Blood on the Verde River (10 page)

Reg's haystacks looked like giant teepees. He had lots of hay ready for winter. He explained how he'd need tall fences to keep out the elk when winter drew closer. Chet figured Lucy was behind that notion. She'd lived in that country and knew what problems to expect. The mowed land did look like a checkerboard haircut, but it had solved his hay situation for the year.

The building projects were moving on. Reg showed where he wanted to plant alfalfa. He was going to rail fence it, then plow and clear the patches of sagebrush.

How he'd become such a farmer, Chet blamed on Lucy. He sounded like someone else he knew and chuckled to himself.

“Tomorrow we'll go chase mavericks,” Lucy said when they were riding back. “We have some rank old range bulls that need to be cut and branded.”

“Sounds like fun,” Chet said.

“It will be,” Reg said. “Right now, I am planning to have about a hundred good cows on this outfit by next spring. Will any of your Hereford bull calves be big enough?”

Chet laughed. “No, but we can buy some.”

“I think we have a hundred fifty big steers, barren cows that we can sell this winter,” Reg said.

“We're delivering for October now. I think we'll be all right for then. Tom and I bought some cattle at the dance.”

“Things will get tight in the winter for buying cattle, won't they?”

“Not for a while. There's lots of cattle we can buy in north Arizona and folks will be glad to sell them. But in time, we may need to import some from other areas.”

“There are a lot of Mormon ranchers in the White Mountains. They may be able to supply some.”

“I'll have to find them.”

Reg agreed.

 

 

The next morning they set out to catch more cattle. As they rode, Reg told Chet how to catch them. “Rope the big guys around the horns—no small feat—and then ride past them, throw the rope over their back, and head south. That will flip them over. Lucy or I will use a pigging string to tie the legs up while the bull is stunned by the flip.”

They located three older males in the brush and eased them into an open area. The bulls weren't moving fast, but Chet knew that didn't mean they couldn't run and charge. He watched as Lucy and Reg caught the first bull.

Lucy swung a large loop over her head and sent the blocky gray horse in for the kill. Her rope sailed from her hands and dropped dead center over horns on both sides. She jerked any slack then spurred the gray until he was running beside the bull. In place, she flipped the rope across the bull's butt and turned her horse aside, wrapping the rope on the saddle horn. She was riding south.
El toro
was going west. When the wreck came, the bull did a somersault and Reg rode up to do the tying. Lucy had swung her horse around and was reeling up her rope.

Chet rode up to them. “Nice job.”

“It's easy to do on these big bulls. They're old and not hard to catch. Them yearling mavericks can really run,” Lucy said.

“Oh. I can see that. JD told me you two were great at this business.”

“He's a good hand with a rope, too. He just hasn't done as much roping as Reg and I have.”

Chet shook his head. “No, you two are an unbelievable team at this job.”

“Reg broke this gray horse for me. Dad bought him a few years ago, but I never could ride him. He threw all of us girls, but after a week of Reg riding him and roping off him, I got him back. He's a great tough horse, but I'm still careful. I think sometimes he may try to buck me off again.”

Reg stood and mounted his horse. “Go get the black one next,” he told her and reined his horse around.

Chet stayed and built the fire they'd need to brand the cattle. The third bull was tougher and took up trying to hook them with his horns. A mature longhorn bull had long thick horns, unlike steers whose seldom got very long. The dark hided one obviously had a temper and when they rode up on him, he'd charge and cause them to quickly ride away.

Watching the pair ride in and out, Chet was ready to shoot the damn bull and let the buzzards have him. But Reg and Lucy were dedicated to subduing him. Lucy finally roped him. Reg made a pass to distract him and the bull charged him. She flipped the rope over his back, charged off to the side and threw the bull on his back—hard. The collision about unrooted the gray, but she rode it out.

