Chaparral Range War (9781101619049) (17 page)

NINETEEN

T
UESDAY NIGHT,
G
UTHREY
and Noble were at the Alkali Hills Schoolhouse for a meeting with folks, asking them to sign the petition. Guthrey shook hands with the men, dipped his hat to the ladies introduced to him.

After she was introduced to him, one sharp-eyed woman in her late thirties asked if he was married.

“No, ma'am. I'm not.”

“Lucille, get over here,” she demanded, and a gangly teenager about fourteen came over.

“This is Mr. Guthrey. Stand up straight and show him what a nice-looking girl you are. Mr. Guthrey is single and he will need a wife when he becomes sheriff.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucille,” he said to be friendly.

She nodded. “Nice to meet you too. You got any good horses to ride?”

“One of my own.”

“You going to get any more?”

“I don't need any more. Why?”

“Well, if I was going to marry you, I'd expect a nice paint mare and saddle for me to ride.”

Mother swallowed hard. “Lucille, why, that ain't a nice thing to say.”

Guthrey agreed with the girl. “Looks like I'm out of the running, then.”

He and Noble shared grins as the mother took her daughter away by the arm, scolding her all the way outside the front doors about killing her chances to marry the next sheriff.

One man named O'Riley waited till after the petition signing to speak to Guthrey. They were standing aside and Guthrey was waving and saying good night to people, fixing to leave.

“I heard something today,” O'Riley said. “I heard that Whitmore told a man he'd pay him two hundred dollars gold to get you out of this country.”

“Did he tell you the name of the man Whitmore told that to?”

“No. Guess the guy he talked to must have been tough 'cause he wouldn't tell me that either.”

“Did he say if the man took the money?”

“No, sir, he said that guy wanted five hundred to kill you. The man who told me all that said Whitmore acted mad and walked off, told him he could get it done a lot cheaper than that.”

“No names mentioned?”

“Nope,” O'Riley said. “But you better keep your head down.”

“I appreciate the news. I'll watch closer.”

Satisfied, O'Riley moved on.

Noble asked under his breath. “You believe that?”

“Maybe Whitmore paid him ten bucks to give me that warning. What do you think?”

“More than likely you just hit the nail on the head.”

“Did O'Riley sign the petition?” Guthrey asked.

Noble laughed aloud. “Hey, we can check on that, can't we?”

“Yes,” Guthrey answered, then said good night to more folks who were leaving.

After everyone left, Guthrey checked and they'd gathered forty-six signatures. He didn't find O'Riley's name among the signers. Glad he'd checked, he blew out the candles and they rode up to the place of a rancher friend, Mike Thorp, and spent the night at his house. Mike's wife, Melda, cooked them a big breakfast in the morning and they had an interesting talk at the table afterward. When Guthrey asked him about O'Riley, Mike told them he didn't trust the man. Then Guthrey told him about the supposed threat.

“I doubt he knows anything at all about any plans to plant you. He's just sizing you up for a silver deputy badge when you get elected,” Mike said.

“Why do that?” Noble asked.

“Hey, there's lots of guys would like to walk around as deputies.”

Guthrey nodded. He'd forgotten about those men who did that back in Texas. Good point. He'd watch who he deputized if he ever got elected. Guthrey and Noble left Thorp's place and rode back home.

Guthrey had down in his small notebook that on Saturday night he was to attend the social at Farnam Schoolhouse. The person who set it up was Earl Southern, a man he could not recall, but perhaps the organizers had made the appointment. Carl Brown and Lester McCall were a big help to the campaign, and he was anxious to learn how many signatures they had gathered that week. Maybe getting eight hundred signers was actually feasible. He hoped so; spending all his days going here and there had proved time-consuming for him.

Cally came out from the house when they rode in. “How did you do?”

“Near fifty signed up.”

“Wow, you two did good.”

“Anything happen here?”

She shook her head. “Just same old stuff. Dan went to check on water holes. He promised not to be out too long.”

“He'll be fine. What are you doing?” he asked.

