Brothers in Blood (22 page)

“No problem. Sam ain't the rustler chaser he once was, but he won't listen.”

“You take care now.” Chet tipped his hat and headed for his horse.

Before they were halfway home, it began to rain and some thunder grumbled off in the distance. Ortega knew of a place to camp, so he led them to an abandoned ranch before the sun set.

When putting up the horses, Jesus found a pocket-worn letter on the ground. The rain had dampened it and made the ink run some, but he handed it to Chet.

“May be something worthwhile, someone used this place and lost it down by the corral.”

The two-page letter was in Spanish so Chet handed it back to Jesus. “Can you read it?”

“Some,” he said and shuffled through the pages. “His name is Alberto—she misses him so—she asks when will he come home to Los Riveria.”

“That is south on the Santa Cruz in Sonora,” Ortega said.

“I hope you earn much money so we can be married,” continued Jesus. “Then she says don't rob any stagecoaches, 'cause they shoot those people. But she hopes he finds many rich men to rob. She asks him to tell her cousin, Rico Chavez, to write his mother who fears for him because a
brujah
—a witch—saw him dead in a dream.

“Then she tells who had a baby and who died in their village. Who messed with another
hombre
's wife who was with him named Valdez. And she ends up saying for him not to lose his temper with his boss, Leo. Her name is Julie.”

“That letter could have been dropped there when they were up here looking to steal Sam's horses.”

“Or they could be another gang,” Cole said. “We've got some names and a village in Mexico they may have come from. Good find. They sure ain't pastoring no church up here.”

They were out of the drizzle, under the nearly dry squaw shade with a fire going to cook supper. Amused, Chet poured some fresh coffee in his tin cup and the aroma went up his nose. Maybe the trip over to see Sam Crane hadn't been a total waste. He wished they'd had fresher tracks to follow, but too many days had gone by before they got there for them to do any good.

They discovered a moonshiner without a federal permit and no tax stamps in a canyon up in the Santa Rita Mining District. An old Arkie named Chester Hammonds ran the still and was mad as a wet hen when Chet told him his operation was illegal and he owed a fifty-dollar fine. He told the man that if he wanted to save the mash in the barrels he'd better get a bucket and feed it to his hogs or they would turn them over and let the mash run out on the grounds. Then his crew went to taking his copper tubing and busting every crock jar that had liquor in it.

They sampled the whiskey and decided it was better than Charlie's brand in the bottle that Chet brought back and what they only used for serious throat ailments.

Hammonds and his skinny wife slopped the mash to the hogs till they couldn't grunt anymore.

“You can't make whiskey less you get a permit and buy tax stamps,” Chet told the Hammonds. They paid him forty dollars of the fine—all the money they had.

Fines were an issue that deputy marshals handled in the field, and they collected the money for themselves. It was easier to fine them on the spot than to arrest them and bring them in for trial and have all that expense. Like they explained to Chet in Tucson earlier, most were like this small operation and were all handled in the same manner.

Glad to be away from the sour mash smell and stinking hogs, they rode back to camp and bathed. Laughing about the episode, they all sat down to one of Maria's great meals.

Jesus told the brothers about the Hammonds' moonshine operation over the wonderful food and they laughed about it. Tonight was another fiesta, music included. Chet was getting more antsy to see his wife, but he was letting the men go first. JD, Cole, and Roamer had stage tickets to go through from Tubac to Preskitt.

Jesus had a packhorse picked out and two panniers, ready to go find his love below the border. Chet wrote a long letter to Marge telling her he would be home in two weeks, unless they had more serious crimes break in the next week. His three men left on a Saturday morning.

He told Jesus to be gun ready, because he looked prosperous with a packhorse and his nice new clothes. Jesus was full of hope and looked forward to solving the mystery of why she hadn't written him back.

Chet told him, “Remember. Sad things will occur in all our lives, but you have your faith that you grew up with. God will get you through those times.”

“Thank you. I savvy things happen. I will be back in a week. Let no one shoot you. You took a big chance taking me with you the first time. I will never forget that first time. One real scared Mexican boy rode with a big man. I do not feel like that now.
Vaya con Dios, mi amigo.
” Jesus rode off.

Ortega was there and he spoke softly. “He is no longer a boy, either, is he?”

“No, he is my good friend and very capable at his job.”

“Oh, I bet you can't wait to go home.”

“No, I can't. But I will.”

“I know a good ranch closer to the fort. He might sell that place.”

“Who owns it?”

“Grover McClelland. But please let me ask him so he will pay me for being a finder, huh?”

“I understand. Let's look at it.”

“Sure, soon. What are you doing today?” Ortega asked.

“Noting planned. Only you, me, and Shawn left. What do you have in mind?”

“Go look at some wild horses.”

“Mustangs?”