Reg was off his horse immediately and three-footed him. By then, the bull was really mad, but all he could do was strain on the pigging string, a rope thick enough to hold a ship in dock. He flopped on his side like a helpless fish out of water and bellowed.

The irons were hot. Reg swiftly removed the first bull's seeds while Chet slapped the brand on him. Lucy ducked in and notched his ear.

“Leave him tied,” Reg said to them. “We'll do the other two and they can lay here all day. We can come back and turn them loose later. It will teach them to be humble.”

Everyone laughed. Branding completed, they put out the small fire carefully. Using canteen water they completed that job, then rode off looking for more mavericks. Chet enjoyed the company of the two. Lucy fed them some fried apple pies she had made the night before.

“How many more mavericks are up here?” Chet asked them.

“We don't know. Lots of them drifted up here over the years.”

“There are lots of lazy ranchers, too,” Lucy said. “They have had no easy markets so the incentive to work cattle wasn't there. My dad and a few others drove some cattle and sold them to the miners down on the Bill Williams River. We also drove some down to the Colorado River and sold them. The Havasupai Agency has also bought our cattle. It wasn't much, but that's how we survived living up here. “We also butchered cattle and sold the meat to wagon trains on the trail west.”

“When we're ready to ship cattle from up here, I'll be sure to buy some cattle from your dad and the others who have worked so hard,” Chet said.

She slapped the saddle horn. “They'll, by damn, be glad to hear that news.” Then she shook her head. “I guess a wife shouldn't cuss, sorry.”

Reg rode in leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Lucy, we don't give a damn.”

They laughed some more. Before the day was over they'd branded six more younger cattle. Swinging their ropes and laughing with Chet, they rode by and untied the former bulls who staggered to their feet with little fight left in them from being tied all day. It was near sundown when they reached the ranch. The cook, Harry, waved them over.

“I saved you three supper. Had to use a hard spoon on a few of them hands but we have it.”

“You're the greatest,” Lucy said as she dismounted.

A youth named Willy took their horses and Chet shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Willy.”

“Reg talks about you all the time. Him and his brother had a real life in Texas growing up with you.”

“Yes, a tough time, but we made it. Thanks for taking care of the horses.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That's Lucy's cousin,” Reg said. “He's making a hand.”

Harry told them the hay crew was heading home in the morning. “They have it all stacked.”

Chet was glad. His hay contractor at Camp Verde needed them back. “I'll see them off and thank them.”

They took places at the table and were joined by some of the workers. Chet stood to speak. “Next year, we'll need mowers, rakes, teams, and a beaver-board for this place. I guess we need a couple plows and teams for this winter.”

“Mr. Byrnes, where is your next ranch going to be?” one of the men asked.

“I don't know. I have more now than I can over-see.”

“Hey, some of us have been working for you for over a year. We sure like working for you. We hope you have more for us to do.”

“Thanks. I appreciate all of you mechanics. This is a long way from your families, but you all have done a great job. Maybe we can form a company back in Preskitt to do construction and you can work near home. I'll look into it.”

A cheer went up. “Some of you know Jenn from the café. Two of my men—one was Reg's brother JD—and I went to Mexico and brought her daughter Bonnie Allen back from the hands of some evil men.”

“You need to be the damn sheriff,” someone shouted.

Chet held up his hands and smiled. “I could not hire all of you as deputies.”

Laughter rippled in the crew.

He sat down to eat and gently elbowed Lucy beside him. Under his breath, he asked, “Did you two save those three bulls for me?”

“Naw, we've been practicing our roping on others until we figured we were tough enough to take them three on and win.”

Chet chuckled and then thanked the cook for the good food.

No one had to rock him to sleep that night.

 

 

In the morning, they ate with the crew, then rode out to look at some areas Reg and Lucy thought would make good tank sites to develop water resources.

Rather than return to the ranch in the afternoon, they rode into Hackberry. Lucy went to get some things at the mercantile and Chet and Reg went to get a beer in the saloon. Behind the batwing doors, a bitter smell of nicotine and pine sawdust filled Chet's nose.

