Chaparral Range War (9781101619049) (15 page)

Cally frowned but let it go without another word about protecting him.

“We will be at the public meetings and back you. It's the going and coming that might expose you.” Brown paused like he wanted a reply.

“I'll be fine.”

“Our lawyer said we needed eight hundred voters to sign the recall papers to call for a special election.” Brown dismissed it as no problem, then added, “We hope to find that many voters in the county.”

“What if they've overcounted?”

“I think we will soon find that out.”

“Good. Where do we start?”

“There are twenty-four schoolhouses in the county. That means we will need over thirty signatures at each one.”

“That number sounds high,” Guthrey said. “Have you tried here tonight?”

“We plan to do it when the musicians take a break.”

“We're ready,” Brown added.

“We can quickly see if folks want change,” Guthrey said.

They went back inside the schoolhouse. McCall had Colonel Watson, an auctioneer, stand up and quiet the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, what I want to ask you for is your support in a big issue facing Crook County.

“Friends, we need a working sheriff to protect us and we don't have one. Do we?”

“No!” shouted a voice from the crowd.

“We have a paper we need you to sign tonight so we can throw Killion out of office and put a man in his place who has been enforcing the laws of Arizona as a citizen. I want you to meet former Texas Ranger Captain Phillip Guthrey. Here is the man who is going to tame Crook County for all the God-fearing folks in our land. These terrorists have struck at many of you. They have driven away your neighbors and forced widows to sell out.”

He waved his hat. “Here is Phillip Guthrey to tell you all about it.”

“Thank you,” Guthrey said to stop their applause when he stood on the low stage. “I'm a cattleman, and I've been a Ranger and enforced the law back home. I want to live here, but first we must put in place a state of law, controlling these bullies who have made life near impossible for so many of you. That's something I can do. Come up and put your John Hancock on these papers.”

Men crowded in close to sign one of the petitions. Guthrey loudly thanked them and then joined Cally. “It must have been enough said, huh?”

She agreed. “I think everyone is signing it.”

“Good. This is one of the larger communities. I bet some of those distant schoolhouses won't have twenty signers.”

“What will you have to do to get them signed up?”

“Take the paper to them.”

Her eyes looked troubled by his answer. “I'm glad you're doing this. But I will be worried for your safety until it is settled.”

“Naw, I'm a lot tougher than you think.”

She gave him a sharp, disagreeing look. “Glad you think so.”

“We better stick around and see how we did. I'll get a couple of petitions to take with us for folks to sign who want to support us.”

She agreed and they exchanged pleasantries with the folks who stopped by to visit with them and thank them for doing this. The evening fled fast and after the dance, McCall announced they had collected fifty-two signatures. Guthrey thanked them, shook hands with his supporters, and made plans to attend more meetings.

After the dance, he and Cally returned to her tent under the stars. They spoke few words, lost in a whirl of all the excitement and dancing together until they became one. He'd not been this serious about any individual woman, not since his teen years. These teenage feelings were being smothered by the dark clouds of the petition hanging overhead like a thunderstorm ready to explode.

He stood and held her just to catch their balance after the whirlwind of events that evening. No need to worry or rush into anything. In the distance, a coyote yapped, and another joined in while the insects played a creaky symphony. But for now, they were just two people lost in their feelings for one another.

He cuddled her head to his chest and squeezed her. “Cally, someday we'll have all this behind us and we can live a much simpler life.”

She pulled her head back and shook the fallen hair back from her face. “No, we won't. We'll have each other to lean on. But, Phillip Guthrey, I expect you will always be getting into something that you figure is unjust or wrong. And I'll love you more because of it.”

They both laughed. She was probably right. He'd done it like that all his life, in the army, on the cattle drives, then as a Ranger; being a lawman would lead to more of the same. This new life he planned had one more element he thought he should add to it—Cally as his wife—someday soon.

SIXTEEN

C
LEARING HIS THROAT,
Noble stood in the tent's doorway. He'd obviously ridden a horse hard to get there.

