient was on a life and death watch after being treated for a serious gunshot wound.

  Marshal Byrnes’ wife, Margaret Byrnes, is reported to be on her way to his bedside, coming from the Byrnes ranch near Prescott. The marshal is a large rancher there who has been volunteering his time to help clean up the crime in southern Arizona. We are paying close attention to this lawman’s struggle to live.

  All the men arrested by his posse have been transported to Tucson and face charges in federal court on various crimes, ranging from the murder of an area rancher to planning to kill a federal officer. The list of those men include Arthur Hatfield, Butcher Crab, One Eye Elms, Manuel . . .

  A Special Note to My Fans

  Dear Readers,

  Thanks to all of you for your support and fan mail. Without you, I’d be a crotchety old man wondering what to do next. I’m grateful for the sales of this series, and hope this one entertains you like those in the past.

  This is the fifth book in the Chet Byrnes series. If you’re new to these books, they’re written so each book stands alone, but they also reflect back on Chet Brynes’s life that is over his shoulder. So you might want to go back and read the books leading up to this one. (Listed on the front.)

  This book makes one hundred and thirty western novels I’ve written over the last twenty-five years. I’ve been fortunate to win some awards: two Spurs, a couple of Spur Finalists, the coveted Cowboy Hall of Fame Wrangler Award, and the Will Rogers Award for the first book in this series, Texas Blood Feud. But as proud as I am of those, your e-mails are equally rewarding.

  I try to make these novels accurate to the times, but the needs of fiction sometimes take a few shortcuts. For instance, I learned from a great writer and historian friend, Johnny Boggs, that in 1872 New Mexico had no state prison system. The Yuma prison system in Arizona wasn’t built then, either, and convicts served terms in county jails in both territories.

  My term as President of Western Writers of America runs through 2014. It’s a great organization for anyone who writes western history, fiction, songs, or poems. Their website is www.westernwritersofamerica.net.

  I’m working full time on writing more for you about the Chet Byrnes family and their lives. I know you have many questions about his future, but that will have to wait until book 6. I hope you’re going back and reading the past adventures of this once-Texas-based ranch family and how Chet had to move them to Arizona Territory to escape a family feud.

  Outlaws moved west to escape the forces of the law. At our nation’s birth, they fled over the mountains to the West from the East Coast to escape justice. In the open country of the West, they spread out to bring grief to the God-fearing settlers brave enough to settle among the war-like Indians and that element of the population gone bad. Settlers brought their Bibles and good manners to this region, and their firearms to preserve it.

  From the star of the Texas Rangers, sheriffs, and town marshals, to the US Marshals, the men wearing the badges brought the wild ones to the bar of justice, but the job was long and hard. And the list of prisoners who escaped state prisons and were never found again tells you how tough it was for the law to apprehend them.

  The switch to cartridge shells for Colt arms came around 1872. Compared to the cap and ball models, they were much more dependab
le, but all cartridges sold were not that perfect and could misfire. The gun could be reloaded quite a lot easier, but they cost much more to shoot. However, they didn’t cross fire and explode in the shooter’s hand like the old models did.

  I’ll keep spinning yarns, so check my website—dustyrichards.com—for my new releases. I also have an author’s page on Amazon.com, and I answer e-mail at dustyrichards@cox.org.

  Sincerely yours—and happy trails,

  Dusty Richards

  November 2013

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Copyright © 2013 Dusty Richards

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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  ISBN: 978-0-7860-3195-5

  First electronic edition: November 2013

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3196-2

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-3196-4