Chaparral Range War (9781101619049) (2 page)

“How does that work?” he asked, stopped in his tracks.

Dan looked shocked at her words. “I invited him here, sis.”

“I know. I asked him about his plans.”

“I'm too dirty to think,” Guthrey said and tossed the flour sack towel over his shoulder.

“We can't afford gunfighter wages, sir.”

“Who said I'd work for you?” He looked at Dan and then her.

“Well, maybe we need you.”

He nodded, then he turned around to make eye contact with her. “The way I look at it, you two are going to need lots of help if you aim to stay here.”

Taken aback by his words, she said in a soft voice, “We can talk about it later. Dan can put your horse up.”

With a wooden nod to Guthrey, she turned on her heel. “I'll fix some food for us.”

The sheepherder shower tub sat on the roof of a shed beside the creaking windmill. Guthrey took a seat on an old wooden chair and took off his boots, socks, then his vest, gun belt, shirt, chaps, and suspenders, followed by his pants. He was standing like Adam in the Garden of Eden, his snow-white skin under the cool spray of water contrasting with his brown hands as he soaked. Then he used the bar of soap to lather his body, and the strong smell of it ran up his nose. Finished, he dried himself off in the chill of the dry atmosphere that made him feel like it was still wintertime.

On the shade of the porch, he took a straight razor out of his vest pocket and set it on a ledge near a smoky mirror. Then he half dressed, rubbed soap lather through his whisker growth, and mowed it off. Next he pulled on the shower chain to swish off the razor, lathered more soap on his face, and went back with the razor for more whiskers. Finally shaved, he rinsed his face, put the razor back in his vest, and strapped on his gun belt.

He hung his towel on a rack and finished dressing. With his hat in hand, he wiped the grit and dried sweat out of the leather hatband, then placed the hat on his head. Before he went anywhere, he shifted the gun belt on his waist until it fit in the right place. Nice ranch, he reflected, quiet enough after all the towns he'd been in since leaving his sister's place in the Texas hill country. First time an outfit caught his eye in all those hot, blinding, boiling dust-filled days it took him to get here.

Back in Silver City, he had met a widow woman, Claire Johns. Thirty years old, two children, hardworking gal with a nice spread in that higher desert country. But as with so many other of his encounters with eligible women, in the end, he'd kissed her good-bye and rode on. He never had a feeling that he really belonged there. His sis once told him he was too fussy when he'd walked away from another woman back in the Texas hill country. Simple enough reason: He never felt at ease with either of those women. When a man was eaten up inside about little things in a woman's company—and it was about nothing in particular—he better answer his itchy feet and leave.

Cally was ringing a triangle. He was ready to taste her food. The situation with her and her brother looked very bleak to him. How could two teenagers hold a small ranch together with folks like Whitmore blocking their way at every step?

He found the place for his hat on the wall peg inside the big room. The smell of Cally's cooking sure tantalized his nose. His nostrils were still recovering from the prairielike fire that had set up inside them while he was riding over here from New Mexico. The aromas coming to him now smelled good enough to draw saliva into his dry mouth.

“I kilt a chicken for supper,” she said. “I hope you like chicken.”

“Smells heavenly. Don't fuss about me. I can eat about anything.”

“Most men can do that as long as they don't have to cook it.”

Amused, he pointed his finger at her. “Darling, you know all about men.”

They both were laughing when Dan came inside the house. He blinked at Cally and then at Guthrey with a question written on his face: What was so damn funny?

“We ain't picking on you, Dan. Just poking fun at men in general.”

He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Hey, in the morning,” Guthrey began, “if you don't have anything that needs to be done, let's ride around the country. I want to become more familiar with the land and the people.”

Dan agreed. “Sure, we can do that.”

“Take your places,” Cally said, coming over to the table with heaping platters of food. “Guthrey, you set on that end. Dan sets on this end, and the cook is in the middle.”

“We can help—” Guthrey began, still standing.