A few men played cards under a candlelight wagon wheel overhead. The mustached bartender welcomed them and wiped the bar with a towel where they choose to stand.

“Two beers,” Chet said.

The barman frowned. “I've met you before, haven't I? You don't live around here.”

“Chet Byrnes. I arrested some men here over a year ago.”

The bartender nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I knew I'd seen your face before. You chained them up with a lock and chain, then hired a wagon to take them back. You still in law enforcement?”

“No,” Reg said. “He owns the Quarter Circle Z Ranch on the Verde.”

“I'll be damned. Nice to meet you at last. Them construction workers come in here every Saturday night. Sure helps my business.”

“Good,” Chet said, then tossed his head at a table. He and Reg retired with their beers in hand.

“This is a quiet place compared to Preskitt and damn sure lots slower than Tombstone,” Chet pointed out.

“I heard it was wild.”

“That is mild to reality. I met some famous people from the cattle towns of Kansas. The Earp brothers, Doc Holliday. He's a lunger who plays cards and pulls teeth. The sheriff is in bed with the outlaws who supply the army and Indian agencies with beef and who hold up stages. Marshal White keeps things down in town.”

“I heard that Tucson Ring is really tough.”

“Yes. I guess they control everything. They want all the soldiers to stay in the territory. That means big bucks to them.”

Reg changed the subject. “I guess you've sold more cattle to the Navajos.”

“Sarge is in charge of this month's delivery. They liked the cattle we delivered.”

Three men came in the saloon. All in their twenties, they wore six-guns and swaggered up to the bar. The leader had his hand on his gun butt. “Hey bring us a bottle of whiskey and point out them gawddamn rustlers from the Quarter Circle Z to us. We've got a bone to pick with them.” His loud words broke up the card game and chairs were turned over as the gamblers backed to the wall in alarm.

Chet put his hand out to stay Reg. He rose slow-like. His right hand itched, but he had to think, not shoot. Innocent people could die in any wild crossfire. “You got some invisible brands we ain't seen?”

“You can't come up here and brand every calf out there.”

“You the law?”

“By Gawd, we aim to make the law. Those cattle belong to the local ranchers.”

“My name's Byrnes. I own that brand and those unbranded cattle belong to the rancher who catches them unmarked.”

“Steward's ours. We intend to stop you.”

“No, you either intend to die in those clothes or do a term in Yuma County prison if you even try.”

“You can't shoot all three of us—”

“I can,” Lucy said, parting the batwing doors. She fired a rifle shot into the floor.

In the deafening blast and the choking gun smoke that boiled up, the three found themselves covered by Chet's and Reg's drawn pistols.

“Get your hands up and get out of here,” Lucy ordered.

Her rifle barrel pointed at them, the three men walked outside, followed by Chet and Reg.

On the boardwalk, Chet disarmed them and shoved them to the wall of the saloon to check for more weapons The card players stumbled outside coughing on the smoke.

“Damn Lucy. Next time use a smaller caliber.” The man's words echoed with laughter from the crowd.

Chet was satisfied the gunmen were disarmed. He stepped back and looked at Reg. “You have a justice of the peace up here?”

“Sam Goody. What do you intend to do?” Reg asked.

“Someone go get Sam,” one of the card players said and a boy set out saying he'd get him.

In twenty minutes, court was set up in the aired-out saloon and the word was out. People rushed to make the event. The saloon was filled with men and, on the porch to listen, were the womenfolk and kids.

In a rumbled suit, Sam sat on top of the bar with a wooden mallet and block of wood to control order and hear the case. He was a short, fat man with small eyes and a white beard with a loud voice rusted from shouting. “Order in the court.” He slammed the hammer on the board. “By the laws of the territory of Arizona this court is now in session. Any one making an outbreak will be fined ten dollars. Am I clear?”