“Not bangtails. There is a wild stallion over west. I want you to see his band. He is a great horse and no one knows where he came from. I would like him and his mares, but I have no place for them. But maybe you could see how good he is.”

“Have you ever seen a Barbarossa stallion?” Chet asked him.

“They are all golden horses, aren't they?”

“Yes.”

“I saw three of them run at Nogales in the big races over there. Ten years ago and, oh, I wanted one so bad.”

“I have one.”

“So you are the one who ransomed a girl with a gold horse?”

“That is JD's wife, Bonnie.”

“And you sit under this tent and catch two-bit bandits?”

“Someone needs to do it.”

Shawn was back from checking the horses.

“Hey, saddle our horses,” Chet said. “We're going to look at some wild ones.”

“That'll be different.”

“We need a change.”

“Hey, I love wild horses.”

Ortega went for his mount. Laughing, he hugged his wife when he caught her walking down from their
jacal.

“We won't need lunch,” Chet told her. “We're going horse hunting.”

She shook her head and sent her hair back so the wind lifted it. “I was there once when we first married. They are beautiful horses and he fears someone will gather them some day before he can.”

“We'll go and see what they're like.”

“It is a tough trip. But he don't care. Be careful. I will hold supper. You will be back late.”

 

 

The ride over the western range of mountains was steep and they topped out on the top of a pass where the brisk wind cooled them and their sweaty horses. Acres of brown grass spread out in the distance and two water sources shone in the sun like gems.

“Anyone ranch it?”

“A few do, but it is a tough land.”

“How many homesteads are out there?”

“Maybe two dozen.”

“In how many miles?”

“A sixty-mile band.” Ortega pointed north and then south.

From their perch, the area appeared to Chet like an overlooked empire. He wished he could contact Bo and learn something about the ownership. The south wind was strong and he pulled his hat brim down when they set off going down the steep other side. A place for goats, but he trusted the roan's sure footedness.

New land, new country, and he was impressed. The mild temperature was like south Texas. But rain and water would be the limiting factors. Ortega might be leading them into another great ranch.

They spent the day riding the desert and saw signs, but never found the horse band. To Chet, this was an intriguing land. Some water, but more could be developed. Lots of grass.

“How do you get here?”

“From the south, cross the Papago reservation, or north you can go west on the Yuma road, then turn south and reach it. We are about in the center of the range. I haven't seen anything today but the dwarf antelope that lives here.”

“Pronghorn?”

“Yes, about half the size of the other ones.”

Hurrying back, they were over the mountain pass before the sun set and rode back to the Two 8 Slash in the twilight. Shawn had been impressed, too.

“Mind if I ask you what you think about that land?” he asked Chet.

“Looks like range country to me. Needs water development—tanks built, springs developed, and maybe windmills, if there is water close by.”

Ortega laughed. “I have shared my secret, no?”

“Yes, you did. And it's a good one. We'll go back and look again,” Chet promised them.

They all agreed that they'd like to do that.

Maria had some candle lamps on in the tent when they rode up. Shawn and Ortega took the horses to put them up.

She smiled in greeting. “I thought you were lost over there.”

“We never saw his horse, but we had a wonderful day. Great country.”

She agreed. “Wash up. The food is still hot.”

“No messages today?”

“Yes, one.” She took it from her apron pocket.

He put the yellow sheet under a candle light to read it.

“What is it, Chet?” Shawn asked.

“They robbed the Benson bank. Three men and rode south. Posse quit their tracks or lost them between Tombstone and the fort.”

“What can we do?” asked Ortega.

“In the morning, take some packhorses, cut up through south of the Whetstones and look for them. Being shorthanded, would one of your brothers like to ride with us?”

“I bet he will. Right after supper, I'll go find him.”

“No,” Maria said. “You men eat. I will ask them to come down here.”

The plate of food in his hand, Chet thanked her. The three went to filling their dishes. They soon had their coffee as well and sat down to eat.

The middle brother, Bronco, soon joined them. He was the same lanky cut, twenty-something, image of his brother.

“Maria said you needed more help?”

“We do. Four of my men are on leave. The bank was robbed in Benson. Three men, they say rode south. We're going to try to find out where they went.”

“I have no work. Jose can watch the ranch and the women. You plan to leave at sunup?”

“Yes, and thanks.”

Bronco smiled. “How did you like Ortega's country?”

“I liked it a lot. I like rangeland. It has some possibilities.”

Bronco nodded and went for some coffee.

“He can ride and shoot with me,” Ortega said.

“I have no doubts about any of your brothers.” Chet smiled, and Ortega nodded in satisfaction.

Chet went to sleep missing his wife, but full of plans to find the bank robbers.

