CHAPTER 12
When Chet and Spud arrived at Center Point headquarters, he saw Lucy Byrnes talking to Valerie and his son Rocky. Lucy looked further advanced in her pregnancy.
“There is the boss himself now,” Valerie announced.
He hugged Lucy carefully and kissed her cheek, then Valerie’s as well, before he hoisted Rocky up in his arms. “What brings you over here?”
Lucy smiled. “I got a letter to meet Shawn here.”
“I understood he was coming up here. He has Ratchet trained to do his job down there.”
With a wry look on her face, she shook her head. “I really look spiffy, don’t I, to meet a suitor?”
“Lucy, I want you to be happy. We go back to lots of things and times. You are like a daughter to me, both of you women.”
“I felt a little silly, but we have written about all these issues in letters. I think Shawn is very sincere and I know one should wait a few years before they remarry, but we decided the baby in me is no obstacle and he or she, like her sister, needs a father too.”
“I am sure not questioning him or you. But my wife will want a festive event. Please her. She is a generous person and very sincere.”
“I won’t disappoint her. The ranch is secure out there. Our hay is stacked and we have a good calf crop. Drew is working hard for Cole, and they are making it work. I think he wants to do that—run the west end for Cole.”
“We can work it out. Are those two ever getting married—your sister and him?”
She nodded. “I think it is set.”
“No one drove you down there?”
She shook her head. “I made it fine over here. I can drive over to Preskitt no problem.”
“I want a driver to take you. Let me do that?”
“That would be a big job.”
“I have some men that can do this. I will find you one. Drive you down to Robert’s and next day drive to Camp Verde and stay with Victor and Rhea at the big house. Then drive up to Liz’s house.”
“I have to have a driver?”
“Yes. I have enemies.”
“Don’t try to argue with him,” Valerie said. “She will be at my house until you find a driver for tomorrow.”
He talked to his son, set him down, and went on. Spud had his horse and his own to put up.
When he joined him, Spud said, “She is pretty pregnant, isn’t she?”
“Yes. She didn’t deserve Reg committing suicide, especially since he knew she was expecting.”
“You know folks who do that never think about anyone else but themselves.”
“Right. I forgot to ask if Cole was here.” Chet looked around for him.
Spud laughed. “Cole Emerson would have already been here if he knew you were here.”
“Oh, he’s not that way.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Cole is your right arm and he likes that position. Like you and Jesus, you three are near to what I call attached people.”
“You feel that way?”
Spud gave him a grin and a nod. “It is damn sure growing on me.”
“Good. We may see lots more of each other. Let’s go check on some food.”
The head cook, Lucifer Nigh, came out and greeted him. “Well, the real boss is here. What do you two want to eat?”
“Anything but mutton stew.”
He laughed and readjusted his white apron. “They told me not to feed you that. I have some good ham, and I bought some yams from a local man. That suit you two?”
“Fine.”
“Cole should be back any time. They had some more trouble on the east side with more holdup men two days ago. But Buck Howard, one of the drivers, blew two of them away with his twelve-gauge shotgun. Cole kinda figured that might quiet them down. I’ll get your food . . . you two have a seat. Briley, get the boss man some coffee and his guard some too.”
“Aye, sir.”
“They must be completing construction here. Lots less pounding and sawing going on today.”
Spud agreed. “What’re we going to do?”
“Whatever Cole needs us to check on. I bet he has work we can handle.”
Spud nodded as their food arrived.
After lunch with all the staff out of pocket, Chet went and took a siesta at the cabin that had been built for him and Liz. Things sounded pretty quiet, and he wondered why he even came up there when he was awoken by a knock.
“Chet. Chet, you in there?” It was Jesus’s voice.
“Coming.” At the door he let Jesus, Spud, and Spencer into his living room. “What’s wrong?”
“They struck another driver,” Jesus said. “They killed him and shot the horses.”
“Get some packhorses and supplies. We better go find the killers. Where did it happen?”
“Over near number three. Clyde sent a Navajo boy with the news. Here is the letter he sent.”
Chet read the note. “Anyone know this Billy Green the driver?”
The men shook their head.
“We need to find out if he has a wife, family. I better go check with Valerie and see if she knows.”
He met her coming across the yard.
“What’s wrong?”
“They murdered a driver over east. I am going to take the men and run them down. His name was Billy Green.”