She dismissed his concern with a headshake. “I'll handle this end of the deal. Sit down.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He took his place. The fried chicken truly did smell heavenly. Her biscuits were the right color—brown on top—and the green beans looked freshly picked. Even the flour gravy for the mashed potatoes appeared just right in texture, not watery or too thick to spread. When Cally sat down and nodded, they began to fill their plates. Not much was said during the meal, except Guthrey told her she'd done very well with the cooking and he told Dan he'd better not let his sister run off with some old saddle tramp or he'd be eating lots of burnt, bad-tasting food.

Cally's biscuits were as fine as pastry to him. The sweet cream butter on them was a big treat for a man who for months had been eating food from Mexican street vendor women.

“How long were you in the Rangers?” Cally asked.

“All told, about seven years.”

“How was that?”

“I was a Ranger before the war, then the feds ruled us for five years and there were no Rangers at that time. I came back for the last two years. But Texas legislature has money problems all the time. Their wages are not anything you can count on. If you ask a man to give his life to an organization, you should at least pay him what he has coming to him.”

“I can't believe they didn't pay you.” Cally looked perplexed.

“Well, they sure haven't. I have vouchers for half my wages over the last two years. I guess they'll pay them someday, but I don't know the date or in what century.”

“What have you done without pay?” she asked, looking at him with concern.

“Just that: I did without pay. I finally decided I had to find a real job.” He took out his gold pocket watch and saw it was 6:10
P.M
., then he snapped the lid shut.

“I bet you've lived by that watch,” she said.

“Yes, I did. I always needed to be somewhere or meet someone at a certain time. It's a hard habit to get over.”

“We have an unused bunkhouse you can sleep in,” Dan said, changing the subject.

Cally waved him off. “That place needs to be cleaned first. No one's used it in a year or more except the pack rats.”

Guthrey held up his hands. “Hey, I'll sleep out under the stars. We can worry about that later.”

“I hate for our guest—all right. It's fine, fine,” Dan said to his sister, who was looking hard at him.

* * *

L
ATER DURING THE
night, Guthrey lay in his bedroll and listened to the coyotes yelping. They had owls for their chorus, and he spent a lot of time with their serenade before he fell asleep. Before dawn he was up and rubbing the sleep out of his face. The creosote smell of the desert filled his nose, and a cool breeze swept his face. Peaceful enough place to sleep in. Then a light came on in the house and Cally opened the door. Dressed, she looked decently awake, enough for him to slip down there.

“Morning,” he said from the doorway, watching her stir things up to cook.

“Oh, you're an early riser too. Come in. I'm just starting my fixin'.”

“Do you need a couple pails of water?”

“Yes, I could use them.”

He took two pails and lifted them up with a smile for her. “I can fill 'em.”

“Thanks. I'm not used to having help.”

“No problem.” He went off to where the windmill pipe poured liquid into the watering tank. With the pails filled from the spout, he hauled them back to set on her stand. “I'd milk that cow, but she don't know me.”

“If you're willing to milk her, after breakfast I'll make formal introductions. But you're right, a cow that's used to a certain person milking her gets nervous with a new pair of hands on her handles.”

“I can milk all right.”

“Good. I never turn down help. You were in the war? I'm sorry. I didn't mention it to upset you—”

“No problem. That was a real sorry time for me. I'd never been in many situations where I didn't have a good feeling about how they'd end. Soldiering was never fun. The whole time I was in the army, I had a deep dread in my soul. No way that we could beat them. We had little food, little ammo, and no horses—and we were cavalry. A horseman never feels good walking in the mud. Especially a Texas one.”

“Yes, I've been told about the problems you had. Ring the triangle. Dan will wake up.” She brought over the coffeepot to fill his cup.

He went to wake the third member of this outfit. “That coffee smells great. I'll be right back.”

When he returned, she had put the pot back on the wood range. “You ever have a wife?” she asked.

He shook his head and smiled at her. “Nope, I've never had one.”

“That was pretty nosy of me to ask. Sorry. Sit down and eat. Dan'll drag in shortly.”

