Chaparral Range War (9781101619049) Page 18

  “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.

  He reigned the pony around. Time to get back to the ranch. Still no sign of Whitmore or any of his hands in town. Guthrey short loped the bay most of the way home. When he halted him at the corral, Cally came from the house, hem in hand, wearing an apron.

  “How did it go?” she asked after he kissed her.

  “Fine. A man in town told me that in the last election, Killion counted himself in and discarded the votes against him. You hear anything about that?”

  “They do some bad things to win is all I know.”

  “Maybe a U.S. marshal can help count the next election?”

  “We may need one to do that.” She swung on his arm and headed for the house.

  “You’d cheer up a sour lemon,” he said, amazed at her ability to free him of his worries.

  “You’re easy to cheer up. I hope selling the cattle doesn’t interfere with your plans too much. I really believe you will get the signatures.”

  “You need to sell those steers. We won’t be that distracted by doing that.”

  “I bet I can find you some lunch.”

  “Good.”

  * * *

  SATURDAY MORNING, HE left by himself for the Farnam Schoolhouse gathering. He knew the ride up to the northeast settlement in the county was far away. Rather than going to Steward’s Crossing and turning east, then back north, he cut across country, following a map that Noble had drawn for him. Noble made sure he had a complete map for the trip. Guthrey kissed Cally good-bye, satisfied he’d be there in plenty of time.

  He used Lobo, who was well rested and the toughest horse on the place. He set out in a hard trot to the river crossing and then took the mountain range trail. It was mostly unpopulated desert country, and he caught sightings of several cattle bunches but could not see their brands. He pushed the tough horse hard to reach the summit and dropped off the top into a canyon. The scent of a fire made him sniff the air. The narrow cut he rode down through must be working as a chimney for the country that opened ahead. He hoped it wasn’t a range fire he was smelling. Then he could hear cattle bawling loud like they were being worked. When he topped the next stair step, he reined up and could see the dust made by several head of cattle being worked far down country. The crew down there was branding, and they had lots of stock gathered. Something was wrong here.

  He was outnumbered twelve to one, by his count of various riders. Somehow he needed to cross through them and get out the other side. The smart thing for him to do at the moment might be to ride back over the mountain and find a new route. But he had no map to a new way, and he could easily get lost for a day without any supplies. This was to have been an easy ride to a social event, not riding up on what he suspected was a large, wholesale rustling deal in broad daylight.

  If he could stay to the juniper brush that grew at this elevation and sidle his way down the mountainside before he was discovered, he might get by them. He pushed Lobo into the brush, which would take more time but might make the difference between life and death for him. This had been a well-planned deal to have this many cattle bunched and that number of men working the brands over. Might be the largest rustling operation ever handled.

  Finding himself facing a sharp drop-off, Guthrey was forced to retreat to find another way off the mountainside with his horse. Not taking any chances, he jerked the .44/40 out of the scabbard. He didn’t carry much ammo for the long gun. He had plenty of the Texas legislature’s free .45 ammo in his saddlebags, but that was not long-range ammo. Damn, this could be a pickle of a place to be if they spotted him coming through.

  All the way down the mountainside, the juniper made good cover and unless some puncher stopped and saw him, his approach was working. On the flats they’d be hard-pressed to chase down his tough horse. Besides, from what he could see their horses were lathered from working the stock and would not stand a long chase. In the brush, he could hear a lot of their swearing and shouting over the cattle’s complaining.

  At last, undiscovered, he reached the bottom of the grade. The sun began bearing down on him, and ahead of hi
m he saw open country save for two hands driving some breakaway cattle back to the herd.

  This pair of men, who he didn’t know, looked tired. Good—their horses were breathing hard and were lathered. His own was barely breaking a sweat. If they didn’t manage to shoot him, they’d never catch him.

  Guthrey broke out of the junipers and headed for what looked like open country ahead and away from all the herd activity. This was his break for freedom and he set spurs hard in Lobo’s sides.