“He was a new man. Cole may know about him. I expect him back tonight. I am glad you are here to handle this.”
“We will run them down. Keep your security here on the guard. We’re all are under attack.”
“Yes. May I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Lucy doesn’t want a driver to take her south. What can I do?”
“Insist. Anything can happen. We have no idea about who the enemy are or where they will hit. Want me to handle it?”
“No. I will. You be careful. I love you, Chet Byrnes, and you are so important to all of us. You understand I owe you my life for putting me on that stage to Preskitt that day in Tombstone when my life was hanging on by a thread. Now I have Cole and Rocky, and thank God to you for all of it.”
He hugged her. “Insist she has a driver going down there. I’ll handle this holdup deal. Tell Cole to double his guard.”
“I repeat—do be careful.”
“Done.” He hurried off to the livery area to get ready to ride out. He knew Valerie was a sincere person since they sent her north to help Jenn in her café. Both Valerie and Jenn’s daughter—JD’s wife, Bonnie—were wild young girls at the time, gone down to get rich working in a brothel. Valerie could not stand the situation and went to work in a café—lost in the wild mining town. He recalled sending her to Jenn, who needed the help and offered her a respectable place to work. Cole later courted her and they married. Good for both of them.
Chet, Spud, Jesus, and Spencer saddled up and, with loaded packhorses, rode east before Cole made it back. It would be over a day’s travel to reach the station, but they’d make part of the way there before sundown. The four-man team felt they would run these killers into the ground in a few days. Maybe others would be ready to quit their killing, raiding, and trying to stop the mail run if these ones were made an example of.
In a day and a half they were at Clyde Covington’s stop. The fresh grave had a cross on it not far from the stage stop. Grim-faced Clyde met them.
“The Navajo boys said there were four or five men who killed him. One of the killers was riding a mule. Don’t ask me. The boys said it.”
“You see anyone riding a mule who came by here?” Chet asked, dismounting and shaking his hand.
“No. But those boys can track and they said there was one at the death site.”
“No idea who did it?”
Clyde shook his head. “He didn’t come in on schedule so I sent some boys to find out if he broke down. They came back and said they found him shot . . . him and the horses too. Probably the only way to stop him.”
“The mail gone?”
“Yes.”
“Water our horses and maybe one of those Navajo boys of yours will show us the site. We have some hours of daylight left to track them.”
Clyde spoke to one of his men, “Black Hat, go get a horse for you and me.”
Turning to his wife, who was standing there, he leaned forward, kissed her cheek, and said, “Sorry, Iris, but I am going with them to show them the site.”
“I understand. I hope you run them down, Chet Byrnes,” she said as they all mounted up.
Chet waved that he heard her and rode on to the windmill tank to water his mount. There he dismounted and introduced himself to Black Hat, Clyde’s man.
“You think they are still in the country?”
“I am not certain. We never saw them. From what we could see of the tracks, they stopped the driver and killed him and the horses. Then they fled I think.”
Chet nodded that he understood. “But they came from somewhere, and robbing mail is not very profitable—opening all those letters for any money.”
The Navajo nodded. “I have heard they have many men coming to stop the mail run.”
“From Texas?”
“Maybe.”
Chet nodded. “Wherever they can hire them from, I’d bet.”
Black Hat agreed.
Everyone mounted again, and with Black Hat in the lead, they rode out. A flock of bold buzzards half rose when they approached the attack site. The birds were feasting on the dead horses with many of them simply walking around to avoid contact but not flying off in their brash ways.
Spud quickly agreed with Jesus that there had been a shod mule there. The raiders had ridden north into more of the Four Corners country, bringing back the memory of those other outlaws, inside the flaming cabin, the shots still ringing in Chet’s ears.
Where would this chase end? No telling.
There was no reason to stay here. Killing the horses was a cruel exercise to show how mean these men were or thought they were. Western people didn’t slaughter horses. They rode them—cared for them—more than folks cared for their dogs. These were warped-minded individuals, worse than border bandits. Worse than Apache warriors and their acts of war. He led the way from the site.
“Jesus, are we two days behind them?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s trot and find them before they kill someone else.”
The others agreed.
They found where the outlaws made camp in a canyon their first night. Jesus said, when they searched it, there had been four men and a woman. He pointed out her smaller moccasin tracks.