“Cally, I don't really have any deep, dark secrets.”

She smiled. “Oh. Shucks, I was going to write a book about a Texas Ranger scandal.”

“You'd find out real quick that mine would be pretty boring.”

She smiled as she delivered the platter of fried ham and scrambled eggs. Next came the brown-topped biscuits in a pan from the oven, which she set on the board hot plate. Dan arrived, looking still asleep, yawning and stretching his arms to wake up.

“Did you sleep any?” his sister asked him.

“Too hard.”

She and Guthrey laughed over his appearance, as it was obvious that he was not totally with them.

“Are you going to be able to show Guthrey anything today?” she asked quietly.

“Sure.” He never looked up, busy filling his plate. “I'll be fine.”

* * *

A
N HOUR LATER,
the two men left the ranch on horseback. Taking the river road north from their ranch's side road, they soon stopped at a wooden gate. Dan dismounted and opened the entrance to the Coalgate Ranch.

“This is Herman Coalgate's place.”

Guthrey nodded. He'd been looking at various aspects of the land. Cactus desert on the left and the mixed agriculture land watered by the river on the right. They rode down the sandy lane through the tall mesquite, and some stock dogs came barking to greet them. A short man with his half-curly gray hair edging out of the band of his weathered felt hat met them.

“Morning, Dan. I'm sorry about what happened to your dad. How are things going for you and your sister?”

“Oh, Cally's fine. Herman, this is Guthrey. He sort of saved my hide yesterday in town with Whitmore's bunch.”

The man stepped over to shake Guthrey's hand. “Any friend of that boy is a friend of mine.”

“Nice place you've got here,” Guthrey said, looking at the shallow San Pedro River flowing by beyond the house, corrals, and an alfalfa patch.

“Yeah, Whitmore really wants this place. I have about a mile of river frontage.”

“I bet he does want it.” Guthrey could imagine how bad the land king wanted this much access to a good water source.

“He ain't getting it though. I wouldn't sell to him anything short of hell freezing over.”

Guthrey agreed. “I think several folks feel like that today.”

“Herman,” Dan said, “Guthrey used to be a Texas Ranger.”

“Glad ya came to Arizona. There ain't much law in Arizona, and I know what them Rangers can do. We need some of that around here.”

“Herman, a man has some rights in this country. One thing is, no one needs to be harassed by the big outfits. I have no authority here. But as a private citizen I can get mad as hell about that.”

“What can we do about it?” Herman asked flat out.

“First I need to meet the folks around here and see what they want to do. There are such things as grand jury investigations if the law's been broken.”

Herman nodded. “It's damn sure been broken around here, and many times. This matter did not just happen. They've been running roughshod over lots of us for near three years.”

“That's what Dan told me. We've got lots of ground to cover today. Good to meet you. I'm staying out at Dan and Cally's place, the 87T, if you need any help.”

“I'll sure try to get word to you, by golly, if I do.”

They rode on and next met Salty Jackson in the middle of the road. Whiskered and a big grinner, he shut down his team and buckboard when they met up.

“Morning, Dan. How're things going?”

“Good enough today.” Dan pushed his horse in close to shake the man's hand and introduced Guthrey.

“Nice to meet you, Salty.” After shaking the man's hand, Guthrey sat back down in his saddle.

“He's a friend of mine,” Dan said. “He's an ex–Texas Ranger.”

“Back before the war I was living up by Denton, Texas, and I was a Ranger then. We rode all over looking for horse apples,” Salty said.

“Why was that?” Dan asked the man.

“Barefoot mustangs stopped and pooped. If a horse was being ridden, he scattered his out behind him. Looking for signs of Indians, if we saw scattered apples and barefoot tracks, we set off the alarm. The Comanche were among us.”

“I'd never thought of that,” Dan said.

“It worked to stop surprise attacks on the frontier.” Guthrey recalled as a boy wanting to be off fishing instead of being in the saddle and having to Ranger in the hill country around their home.

“He's here to help us,” Dan said.