“What's wrong?” Guthrey asked.

“Sam Joyce came over this afternoon. Said about sundown yesterday a bunch of masked riders burned his haystacks. They told him to get out or they'd kill him. Joyce said his wife was near hysterical and the kids too. He has three small ones. Apaches killed his first wife and two kids back about the end of the war. He's a tough man but said he needed help. There were seven of them raiders and he said they were a tough lot. One of the raiders wore a ruby ring.”

Guthrey looked at Cally, who he still held in his arms. “The woman you talked to who was assaulted—she said one of the rapists wore a ruby ring.”

“Yes, she did. Does Whitmore wear one?” she asked when Guthrey set her on a cot.

Noble shook his head. “I never saw him wearing one the day I met him.”

“It's the only lead we have. It's too late tonight to do anything. I'll ride over there and see what I can learn in the morning. Not much we can do in the dark.”

Cally and Noble agreed.

Noble took a seat on one of the folding chairs “How did it go up there?”

“We got fifty-two signatures. We need eight hundred to sign it.”

“Whew, that's quite a few.”

Guthrey agreed. “I thought the bar we had to jump was plenty high. But McCall and Brown and the rest, they think we can do it. I'm going to try to make it work. You may have to run the ranch though. Where's Dan?”

“I think he went courting after you all left.”

“Oh, who is the girl?” Cally asked.

Noble shrugged in the dim light and shook his head. “Didn't tell me.”

That was the first Guthrey'd heard about the boy's love interest, other than the Mexican girl in Soda Springs. Oh, well, Dan was at the same age Guthrey had been when he'd thought the first girl he kissed was an angel. And it turned out she was fickle as a gyp in heat. He'd like to put that part behind him, but he wasn't really over it. Water went on by and downstream; so should bad memories.

In the morning Guthrey would need to check out the arsonists. He'd met Joyce somewhere and tried to envision the man's face. But he couldn't recall it, he'd met so many people lately. Must have been heartbreaking to see his summer work go up in flames. These bastards needed to be stopped.

At last in his bedroll, Guthrey tossed and turned a lot but finally fell asleep. Morning wasn't slow getting there. Noble nudged him with a boot toe. “I'll get back and milk the cow.”

“Thanks,” Guthrey said in a rusty, sleep-coated voice and sat up. Whew, his head hurt like he'd been drinking all night long—no such case this time. Been a long time since he threw a real drunk and his Rangers brought him home and put him to bed. That all happened after Judge Ivors in San Angelo found Henry Clay guilty of manslaughter and not murder. The killer got off with three years in Huntsville instead of being hung like he deserved to be.

Guthrey had felt like the decision was a slap in the face to all the Texas Rangers. Others did too and they joined together in a loud protest party at a local cantina, where Guthrey must have later passed out. Still angry. Still upset. But the next day he slept that off as well.

The cold water he splashed in his face at the washbasin did not particularly wake him up either. But the liquid that spilled on his shirt let him know quick-like that it was cool that morning. He dried his face and then his hands and Cally came over to kiss him.

“Sleep well?”

“No.” Then he smiled and kissed her.

“Neither did I.” Spatula in her hand, she went back to the campfire, where there were pancakes ready for her to flip over.

“I better go see Joyce and see what I can do for them.”

She agreed. “Did Dan tell you where he was going last night?”

“No, ma'am. Noble thought he went courting.”

She looked at the sky for help. “My brother's efforts at that are not too great. You never saw him dance inside the schoolhouse, did you?” She spun around to be certain that Noble wasn't in the area. “He probably went to a brothel in town last night to see a particular lady.”

“Boys will be boys.”

She shrugged her shoulder and blushed some. “I guess. You better eat.” She handed him the platter covered in pancakes, and he filled his plate.

“Has Dan done this before?”

“Yes, but I thought he was over her.”