“She does the cooking. All those prints around the fire ring are mostly hers. They probably left before dawn and rode north some more from the tracks leaving out.”
“Fire’s working,” Spud said, getting off his knees from the blazing pile of dry wood and standing up.
“Put the grill on it. This is the coffee water.” Jesus handed him the pot. “We’ll cook the beans in the other pot.”
“I’ll get it right,” Spud said. Chet smothered a laugh over hearing the directions Jesus gave his helper.
He went off to begin a letter to Liz before the sun went down and he had no light.
Dear Liz,
We found their first camp—the horse killers. You would have hated that scene. Real men don’t slaughter good horses. I’d never even have thought about that in my life. It was really bad to see how those great matched geldings had been slaughtered. Tomorrow we will pick up their trail and one day ride up on them. There is always a conclusion to these chases and the bad are in the end stopped. How many days away can that be? I have no idea. But we will track them down. I will close now and write more later. The sun has slid away. I love you, darling—
“Beans are about done, Chet,” Spud said.
“I’ll put this in my saddlebags and join you all.”
“You’ve been awful quiet all day. I guess you miss her not being here with you.”
“Oh, we’ve been apart before. She spoils me I guess.”
“I thought so too. But she is one great woman—your wife. But, hell, you know that too.”
“Thanks, Spud.”
“I don’t mind doing all this. I have all of you. I been in places I had no one. Nothing to eat or drink for days and then it was garbage. I do appreciate this job. And I am not bragging either. I will do this as long as we need and maybe we can catch them in a few days.”
Chet hoped so too while eating the brown beans. But two days later they were deeper into the Four Corners badlands and still tracking a day or so behind them.
Jesus had scouted ahead of the main party that day and came back in late afternoon on a sweaty horse. “They are camped at a well about three miles north of here. They are resting, thinking and acting like they have no one on their tail. We can surround them tonight and wake them up with our guns in their faces.”
Everyone agreed to the plan. Chet felt much better with their capture close at hand at last.
For supper they ate dry beef jerky and drank canteen water while they rode under the night sky until they were close enough to the camp. On Jesus’s command they stopped. He quietly gave them a description of the campsite, over the hill, which was sparsely clad in juniper bushes. Dismounted, they hobbled their horses and, under the stars, quietly went armed, with rifles, to arrest the killers.
Chet made his men shed their spurs and chaps. The metallic ring might signal the bad guys and the chaps might hinder any chase they could need to do on foot.
The deep sage smell of the cool dawn in his nose and Winchester in his hands, Chet set out to arrest the band of men. The slow quiet climb and descent off the mountain would put them all in place. On a picket line the gangs’ horses complained some. One pony kicked another and a squeal went up that made Chet and his men moving like shadows hesitate—but no one stirred in their bedrolls, and they went on until—before the pink of dawn cracked the eastern horizon—everyone was in place as planned.
An unaware man in his underwear sat up and began cussing. “Get your lazy ass out of bed and get to cooking some food and coffee.”
Chet stepped forward. There was enough light, by then, for him to order all the men to put their hands up. “You’re all under arrest. Anyone moves for or draws a gun will be shot. I have a large posse with me, so get your hands in the air.”
A protest groan came from the gang members. His rifle set aside by then, Chet fired a round of his. 45 in the air. “You want to die out here, just make a move for a gun.”
They stumbled around half-dressed while Spud and Jesus handcuffed them in pairs. The woman with them looked to be a teen. In the bright sunlight, she appeared dirty and her brown hair greasy. Dressed like a boy, she seemed fear-struck, but still Chet made her sit on the ground until all the gang was handcuffed and seated too.
“Jesus, you need her to start breakfast?”
“I can use a hand.”
“Get up, young lady, and help him.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” She made an angry face at him.
“You want to be handcuffed with the men?”
“No—no sir.”
“Then listen to what he tells you.” He had no time to baby her. “Spud, take one of their horses and go get ours. They just need to be unhobbled and bring them over here. Then we will decide how to get these killers to Preskitt.”
“We aren’t taking them to Horse Head Crossing?” Spencer Horne asked.
“No. They need to be incarcerated in the Yavapai County Jail. This will be a murder and robbery trial to draw attention to others that you can’t rob and kill stage drivers and horses on the new line and get away with it. Let’s start with the first one in your line. What’s your name?”