“Canning corn and more green beans. I need some beets harvested so I can put them in jars tomorrow.”

“Noble and I can do that, soon as we put up these horses.”

“I hate to bother you politicians. But I better get back and watch that cooker.”

He kissed her and she hurried back inside.

“She's a busy girl,” Noble said. “Don't forget to tell her about that girl that rejected you.”

“Oh, the one who wanted a paint horse to marry me.” Guthrey chuckled.

The two men pulled up the red beets and hauled them to the house in a wheelbarrow. Then they busied themselves washing them down by the big tank and separating the beets from the tops. Cally had told them she'd can the beet tops too.

Dan rode in and laughed when he came up to the site where they worked.

“She's got you working, I see. Did you do any good up there last night?”

“Near fifty signatures,” Guthrey said, straightening his sore back. “Water holes working?”

“Yeah, but we need rain.” He looked with concern at the blue sky.

“Part of being a rancher, always looking for one more rain.”

“I used to let Dad worry about that. Now he ain't here, I figure I have to worry about it.”

“Well, don't just sit that horse,” Noble said. “We've got beets to wash.”

“Yes, sir. I'll put Snorty up and be right back.” He rode off, laughing.

With the beets finally washed and separated from the tops, Cally came out to inspect their work. “You three do good work. Thanks.”

Noble had to tell them the story about the girl and her mother along with the paint horse. They all got a good laugh out of how he told the story.

Cally shook her head afterward. “Maybe I better go along with him on his trips and protect my interests.”

“Who'd do the canning?” Dan asked.

She laughed and invited them up to the house for coffee and the fresh dried-apple pie she'd just taken from the oven.

* * *

T
HE NEXT DAY,
her three ranch hands rode hard, looking for the Whitmore-branded calf. No sign of him or his momma. Guthrey was beginning to believe that he'd been taken from the range, along with the momma. The whole thing about the branding made little sense, but there was no reason for lots of things these raiders did, except someone wanted them crowded out. Whitmore wore that cap.

By the third day back at the ranch, he began to wonder about his main opponent. Since the day he saw Whitmore standing by and watching the aborted gunfight between his gun hands and Dan, Guthrey had not had a peep out of the man. These days, Guthrey did not frequent as many saloons as he used to do in Texas, with a Ranger camp close by them. Still, in all his trips to the county seat, arresting men, he'd not noticed Whitmore once. Maybe Guthrey needed to find out more about the man and what else he was up to.

“Anyone seen Whitmore lately?” he asked at breakfast.

“Not me,” Cally said.

Dan shook his head.

Noble looked up before spooning some oatmeal in his mouth. “Not seen hide or hair of him.”

“Odd, isn't it? He sent Hampton after me at the first dance I attended. Hired some men to shoot at me here, and has been sending raiders out to harass folks.”

“He don't like his own hands to get dirty,” Noble said between bites.

Dan agreed. “Why do anything when you can hire idiots to do it for you?”

Guthrey agreed and changed the subject. “I'm going to ride into Tucson and try to find a good cattle trader to buy some steers before the heat gets worse and they lose their fleshy condition.”

“Do you have the time to take off now?” she asked.

“We're doing all right on the campaign. I'll tell Brown and McCall what I must do and then go over there next week.”

“We really should have some more money,” Cally said.

“We can do this,” Guthrey said. “Gathering and moving the cattle may be a bigger challenge. You two keep your eyes open for the big steers and each day push the ones you find over this way. That way gathering them won't be such a problem. Three dozen do?” he asked Cally.

“That should tide us over,” she said. “But how do we send them all at one time?”

“I'll try to figure that out. Let's get busy. I'm going to ride in and see McCall today. Maybe he has more ideas.”

The other two men left the room and Guthrey kissed Cally good-bye before he left her with the dishes.

Two hours later, he dismounted at McCall's yard gate. His place was set under some big cottonwoods above the river. Guthrey felt certain the man was busy farming at this time of day. A woman came out and welcomed him. A full-figured woman, she smiled big at him.