A nod to her and he busied himself fixing the cakes with butter and syrup. Most men seldom forgot the dove they slept with in bygone days. But Cally didn't need to know that bit of information. You didn't get over them. You simply rode on home with a pile of memories. Most of them were branded in the mind, comforting enough on a cold night alone to return and warm you. Enough of the ladies of the night business, he reflected. He better eat and get going.

He wiped his face on the cloth napkin.

“I hate to ask you, but would you go see that Dan is all right?” she asked.

“That would be a father's job.”

“All I want to know is if he's all right. I don't care what he's done. I'm worried about him.” She had her head bowed and he saw it as a sincere request.

“I will go see where he's at.”

“Thanks.”

“You go to church. I'll have Noble come back and haul you and the tent back while I go see about Dan and Sam Joyce.”

“If I wasn't so worried . . .”

“Go to church. By then Noble will be here to get you and all this.”

“Oh, Phil, all I have is you and Dan.”

He handed her his neckerchief and shut his eyes. No time to waste. He had the team to hitch and then he had to get going. Take the team back, get Noble to come help her after church while he went to check on Dan and then over to try to soothe Sam Joyce. It would be a long day.

* * *

A
FTER SENDING
N
OBLE
to move Cally and her camping gear back home, it was near noon when he reached Steward's Crossing. Noble had mentioned where he thought the boy might be at. When he'd located the house, he dismounted, hitched the bay horse at the rack, and walked through the open gate in the low picket fence and up the high stairs of the fancy house of pleasure.

A black maid answered the door and asked him what his business was. He almost snickered. What else was your business when you were knocking on a whorehouse door anyway?

“I'm looking for Dan Bridges.”

“You sure he be here?”

“Yes I am. Where is he?”

“He may be with Steffany.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “That de boy that limps, huh?”

“Yes, he does some.”

“I think he's eating brunch in the kitchen wid' de help.”

“Please ask him if he'd join me out here.”

She pointed her long, straight black finger down the hallway. “You's goes right back dere and talk to him youself.”

“Thanks,” he said and strode by her along the hardwood floor to the kitchen at the end of the hall. The door was open, but a wall blocked the entrance so he could not see who was in the room until he rounded the corner.

At the long table, several of the painted ladies in scanty clothing blinked in shock at the sight of him. Dan sat at the end beside a younger one of them and he jumped up. “Something wrong, Guthrey?”

He shook his head. “Just wondered if you were lost is all. No, just seeing that you're fine and taking nourishment is good enough.”

“Join us,” a tall blonde said, standing up and pouring more bubbly stuff in the others' tall glasses. She made some suggestive moves while refilling their glasses, then slipped in front of him with a sparkling glass and poured it half-full.

“It goes right up your nose. Try some. It's on the house, and you may want to climb in bed with me when you finish the glass, darling.”

“Thanks,” he said after downing the drink and handing back the empty glass. “Another time, maybe.”

“Good for you. I live here.” Her bare hand and arm snaked up toward the high ceiling to point at the upstairs.

“Dan, can you make it home all right?”

“Yes, sir. I'm fine.”

“Where's the gawdamn whores?” a man out in the front hall shouted.

Every one of the girls quickly shared questioning glances with each other. Guthrey watched them.

Next he heard the black girl cry out for help. Sounds of a struggle came from the front hall. He spun on his heels and went to the kitchen door to see what was going on. Three men were standing there fighting with the maid. One was holding her arms pinned behind her back, the other two were busy ripping the clothes off her body. She was kicking and giving them hell like a wildcat.

Guthrey reached the one on the right and coldcocked him over the head with the pistol in his hand. The man's knees buckled, and he went down like a poleaxed steer. Then, before the other man with his hands full of the maid's black dress material could drop it, Guthrey shoved the muzzle of his cocked gun hard into his gut. Close to the men, he could smell the whiskey on their collective breath. “Tell that hombre holding her to stop or you're dead.”

“Quit, Rattler. He's got a damn gun in my guts.”