They rode out at daybreak. Bronco rode a head-slinging tough mustang that walked on eggs for half a mile before he calmed down. One of those kind Chet knew about that you'd have to cut his head clear off to kill him.

Ortega convinced him to go farther south than his original plan and swing around through Patagonia to look for sign of them heading south. Someone may have seen them or knew where they went. They reached the area near the fort and shut down to camp for the night. The two brothers knew some people there and wanted to go see them and find out all they could.

“Great idea,” Chet said. “We'll be here when you get back.”

“They may learn more than we could,” Shawn said, unloading the packhorses.

“If there's any information out there, they'll know about it.”

They made coffee and ate some dry cheese and crackers. A coyote howled nearby, bats flew in the night sky, and some desert owls hooted. He sent Shawn off to sleep a few hours before he took over guard duty. Yawning, with a rifle across his lap he dozed lightly while sitting up and woke to the horses nickering to returning horses. The brothers were back.

He walked over to where they were unsaddling.

“Learn anything?”

“One is named Montrose. There is a
gringo
rides with him and a boy. They spent some money at a whorehouse yesterday.”

“Where was that?”

“Grainger Springs.”

Chet shook his head. “Never been there.”

“If that posse had kept on following them, they would have caught them. They said the posse quit way up at Saint David.”

“Citizen posses are not too valuable. I'd bet they didn't want to find them. Where did they go next?”

“I imagine Mexico,” Ortega said.

Bronco spoke up. “But one of the girls told us they spoke of Tombstone.”

“Wouldn't that be dangerous for them?” Chet frowned about that.

“I agree, but they were bold enough to stop at a whorehouse,” Ortega said.

“If we only had a horse brand. Descriptions don't do much.”

Shawn was up. “You find them?”

“No. Only where they have been.”

“I think they may be in Naco,” Ortega said. “It is on the border and has plenty of liquor and wild women.”

“Let's get some sleep. Can we reach there tomorrow?”

“Oh,
sí.
”

Shawn cooked oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins for the crew. He'd watched Jesus do it so much it came out the same. After breakfast, they crossed the desert rangeland and saw many cattle that the brothers said were John Slaughter's. Chet didn't know the man, but evidently the brothers did. They said he originally came from Texas. Coming out on a stagecoach, his wife died and he had two small children to raise by himself.

Chet couldn't help thinking about his own wife and hoped her and the baby were well.

After they arrived in Naco, they stabled the horses on the American side and walked across the international border. The border consisted of just a wide strip of open land that separated the two towns that faced each other. Stations manned by each country's border agents were two shacks ten feet apart, but they mainly handled import and export items.

Oretga led them to a café where he knew the owner and went into the kitchen to talk with him. When he came back to their table, he spoke in a low voice, telling them the men they wanted were in the Red Rose Cantina where they'd been raising hell all day.

“What now?” Shawn asked.

“Who should cover the back door?” Chet asked.

“Bronco or Ortega, they both speak Spanish.”

“You go, but don't shoot unless they are shooting, or getting away,” Ortega said to his brother.

“I understand.”

“Others may flee in the face of gunfire. We want no innocent ones shot.”

“I will be careful.” Bronco headed for the alley.

“Shawn, you watch who comes out front. Same orders. We'll be in Mexico and we need them back over on the American side and their horses, too.”

“Which ones are theirs?”

“I guess they'll have to tell us. Ortega and I are going inside to stand at the bar for a drink and try to locate them.”

“Be careful,” Shawn said.

Chet agreed, and he and the lanky
vaquero
crossed the open space. Chet felt very conspicuous, but tried to shake his stiffness when Ortega pushed in the creaking batwing doors that needed their hinges oiled.

The smoky room wasn't crowded. Under a wagon wheel light with candles dripping all around it, some men played cards at a large round table. A big man in the back was messing with a
puta
, a lanky black woman. His raucous laughter rang out over some guitar music played by a teenage boy seated on a chair on a small stage.

Ortega ordered them a bottle of mescal and spoke softly in Spanish to the bartender. “Who is that big loud
hombre
?”

“I don't know him. They say his name is Montrose. That kid on the guitar and another named Farley came in here a few hours ago. I guess Montrose has lots of money. He's been spending it like it was water.”

“Where is Farley?”

“Playing cards. He's in the dirty white
sombrero
.”

Chet paid for the bottle and slipped him a ten-dollar gold piece. The man smiled. “Have fun in Mexico.”

“Oh, we will,” Ortega promised him.

They poured mescal into their glasses. Chet watched what he could see of the three from the bar mirror. Then the kid got up, put the guitar down and headed for the back door, no doubt to go piss.

“I'll be right back,” Ortega said, like a man needing to vent his bladder and headed for the back door.

“Where do you live?” the bartender asked.

“Up by Preskitt.”

“You ranch?”

“Yes.”