“Me?” the bucktoothed redheaded teen asked.
“He ain’t talking to anyone else, stupid,” Spencer told him with a poke from his rifle barrel in the belly.
“Jerry Van Dame.”
Chet wrote it down. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Next.”
“Give the man your name,” Spencer told the short man in his thirties.
“John Smith.”
“He asked you for your name not your alias.”
“Thurber Holland.”
“Better. How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
The next prisoner was a lean cowboy. He had bowed legs and was standing in his gray long handles. He gave his name as Slim Eubanks, his age as twenty-three.
The big last man wore a black beard and a head of too-long curly black hair, obviously was blind in his left white eye, and called himself Wolf Rotenberg. He said he was thirty-five. Finishing his list, Chet felt certain many of them were wanted in other places for previous crimes. That meant nothing. He had the stage holdup gang that shot and killed a man, the horses, plus stole the mailbag.
“Now stay seated on the ground. If you make a break for it we will shoot you. Any form of threat to my posse men will get your teeth bashed in. I have little qualms about you or your lives, so remember that. Any infraction of my rules or disobedience will get you bruises and death.
“What did you find in the mail?”
The redheaded kid laughed. “Fourteen dollars and seventy-five cents.”
“That all?”
“Yeah.”
“What did Hall pay you to do that?”
No one said a word.
“Rotenberg? What did he pay you and all the others?”
“A few bucks apiece is all.” He shrugged as if that was nothing to him.
“Where did you meet the man hired you?”
“Saint Johns in a saloon.”
“I say you are lying to your men about that amount he paid you to do this.”
“How the hell would you know?”
“Because he paid others that he hired, like you, twenty bucks apiece for drinks and a treatment at a house of ill repute.”
“Ha,” Slim said. “Did he pay you that much money for each of us, Rotenberg?”
“I got each of you a bottle of whiskey and a woman . . . you’d had none of that if I hadn’t got it for you.”
“Did you also collect the hundred dollars apiece for each man from him after the guard was murdered?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The big man muttered.
“You must have met Hall after the robbery and collected that hundred dollars a man on your team and pocketed it. His pants are over there by his bedroll. Spencer, check them for the money.”
“That’s my business.”
“Stay put or else.”
Rotenberg obeyed and Spencer soon came up with the cash and showed the money to his crew. “You boys were cheated. He collected it like the boss said he did.”
The girl, busy bent over the fire and stirring the oatmeal with a large wooden spoon, said, “Look in his gawdamn boots right there. He’s got more in them.”
“Bitch. You shut your mouth or I’ll stop it for you.”
She shook her head and glared back at him. “No, you won’t ’cause they’re going to hang you by your bull neck till you are dead. And I’ll be there to laugh and clap ’cause you ain’t going to beat me up ever again.”
“You better shut your mouth, bitch. I ain’t hung yet.”
Chet took immediate offense at his threat. “Rotenberg, I can gag you and will if you threaten her one more time.” He meant what he said, and would do it to the outlaw if he persisted.
Spencer held up the money. “Chet, there is well over eight hundred dollars, counting the money in his boots.”
Chet nodded at his discovery. “Split three ways with you deputies that might be enough money for Jesus to marry Anita when we get back.”
Jesus looked at the sky for God’s help, then continued pouring coffee into tin cups set out on the ground. “It isn’t money keeps me from getting married to her. She won’t agree when to do it.”
They all laughed.
They’d saved Spud some oatmeal to eat when he brought back their horses. The outlaws were fully dressed by then; their horses were saddled with bedrolls tied on.
The girl, Lisa Foster, was the one who had been riding the mule, and she never complained nor said much of anything. She kept herself private, and that suited Chet. It would be a long trip back to Center Point, where he could put the prisoners in a buckboard and take them back to Preskitt. He with his crew would be at least a week completing that.
He continued the letter to his wife:
Yesterday we made lots of miles. At dawn today we captured them. The young woman Lisa claims that Rotenberg never married her. He kidnapped her in Texas somewhere and she had been his “common-wife” since then. She said her parents would not take her back—she feels very certain about that so that is not an option.
I want you to meet this female. Her name is Lisa Foster. She needs some habits corrected like her cussing and personal habits like not brushing her hair, but she is neither stupid nor dumb. I know I can find more orphans quicker than anyone else, but I believe in a few months she could be transformed into a worthy person under your guidance. I am now, slowly, making my way back to you.
