Blood on the Verde River (17 page)

“I don't believe it was them. Uele swears all the time.”

“Thanks. I'll listen closer. Who rides a bay horse with a crooked right leg?”

Charles squeezed his chin. “Bay horse?”

“Both that lady and the Yeagers saw all bay horses go by. But one has a crooked leg. I figure he's special. Jesus discovered it and saw one of those prints in the deputy's front yard the same day we went to see him.”

“What did he have to say about that?”

“We never got to ask him. He ran us off. Roamer has gone to ask the sheriff in Globe if he can find out from Franklin who was at his house before we got there.”

“Roamer is still on the road?”

“Yes, and I'd bet Franklin pleads he can't recall if we do get the sheriff's help.” Uneasy about their progress, Chet felt at a stone wall about the outlaws. “So far, we can't find that horse, but if we do, we'll have the outlaws.”

“What else do you have on them?” Charles frowned at him.

“Annie Smart will identify him.”

“Wow. You have a hoofprint and you stayed to find the owner.”

“Charles, if they get away with this robbery, who will they prey on next?”

He agreed with a slow nod. “Anyone, huh?”

“We chased them maybe a hundred miles and then they vanished when they got here. We checked the road north and south. They never left Rye. Next day, the hoofprint was in that deputy's yard.”

“I've never been in law work, but I understand you guys work damn hard to follow such little details. Thanks.”

They rode downhill to another water tank that had been built with horses and slips. Charles pointed out the rock spillway. “This is all fill dirt and holds good. My first one had no spillway and it wasn't rocked and washed away in a flash flood. We used a level on a tripod and a stick with marks to make that spillway.”

“How long did it take to build it?”

“Maybe three months. I had two men and teams working on it.”

“They moved lots of dirt.” Chet knew such an operation would work in some places on the Hackberry ranch.

“I choose this spot because I knew it had filled in with dirt over the years. I would not have tried this way with lots of rock under it. I was lucky.”

Chet agreed and they rode on.

Finally satisfied he'd learned enough from his new friend about water holding tanks, he went back to their camp. He found Roamer there and stepped off his horse to shake his hand. He didn't look pleased and Chet expected the worst. “How did it go?”

“I got a letter from him and I went by to see Franklin when I rode in. His reply was ‘How the hell am I supposed to know who it was?'”

Chet nodded. “I feared that.”

Jesus came into camp on the fly and everyone jumped up to see what was wrong.

“The crooked legged horse was hitched at the saloon when I left Rye. I don't know who rode him in, but he must be inside.” Jesus's voice hitched as he took in gulps of air.

“Saddle up, we have the lead we need boys,” Chet said.

The men scrambled to their horses. They charged for the settlement and reined up short on the main road. Roamer put Haze and Lefty to cover the back door. They swung off. Armed with their rifles, no one would get out the rear exit alive.

When the rest came in view of saloon, Jesus pointed out the second horse at the hitch rail. “That's him. I was crossing the street and saw the track. I have no idea if any more of them are in there.”

Chet nodded. “You stay out here. Roamer, are you taking the lead?”

“I can do that.” He tried his six-gun and dropped it back in the holster then nodded at them.

“I'm right behind you.” Both men gave Jesus their reins and he headed to hitch all three horses on the opposite side of the wide street.

Chet's vision centered on the faded-green, batwing doors. He slipped between the famous horse and noted the 74T brand on the left shoulder. He saw the crooked leg, but it was a powerful horse and that's why the outlaw rode him.

“Ready?” Roamer asked in a low voice from the boardwalk.

“I am.”

They went through the batwing door, Roamer stepping immediately to left, ready to draw. Chet followed, hoping his eyes were ready for the dim-lighted saloon interior. His hand rested on his walnut gun butt.

“Who owns the Seventy-four T branded horse?” Chet demanded.

“I do.” A man with a trimmed beard rose at a table of card players. “What's wrong with him?”

“He was involved in a stage robbery. You're under arrest. Make one move and you're dead,” Roamer said.

“You sonsabitches can't arrest me. You don't have any authority in Gila County.”

“I'm a deputy U.S. marshal and that robbery was involved with a U.S. mail carrier,” Roamer said. “Put your hands in the air.”

“What's your name?” Chet asked the arrested one, impressed by Roamer's authority speech.

“None of your damn business.”

“We'll learn it soon enough. What's his name?” Roamer asked the quiet crowd of customers.

“John Marconi.”

Roamer disarmed him and asked the crowd, “Any others in here come in with him?”

“He came in alone,” called out a customer.

“But he's got two brothers. Jimbo and Riley,” called out another.

“That's three. Who else rides with them?” The cuffs on Marconi's wrist, Roamer shoved him toward the bar.

“Ole Man Marconi. His name is Olaf,” provided a man at the bar.

“Thanks. I got it.” Gun in his holster, Chet leaned against the bar and penciled in the names of the four men in his herd book.

“Set up the beer,” Chet said to the barkeep. “I'm buying one round for every man in here.”

A cheer went up. One man went over to Chet. “They have a place down on Tonto Creek. They've been suspects in several crimes and no one ever proved it. How did you catch him?”

“His horse. But we have witnesses that will identify them.”

“His old man gets word you've got him, they may try to get him back.”

Chet agreed. “They better wear their best suits or they'll be buried in the dusty clothes like he has on.”

“I can tell you they're sure enough tough.”

Chet shook his head to dismiss any concern. He watched Roamer searching the prisoner's pockets. He put those items on the bar and the three one-hundred-dollar bills looked very suggestive.

The deputy looked at Chet. “Can you write down the serial numbers? Wells Fargo has a record of them in Preskitt.”