“Is it cold up there?”

“In the winter, it gets that way at times.”

“I could not stand to live there if it gets cold. I can't stand it here when it gets cold.” He moved on to wait on a customer.

“You make it?” Chet asked Ortega when he returned.

“Yes. The matter is handled.”

Montrose was getting louder and the woman squalling and laughing.

Farley stood up and in a loud voice asked Montrose, “Where did the kid go?”

Montrose shook his head. “Why?”

“When he gets back, send him for some food.” He belched and rubbed his belly. “Think I'd better take a walk. Be right back.” He headed for the back door and Ortega did, too.

When he didn't return after a while, Montrose must have wondered why and he headed for the back door. Chet followed him.

Standing behind the big man who'd stuck his head out the back door to look around, he stuck his Colt's muzzle in his back. “Keep going and be damn quiet about it, or I'll shoot you dead.”

“Who in the hell are you?”

“Tell you more later.” Then he shoved him on outside.

Bronco stepped up with his gun drawn to cover the doorway.

Chet took Montrose's six-gun out of the holster and stuck it in his waistband. Ortega handcuffed him behind his back. The other two were tied and seated on the ground.

“Which are their horses?” Chet asked under his breath.

“A bay, a dark dun, and a black one,” Bronco said. “I'll get Shawn and we'll ride them across the line.”

“We'll take them and go down this alley. There's less light shining on the border that way,” Chet said.

“See you in Arizona,” Bronco said, and hurried to go between the buildings and join Shawn.

“Get on your feet.” Chet swept Farley's hat up and slapped it on his head.

“You three bounty hunters?” Montrose growled.

“Yeah,” Chet said, and prodded him in the back with his pistol barrel.

“I've got lots of money. I can pay you if you let us go.”

“How much?” Chet asked, his foot hitting a bottle in the darkness.

“Thousands of dollars.”

“Where is it?”

“At my ranch in Sonora. I swear I'd pay you.”

“Why are you robbing banks up here, if you have plenty of money?”

“It's what I like to do.”

“Sure. Now, no funny tricks. I can chop your head off and take it in to get my reward.”

“Who in the hell are these guys?” the kid whispered.

“Bounty hunters. They play tough. A head, or a body, they don't care,” Farley said. “Do as they say.”

“All right.”

With only the stars for light, they were part way across the open ground that made up the border when Montrose began screaming, “Help! Help! I'm being kidnapped.”

Chet busted him on the side of the head and he went face down, silenced. Bronco came riding one of their horses and tossed Chet a lariat. He holstered his gun, nosed the rope around both of Montrose's boots, and shouted, “Go!”

Bronco took a wrap on the saddle horn. Chet beat the horse on the ass with his hat. The horse dug in and the outlaw slid on his back, screaming all the way, and was delivered over into United States territory.

Out of breath and laughing, Chet bent over to get his breath. “That was a great job, boys.”

Ortega let out a wild, “Yahoo!”

Chet congratulated them all, then waved his hat at the crowd of border watchers congregated on the boardwalk. “
Muchos gracias hombres.
”

Two guards from the US side ran down with rifles. The man in charge demanded to know what was going on.

“We're US Marshals. And we just extradited three outlaws from Mexico.”

He began to laugh and so did the other one. “I've never seen it done like that before.”

“Well, it takes all kinds of ways to do this job.”

Shawn brought all the horses down to them. They loaded the prisoners, Chet thanked the guards, and they headed back to camp. Chet intended to search them for the money when they got there. He doubted Montrose had any more money in Mexico than he had on this side of the border. Counting their horses, saddles and all, he figured his men would have some good-sized rewards coming.

Like Chet expected, they found the money on the three men. The next morning, he put it all in one bag and they headed for Tombstone and the county jail. He wired the authorities in Benson to meet him there. He also wired Blevins that they had the robbers and most of the loot and where they were headed.

They rode all day, and it was way past sundown when they got to the Cochise County Courthouse. Chet's eyes felt like they were burned-out holes shrunk in his head when he dropped from the saddle. Marshal Blevins was there to shake his hand and introduce him to Sheriff John Behan, a fancy dresser who looked more like a dude than a sheriff.

Two men from the Benson bank were there, the head banker named Cohill, and the other his teller, who took the sack of money they'd retrieved.

When Chet introduced his three men, Blevins blinked.

Standing in the lamplight, Chet laughed. “Four of my men had to go check on their wives. I was shorthanded, so enlisted these two to help catch the bank robbers.”

“Can I have a story?” a young reporter who'd been hanging around asked.

Blevins stepped in. “The US Marshal's office has a task force working southern Arizona to combat the crime in this district. All I can say is these men work undercover. While doing that, their names and the details must remain undisclosed so as to not inform the criminal element.”

“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.