He could only imagine the two of them meeting when he brought her by the ranch to introduce her. Oil and water or a cat-and-dog deal. Someone would be treed. But in the end, his wife would win and save this girl from a life of prostitution and bad treatment at the hands of worthless men. Time would only tell.
His crew kept the scowling leader handcuffed by himself. Each time he dismounted, one of them—Jesus or Spencer—unlocked the cuffs from the saddle horn and let him dismount. Time and again, Chet pointed out they had a savage tiger and if he ever saw even a slim chance to escape—he’d use it. So the two took turns making him their only responsibility for the day.
Lisa and Spud did the cooking and camp chores. The outlaws chopped wood and gathered it, watered and put feedbags on the horses, all under supervision, but the trustee jobs carried a strict sentence for disobedience. They would ride belly-down over a saddle for every day left in the trip. That threat was enough to make sterling help out of them.
The crew at Center Point had word from a buckboard driver who had passed Chet and his group that they had found the killers of their partner driver and were bringing them in. Two bugle players in a company buckboard met them and escorted them up the dirt main street, past the log stores and shops—all one dozen or so. Reservation Indians, buckskin-dressed teamsters, and shopping women all stood at attention when the American flag went by them and the song “My Country ’Tis of Thee” was sung and the horns accompanied them.
Cole was dressed up and had on a new blue silk kerchief around his neck and a white starched shirt.
When Chet stepped down, Valerie ran in and kissed his cheek and, almost out of breath, she said, “Don’t send a boy when you need a man for a job. God bless you again, Chet Byrnes.”
The crowd applauded and Chet held his hands up to stop them. “Not for me but clap for the three great U.S. Marshals with me who brought these killers in to stand trial for the murder of Billy Green, our employee and a good man. Bow your heads please.
“Dear Lord. We are grateful for your protection of us on this long trek to capture these outlaws and return here. And, Lord, please continue to protect our men and women so busy making this stage business work. Thanks for the food we eat, the rain that quenches the earth’s fever, and being in all our hearts as we ride the long trail of life. Amen.”
“Amen,” came his chorus.
Valerie clutched his arm and Cole’s too to lead them to the tables all set up. “Take a seat, gentlemen. The help will feed you and I will return. The rest can fill their plates in line. Guards are watching your prisoners. Your men will be seated with you. What about the woman you brought in?”
“Lisa. She’s helped Jesus and Spud cook. It is a long story. But she holds up her part.”
“May I bathe her and find her some clothing after the banquet?”
“You certainly may. I see Rocky is coming with his babysitter.”
“Your son asked me if Stella, the young girl I hired, could be his wife since he had none like you and Cole had.”
They all laughed. When his son was climbing on his lap, he stopped and said to his dad, “Find a place for Stella. She needs to eat too.”
“There is room on our bench for her,” Jesus said. “That all right?”
“Yes, but you can’t have her. She is mine.”
Chet shook his head. They weren’t getting his son’s new wife regardless.
“Her name is Stella Riviera. She is his nanny and just came to work with us.”
Everyone gave her a bow of their heads.
Valerie rose. “That young lady’s name is Lisa. Guys, make room for her too.”
They did. She sat down. “I know Liz has no idea about this girl.” She lowered her voice. “But I will clean her up more tonight. She was very polite to me and we brushed her hair some.”
“I think she can be a part of society. She needs some breaks and she is smart enough to take them.”
Valerie nodded. “She said she rode a mule?”
“Her captor, I think, gave her that mule so she couldn’t outrun his horse trying to escape.”
“She tell you that?”
“Didn’t need to. She held a slave’s position in that camp before we arrested them.”
“She’s a child.”
“Like two girls not much older who ran off to Tombstone, huh?”
“I believe she’s smarter than we were back then. She was forced. We weren’t.”
“Not much difference.”
“Just put her on a stage and send her to someone like Jenn. You know both those women you brought back from that horse rustler roundup are married and living a good life.”
“I did something right then, huh?”
Cole heard him and leaned over. “Chet, you’ve been doing good things for years and Val’s my prize from all of that.”
“Good. I think we have it all handled up here, so in two more nights, I can sleep in my own bed in my own house with my own wife.”