  Shocked at the sight of him and his horse breaking out of the cover, the two riders tried to rein up and draw their pistols. That was a big mistake. The rider on the sorrel found his horse went to bucking like a high-lifed mule. The second man accidently fired his pistol in the ground next to his horse. That pony started bucking as well, and last that Guthrey saw, the rider was out of his stirrups. The cattle ran bawling away from the herd. And behind him he heard the entire herd make a familiar thundering sound—stampede.

  Whether they were headed after him he wasn’t certain, but he was racing Lobo as hard as he could eastward across the greasewood flats for the next range of hills. Pursuit or no pursuit made no difference; he’d done enough to distract the rustlers and was actually fleeing them at a fast pace.

  In a short while as he came to the top of a rise, he reined Lobo in and turned him around. There was lots of dust boiling up in the sky in the south, obviously the direction the spooked cattle had taken. No sign of anyone coming after him. Good news.

  He turned Lobo northeast and short loped him. Whew, that had been close. He’d have to investigate that operation and somehow stop them from selling those cattle. That was all he needed—one more job. Looking back and seeing nothing, he felt some more of the hype that had built up in him melt away.

  Midafternoon, he reached the schoolhouse and mingled among the early arrivals. Womenfolk fed him apple and cherry cobbler. Men visited with him about their problems with rustlers and the pressure from Whitmore to sell out. Guthrey told them they needed serious law enforcement and protection. They agreed, and before the dinner even started, he had twenty-two signatures.

  He felt better about his narrow escape by the time he sat eating his supper with two widow women on the wall bench. They both were in their twenties and nice-looking ladies. Both had young families and would suit any eligible man, besides the fact that they owned small ranches.

  “Guthrey, have you ever been married?” Laura asked, seated on his right.

  Both women waited for his reply.

  “No, ladies. First the war came along, then the cattle drive business to Kansas, and I rejoined the Rangers.”

  “Well, if you become sheriff, will you have time for a wife then?”

  He acted pained. “Being a sheriff’s wife is not good. He’s so busy.”

  “I could manage,” Laura said, and Candace added that she felt the same.

  There would be no beating those two, so he listened to the advantages of marrying either one and felt like he always did in these cases—he had to escape them. Not because they had any bad deals about them—they just were not what he wanted. Cally beat them all to death for his part.

  Later he talked to two ranchers, Kelly Brightwater and Ute Gleason. The three men squatted on their boot heels out where the tall shadows from the bonfire started petering out. Guthrey told them about the suspected rustling operation he had come across on his way here.

  Brightwater twisted the end of his mustache and nodded. “Cobberly Flats.”

  His buddy Ute agreed, then he asked Guthrey, “You recognize any of them?”

  “No, I was trying to slip by them. I figured I’d be dead if I wasn’t careful.”

  “Good idea.” Ute scowled. “How many cattle did they have?”

  “Maybe a hundred and fifty head.”

  “That was real rustling, wasn’t it?” Brightwater shook his head. “Those bold bastards.”

  “If you two can get some evidence we can give to a grand jury, we might get them rounded up.”

  “How?”

  “I have a half dozen or so in jail now waiting for trial. Jailer has to hold them until the judge says they can go.”

  “How did you do that?” Ute asked.

  “It wasn’t hard. I found the judge after they let one get away, and he told them they could pay the reward on the escaped ones. They’ve held them all in jail since then.”

  “We can take several men and ride up there, can’t we, Kelly?”

  “Damn right. They may have several head of our own stock in the ones they got up there.”

  “Go easy. That jail is about full.”

  All three men laughed. “We’ll get all the evidence and get someone who wants to talk a lot about it.”

  “Good. All we need is some evidence to get them arrested and tried.”

  * * *

  IN THE MORNING, he rode back with sixty-two names on his petitions all told. He stopped and rode across the ground where the rebranding had been held. No sign of much but cattle tracks. He hoped maybe his new friends could find answers for him, and he hurried up over the mountain. It had been a great gathering of his supporters to attend despite the close call with the rustlers. By noontime, he was back at the ranch, though if he’d had to go around the area the rustlers had been, it would have taken all day.