“Who the hell are you anyway?” the red-faced third man asked. When he let go of her arms, the maid whirled and gave the man her knee twice real hard in the crotch and he went down to his knees, oohing in pain and holding himself.

She fled down the hall, trying to gather up her torn clothes to cover her nudity. The man Guthrey had covered was backed to the wall, and Guthrey disarmed him.

“What in the hell is going on down here?” a fat-faced woman with smudged makeup demanded, halfway down the staircase.

The blond whore was there by then. “Those three crazy guys came in here shouting at Newby and went to stripping off all her clothes like they were crazy. This man here fought them all off.”

“Who are you, sir?” The madam tightened up the fluffy white robe that had been exposing a good portion of her hefty breasts.

“My name's Guthrey. I came by to check on Dan and be sure he was all right. Minding my own business. I don't know any of these three and wanted them to leave the black girl alone.”

“If we had some real law in this county, there might be some peace and quiet on Sunday mornings around here. My name's Ellen Foster.”

“Yes, ma'am, I agree, and I'm the man who can deliver that.”

“Guthrey, I believe you are that man. Girls, go eat your breakfast. Mr. Guthrey, what can we do with these men?”

“We can tie them up. Later this afternoon, I can take them to the county seat and have them put in jail for trial.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He waited for her answer.

She wrinkled her large nose at him. “I suppose they'd get off anyway.”

“No, ma'am, the judge is tough and straight. They'll do time if we do it like I say.”

“But Killion would send a boy around to collect more money from me if I did that.”

“Have you heard that there's a petition going around to have him removed from office?”

“Well, no, but that's a good idea if anyone will dare sign it.” She scowled at the three men.

“Over a hundred have already signed it. Folks are tired of being run over by bullies like these three.” So he'd exaggerated the number some, but word would get out that the number was larger than that.

Hands on her hips, she nodded. “You girls go get some ropes and we'll tie them up.”

“Lady, you do and I'll burn this damn whorehouse down,” threatened the one called Rattler, who'd held the black girl.

“What's your name?” Guthrey asked.

“Burt, Burt Alson. What damn business is it of yours?”

“I think there's a reward for you in Texas. Kaufman County. I'll wire them when we get you over to the county seat and find out.”

Alson's face went white, and Dan sharply warned Alson, “You go for that gun, mister, he'll kill you too.”

“You all right, Dan?” Guthrey asked, not looking around at him.

“I'm fine. Sorry you had to come look for me.”

“Aw, Cally just wanted to be sure you were still alive.”

Dan frowned at him. “You tell her anything?”

Guthrey shook his head, busy disarming the men. He reached down, took a fistful of the groggy one's shirt collar, and dragged him on his butt over to prop him against the wall. “What's your name?” he asked the second one, a black-bearded man in his twenties.

“Roy Carlton.”

“Address?”

“Tombstone.”

“What's his name?” He indicated the one holding his sore head and seated on the floor.

“Deal Brant.”

Guthrey had written their names on the back of a petition and put the stub lead pencil away along with the paper.

“What's your plan?” Dan asked.

“A bunch of masked riders raided Sam Joyce's place last night and burned his haystacks. I'm headed up there to look for evidence. You guard this riffraff here and I'll be back in a few hours. Then we can take them to jail.”

“Joyce all right?”

“I guess so. Noble talked to him. Cally and I were at the dance.”

The three outlaws were herded out on the back porch. Their hands and feet tied, they were seated on the boards on the back porch. Guthrey told Dan to gag them if they became too noisy, and he agreed. Guthrey went out front and checked the contents of their saddlebags. They each had a money-bag mask in one side or the other. He glanced back at the two-story house. What he'd found pointed to them as being some of the Joyce place raiders he was looking for.

He hadn't seen a ruby ring on any of them. That must fit the leader of the bunch's finger. Someone else had to have noted that big ring besides Joyce and the ranch woman who had been assaulted. There was no money for them in burning down haystacks and terrorizing God-fearing folks. They were on someone's payroll. He noted that none of their horses wore a brand either.