Ambush Valley (11 page)

Morning came too early. He wished the sunup had held off for a few more hours. Up and dressed, he went downstairs, recalling how his sister had given him a haircut. Susie was up and she asked him what he wanted for breakfast.

“The two boys had their oatmeal and have already gone fishing.”

“They're serious. We talked about that trophy carp. I think they were disappointed about the cats eating their huge catch.”

Susie shook her head. “They're a mess.”

“Oatmeal is fine.”

“Coffee is hot. Help yourself.”

“Fine.” He walked to the back porch and watched the activity at the chuck wagon. Hoot didn't look busy. Most of them probably had slept in. It was Sunday, a day off unless things on the ranch were under stress. He wondered what Hampt had learned about rustler activity up in the Sycamore Creek area. The polygamist's wife, Edna Pryor, who lived alone on a small ranch in that country knew lots about what went on in that area. She at least had a good man out there to look over the activities going on west of the ranch.

He was busy working on his books for ranch expenses when Susie came up and told him a man was there to see him.

“Who is he?”

“He didn't say.”

“I'll be right down.” He wondered who was there and came downstairs to see.

The familiar face of Roamer stood there holding his hat. He nodded in approval at the sight of Chet.

“Did you meet my sister?” he asked the deputy sheriff and turned to her standing by.

“No. Ma'am. But I sure am glad you came here with him.” He gave her a smile.

“I'm glad at last to meet you, too. Come in the dining room. You two can talk privately in there.”

“Fine,” Chet said. “What brings you up here?”

Roamer looked around. “I know I'm late to come up here about this, but I had no time off the past few weeks. He's short-handed for deputies. I'm sorry about the horse rustling. But Sims has had me working down in Horse Thief Basin. I figure he thinks I got too much publicity out of helping you get ahold of this ranch and might shake his chances of holding the sheriff job.”

“Hey, I got the cold shoulder over the letter to the editor about a lynching.”

“That's why I rode up over here today. When I read it I knew you had expected me to join you in pursuit of them when you went on. But I wasn't available, and knew nothing about it for a week.”

“Whoever he sent wouldn't let Marge's man Raphael even go and help me.”

Roamer dropped his head. “I couldn't do a thing where I was at, and when I found out the details I really was upset.”

“Listen,” Chet said. “He gets too tough on you, you can come work for me.”

“Thanks, I'll consider it. I just came over today to apologize.”

“I appreciate it. But I knew it wasn't your fault. How is your wife and all the kids?”

“Great. We'll have a new one in the fall.”

Chet shook his hand.

“I'm glad I found you here.”

“Hey, do you need anything?” Chet asked.

Roamer put down his cup. “No, I'm fine,”

When he started to leave, Chet at least had a much better idea about what concerned Sims.

“He's a cute guy, freckles and all,” Susie said, standing behind him when Roamer rode off.

“Him and his wife have plans for twenty kids.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I'm glad she has him.”

“He answered a question or two about the sheriff and why he handled things like he did.”

“What was that?”

“He was concerned we had out-shined him in the operation of taking this ranch away from Ryan.”

“Oh.”

“He must be quite unsure of himself.”

She agreed.

“Are you still thinking about a certain rancher?”

She about blushed. “I wonder is all.”

“It's a secret with me.”

“Good. You want more coffee?” she asked.

“No. I may go see Marge. I can be there in a couple of hours.”

“Go. You might get your gray horse completely broke to ride.”

 

 

Mid Sunday morning Chet short loped the big gray gelding to town. The big horse was fleet and full of energy. He never let him buck, but they argued all the way to the front gate before he gave up the notion to duck his head and settled in to moving out.

Before he left, Susie said she needed some baking powder. He decided to stop at the small grocery store in Camp Verde and put it in his saddlebags so he didn't forget it.

Two men wearing canvas dusters in the heat of the morning had dismounted at the store before he came down the dusty street. From a block away he knew he'd never seen them before. But he didn't know very many people of the population as a rancher, and the area was so vast. He reined up short on a hunch, like he had other business. The notion grabbed him with suspicion, Why in the heat of the morning were they so dressed? The azure sky was cloudless. Both men looked around warily at everything before they entered the store.

In the deserted street no one stirred. It was mid Sunday morning and most folks were in church. He imagined that Marge was sitting in a pew in Preskit. A shot rang out from inside the business. No surprise, and one of the men appeared with a smoking pistol in his hand.

A bartender ran out of a saloon's batwing doors from across the road with a shotgun, and distracted the armed man. That gave Chet time to draw the rifle out of the scabbard and to lever in a cartridge. The bartender fired one barrel. The men's horses must have been struck by some of the pellets and they tore lose from the hitch rail. The pistol-armed lawbreaker shot at the saloon man and then Chet shot him with his Winchester.

Next a screaming woman with the other bad guy's cocked pistol held to her head showed up in the doorway. He said, “Drop them guns or she dies.”

The bartender, holding his wounded arm, backed through the batwing doors into the saloon.

“Now, you there, cowboy—put that rifle down.”

“Go easy,” Chet said, concerned about the safety of the redheaded young woman he was holding the gun to, and he had hold of a fistful of her hair.

“Someone go get me a buckboard for me and her to get out of here.”

“Everyone's in church,” Chet said.

“If you want this woman to live, cowboy, go get me a damn buckboard.”

“I don't live here,” Chet said.

“You better get smart then if you want her to live. If I die, so does she. Find me one.”

“All right, don't hurt her.”

“Cowboy! Drop that gun on your hip, too. I ain't blind.”

Chet used two fingers to pull it out and let it fall in the dust. If there was a buggy or buckboard it would have to be at the church. The steeple of one was somewhere behind this block of businesses.