  “So you made it back,” Cally said, coming out in the sunshine when he dismounted at her doorstep. Before she even realized it, he had swept her up in his arms and kissed her.

  “What are you doing in June?” he asked her.

  “Why? What does that matter?” She looked shaken, being held in his arms.

  “’Cause I want to get married then.”

  “Who—oh my God. . . .” She pressed her fingers to cover her mouth. “You’re asking me?”

  He looked around and mildly shook his head. “Is someone else here?” Then he let her down to stand against his body. “I want to marry you, and I don’t have a paint mare for you to ride.”

  “You crazy man. When you rode off yesterday, I said to myself, ‘He’s a going over there and find him a real woman for sure.’”

  “I don’t need a so-called real woman. I need you.”

  “Why, any day you want you can have me.”

  “No, the bride sets the right day for her to be married on.”

  “Oh, I never knew that.” She began counting on her fingers. “June third will be a good day.”

  “Then that’s the day we’ll get married. I think it may rain today.” He looked at the gathering clouds.

  “Noble and Dan went way west today. I hope they are already headed back.” She pressed herself hard against him. “You know, I can hardly wait. When you were sleeping on my bed the other day. I wanted to just sleep in your arms, but I behaved, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you sure did not misbehave. But you are as tempting to me as a fresh-cut layer cake.”

  She swung her head from side to side like a clock pendulum. “Now I’ve got to wait even longer.”

  “Now you need to see if my grandmother’s ring will fit you.”

  “Fit me?” She threw her hands to her chest and looked ready to faint.

  “She’d be proud of me today.” He reached into his pocket and took out the ring, which was wrapped in cloth, and used his knife to reveal it. He held it up in the sunlight; it glinted brightly.

  “I can’t believe you have her ring. I better sit down. It’s my knees. They feel awful weak.” She reached around behind her to find a chair, and he caught her so she didn’t fall down. At last with her seated on the chair, he slipped the ring on her finger.

  She swallowed so hard, he thought she’d choke. Then she looked up, her face all drained out. “Phil Guthrey, I love you with all my might.”

  Thunder rolled across the sky, and they
were united kissing each other. Soaking wet, Dan and Noble soon came stumbling in.

  Her brother, sounding peeved, asked them if all they had to do all day was stand around and kiss each other.

  Cally finally perched her face on Guthrey’s shoulder to look at them. “We’re getting married June third.”

  “Well, hell, let’s dance,” Dan shouted. “Good for you two.”

  Let’s dance. . . . That was what Guthrey thought as well.

  TWENTY

  THEY TOOK HER measurements for the wedding dress Guthrey was going to order in Tucson. She gave them the directions on what to measure, Dan used the tape, and Guthrey wrote the numbers down. It was a trying deal, but they finally finished taking the measurements. Guthrey planned to leave early the next morning and when they were done, Cally ran the other two men off so she had some time alone with him.

  “How will we pay for the dress?” she asked, wringing her hands.

  “I have some money. I can buy it.”

  “But, but—later you may need that money.”

  “Let me buy the dress.”

  She looked at him for some sympathy. “The girl’s family usually does that.”

  “It will be fine. The guys say we can easily get forty head up to sell. I’ll find a market for them.”

  “What will they bring?”

  “That depends on the market. The army and the Indian agents buy beef all the time.”

  She made a sour face at him. “Whitmore has those markets tied up with Ike Clanton.”

  He agreed. “Half of it is stolen too. I’m going to get a handle on those rustlers I almost ran into and lock a bunch of those thieves up one day.”

  “Good, just don’t get yourself killed doing it.”

  He rounded her up in his arms and kissed her. “Listen, Miss Bridges, you can’t go through life married to a law officer and tell him that all the time. I won’t do anything to get myself shot, but I want you to know I won’t let anything illegal happen that I can stop.”

  “I know. I know, but I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”