“You must be Mr. Guthrey. Lester's around at the barn shoeing a horse. How have you been, sir?”

“Fine, nice to see you,” he said, tipping his hat to her, and started around the yard, leading his horse.

McCall was in the shade of one of the big cottonwoods. Bent over, busy nailing a plate on a nice-looking bay horse, he looked up as he finished and dropped the hoof. “How are you today, Guthrey?”

“Better. We collected forty-six signatures up at Alkali the other night.”

Taking off his leather apron, McCall nodded. “With the ones Brown and I've collected, that makes over two hundred. In the short time we've been working on this. I think it's going good. Any more news? I heard you helped fill the county jail some more.”

“Those three men I think were in on a raid at Sam Joyce's place and burned his haystacks. I found new masks in their saddlebags.”

“Good. That business needs to be stopped. I heard the sheriff was complaining about our campaign against him.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, he told someone over at Soda Springs that the Mormons and the outlaws over east were getting a petition up to oust him from office, but he had enough gentile friends to hold it.”

“What's your handle on that?”

“That we will get him ousted. Us Mormons and the outlaws. If there were outlaws over here, why isn't he patrolling it, then?” McCall shook his head. “Someone stole two good horses from one of the brethren this past week. He hasn't done one thing about that either.”

“What did the horses look like?”

“One's a single-footing bay horse with a stripe down his face, and the other's a nice work mare about twelve hands. Well broke to work or ride. She's their kid's horse.”

“I'll put the word out up there. But I bet that they're gone to New Mexico. Out of the country anyway.”

“No doubt, but the law should take notice and attempt to catch them.”

“I need to get moving. Next week I have to ride over to Tucson on business. So I'll do Farnam Schoolhouse this weekend, then not be back for a few days.”

“Have a safe trip. I'll tell Brown how we're getting along and your plans. Let's eat lunch before you ride back.”

Guthrey agreed.

The large woman was named Betty. She laughed a lot and served them hot corn bread and brown beans for lunch.

“If only Lester'd told me you was a-coming, I'd'a caught a chicken and fried it.”

“Aw, don't be too hard on him. My trip was simply to bring the petitions I'd gotten signed and kinda check on things.”

“I am simply embarrassed all I had was brown beans ready.”

“No problem. I've ate my share of them. And these are good. I've ate lots that were as gritty as the riverbank sand.”

“Don't you hate that sand on your molars?” She laughed some more.

Guthrey reckoned that Lester had her at this house to keep him happy. No doubt like most of the leading men in his religion, Lester had more than one wife and Betty shared him with some “sisters.” Guthrey didn't even have one woman as his wife, and McCall probably had three or more of them. How did a man satisfy that many wives? Beyond him how they did it. After the meal, Guthrey thanked them and headed back to Steward's Crossing and home.

Guthrey stopped and drank a draft beer in the Texas Saloon. The place was near empty save for a few men playing a small card game in the corner. He nursed the brew and the bartender polished glasses on the other end. Not a very talkative man for his profession. Made no difference.

When Guthrey left and went out to unhitch his horse, a man came down the boardwalk and spoke to him.

“You're the one going to oust Killion, ain't'cha?”

“My name's Guthrey, sir.” He offered his hand. “What can I do for you?”

The man checked around, then shook it. “You going to oust Killion from office?”

“That's the plan. Why?”

“I been a-hearing about you arresting folks. You know he'll be counting the votes, so there's no way you're going to win.”

Guthrey nodded. “Thanks for the tip.”

Searching around again before he spoke, the man said, “That's how he beat the last guy. You heard about that?”

Guthrey nodded to get him to continue.

“I better not talk no more out here. They just didn't count all those ballots for the other man. My place is down the road from Noble's on the right.”

The man, in his forties, unshaven, shabbily dressed, hurried off down the boardwalk. Guthrey stepped aboard the gelding, considering another obstacle in the road to him becoming the sheriff of Crook County. Who counted the ballots? Was that guy just a rabble-rouser or the real thing? Noble would know him.