“I'll go try to find one.”

“You better hurry or this sister is dead.”

Setting out in a run, when he rounded the corner, he saw four men dressed in suits coming on the run with their guns drawn. He waved them back. They halted and he quickly told them he needed a buckboard because the store robber had a young woman as his hostage.

“Don't go out there. The live one who robbed the store is desperate. The only chance we have is to answer his demands and then separate him from the young woman he's got for a hostage. A bartender is shot, but it may not be life threatening. Get me a buckboard and team.”

One younger man nodded and started on the run back for the church.

“How is Crosby?”

“I don't know him.” Chet shook his head.

“He owns the store.”

“I have never met him. I'm new in Arizona. There was a shot inside the store earlier. I don't know anything but a madman has this woman and she needs help.”

“Crosby's a good man,” an older man said, holstering his gun. “I hope they haven't hurt him.”

“The woman he has as a hostage is redheaded,” Chet told them.

“That's Bob Barkley's daughter, Renia.”

Head nods confirmed the fact.

The young man reined up a team beside him. He handed Chet the reins and jumped down. “Be careful.”

“Don't any of you expose yourselves, but be ready to follow his escape.”

The men agreed and headed back for the church. A crowd was coming out.

“Make them stay out of sight.” He pointed at the churchgoers. Then he clucked to the horses and they broke into a run. He slid them around the corner in a cloud of dust.

The outlaw dragged the screaming woman into the street with one arm and waved the pistol in his other hand. Chet stopped and the robber said, “You're going to drive us out of here. No tricks.”

The woman screaming at the top of her lungs and fighting his hold on her hair distracted the outlaw enough that he tried to stop her from escaping. Chet feared he would bust her over the head with his gun. He dove off the buckboard and took him down in a tackle. His right hand had a hold of the wrist with the gun hand. His pistol went off and the shot made Chet scared that, in the cloud of gun smoke, he may have shot her. But she was still using her lungs and kicking the squirming man underneath him. Chet finally struck a blow to the man's midsection that drove the wind out of him, and then Chet wrenched the gun away.

“Don't move.” Three of the churchgoers had their guns pointed at him.

Chet struggled to his feet. “You all right, ma'am?”

Tears streamed down her dust-floured freckled face as she tried to straighten her dress. “Yes, thanks to you, mister.”

“Has someone checked on the bartender?” Chet asked.

“Yes, they've stopped the bleeding,” one of the older men from the church said.

“Crosby's all right,” another of them said, coming outside the store.

“Good,” Chet said. He felt more concerned about the woman, who was obviously upset and sitting on the boardwalk, crying, with her shoulders shaking.

“What's your name?” a tough older man asked the bandit.

“Tim Malone.”

“You wanted?”

The outlaw shrugged.

“Hold it,” Chet said, and put his hands out. “Tie him up and I want three serious men to take him to jail in Preskit.”

“I say hang the sumbitch.”

Chet shook his head. “No. We will see what the law does. He is such a worthless piece of shit. We need law. I'd say hang him too, but let's try the court way.”

“Mister, you did so damn much to solve this without any more losses, most of us will go along with your judgment.”

“I need three men and a buckboard to deliver him and his partner to Sheriff Sims. Who will do it and swear that they will get them there?”

There was some grumbling among the men about lynching them. The four men he'd already met stepped forward. Chet thanked them. “Is the other outlaw dead?”

“Close to it.”

“Do what we can for him. Get a buckboard. Load both men up. Two of you ride guard on horseback, another one can drive. Or two can be on the seat, I don't care, so long as they get there.”

Things began to take shape. He went over to where a burley-built man comforted the woman on the boardwalk.

“My name's Chuck Denton.” The big man shoved his big hand out to shake Chet's. “I owe you for saving her. Renia is my intended wife. She's waiting for a divorce from her husband.”

“Nice to meet you. Renia are you all right?”

She nodded and indicated. “Now that he's here.”

“Take good care of her. She's had a very frightening experience. I imagine the prosecutor will want testimony from you,” he said to warn her.

“You think law is the way to do this?” Denton asked, hugging her to his side.

“Yes. We need to show Arizona has sense enough to become a state.”

“Rob Tagget is a good leader. He's the one in charge of taking them to Preskit.”

“Good. Take good care of her, she's a brave woman to have fought him like she did or I'd never had a chance to jump him.”

“I will, and thanks again.”

Someone brought Chet his own six-gun and rifle. Another led the gray over to him. He thanked them and after dusting off the rifle, he slipped it in the scabbard. Then he used his kerchief to clean his pistol. Checked it over and then he holstered it. His hat came next, and he thanked the bearer.

The bright-eyed older storekeeper in his white apron stuck out his hand. “My name is Crosby. Thanks.”

Chet shook it. “How is the bartender?” he asked the bystander, and looked in that direction.

“They say he was only nicked. They've got him fixed up.”

“Good. He was the first one to come out and shoot at those robbers.”

The church-dressed men had taken charge of the prisoner operation. Malone was loaded and tied down, the unconscious man beside him in the blankets. Two men sat on the buckboard's spring seat in their Sunday suits and one carried a long gun. The other two riders were armed and ready. They left the crowd and Chet mounted on Ono with the can of baking soda in his saddlebags and he rode with them.

There was little conversation. Everyone acted very serious about their task and they wound their way up Mingus Mountain and reached the flat in mid-afternoon. He parted with them at Marge's ranch gate in Preskit Valley and rode up to the house.

Her buggy was parked in front so obviously she was back from church. A boy came on a barefoot run to collect the team and buckboard. He stopped to let Chet go by and hitch his horse.