Chet laughed. “That will be damn good evidence.”

“Damn right.”

“What in the hell is going on in here?” Franklin busted though the batwing doors and stood, openly challenging them.

“Hold on, Franklin.” Roamer put his hand up to stop him. “I am a deputy U.S marshal and this man is my prisoner.”

“You ain't got any—”

“Señor, take your hand off that pistol. The marshal has told you who he is.” Jesus said from behind Franklin and backed up his words with a Winchester on his hip.

“All right. All right. He's a marshal. He never told me that before.”

“Do you know where this guy's family lives, Franklin?” Chet asked.

“Over on Tonto Creek.”

“Could you show us the place?”

“I ain't got time.” He turned to go out the doors.

“Maybe your boss would like to hear that comment,” Roamer said.

“Tell him.” Franklin went outside like a mad bulldog.

Roamer nodded in the direction of the prisoner, said to Chet, “Watch him,” and went to the door. Holding it open, he shouted, “That's the man who was at your house the day we came to see you . . . the one you didn't remember.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Roamer came back into the bar. “Thanks, Jesus. I don't think he'd have shot us, but you'd never know.”

Jesus nodded and went back outside.

Haze came in the back door and caused everyone to whirl around and look at him.

“He's my deputy,” Roamer said quickly.

“Any problems in here?” Haze asked.

Roamer shook his head. “Tell Lefty to come on in. This is John Marconi, and he has three hundred dollar bills that should trace to the robbery.”

“Let me see one,” Haze said. “I've never seen one in my life.”

Roamer laughed and so did Chet, who handed him one of the bills. He felt much better now that they had solid evidence and knew the names of the other outlaws. Rye, at least, wasn't a dead end for their search. The criminals would not get away into nowhere. They had been found and identified, although he had never heard their names in the time he'd spent in the settlement. Strange—except the bandit's family lived east of Four Peaks range. They lived at a good distance from Rye by the mountain barrier.

“What had he been doing in Franklin's yard that morning?” Haze asked, looking at them for an answer.

“Testing the water about what Franklin knew about us, I'd bet,” Chet said, deciding there was a link to Franklin.

Lefty joined them and Chet offered him and Haze a beer.

They accepted.

The bartender said, “There's food on the counter. Better eat.”

“Thanks,” came the chorus.

Roamer took Chet aside. “How soon will his bunch learn about his arrest?”

“Tomorrow. I figure someone has already left to tell the rest of the Marconis, and will ride a horse into the ground to get there. They will scatter like quail. Exposure will make them panic. They thought they had gotten away free. They never would have realized a young man would memorize a horse's hoofprint and one of them would ride that horse into Rye and be discovered.”

“Hey,” Roamer said. “We have had it tough on this case and I knew when I left Marge's I needed you. Thanks for catching up.”

“Two heads are always better than one.” Chet was proud of his friend. He felt they made a good team and the Marconi family would soon be behind bars.

“So before dawn we ride to their ranch?”

Chet nodded. “I'm game. They may meet us on the road coming to get him back.”

“I thought about that. He can ride in the middle of us so they'll not chance shooting him.”

They feasted on the lunch and several of the curious soon filled the barroom.

Charles came by and spoke to Chet. “The Marconis never entered my mind. A tough bunch. They've been in some scrapes before. I bet there are some individuals under the ground that were robbed and then killed. Riley McCain disappeared coming back from Globe with money from selling a ranch down near Mexico. They never found his body or any sign of the money.”

Interested, Chet asked, “What about his horse?”

“They never found him, either.”

“Shoot the man and the horse?”

“No sign of them was ever found.” Charles shook his head.

“You ever been to their place?” Roamer asked.

“Once or twice. It's a stinking hog farm. Whew. Almost turned me off from eating bacon.”

“Interesting,” Chet said. “I was in Abilene with a large of our cattle the second year of its operating. Culls, like limpers, calves and cows were sold for a few bucks to local farmers who'd shoot them and leave 'em for the hogs to feed on.”

“Oh, that's sickening.”

Chet knew the rest of the story. “Veterans who fought in the civil war always said they asked their buddies not to let the hogs have their dead bodies if they got shot in a battle.”

“No way to prove that happened,” Roamer reminded them.

“No, those hams won't talk.”

“I don't know how many friends they have here, but we should move him to our camp,” Chet said, concerned dark would catch them riding back.

“Get ready to ride,” Roamer said and went to get his prisoner who had been chained to a chair on the side of the room.

Lefty and Haze went out to help Jesus get the horses. Without an incident, they mounted the prisoner, Lefty having the lead on his horse. “Jesus was right. That's a great horse and his front leg is crooked, but he don't show it. Where did you steal him, Marconi?”

“Go to hell. You ain't got anything on me.”

Roamer overheard. “You got a smart lip for a man going to jail in Yuma for ten years. I may soften it. Where did you get that horse?”

“I bought him.”

“Where?”

“Globe.”

“Who sold him?”

“I don't recall.”

“I'll write the sheriff and ask,” Roamer said. “I figure that horse was stolen and we can sentence you to three more years.”

“No need to do that. I remember his name. It was Holland who owned him. Jesse Holland.”

Chet shook his head at Roamer. The man on the horse before him was lying.

Unspoken, Roamer agreed.

The posse mounted and headed toward Tonto Creek. As he rode, Chet's mind went in one direction then another. It would be weeks before they knew about the source of that horse. He was becoming uneasy about the days away. They sure needed to close this operation. What if the others already had been warned and fled. Never mind, the posse faced two days getting to the place and five days getting back to Preskitt.

His thoughts turned to family.
Marge, I am coming
. Setting up the cattle sales to the Navajo were going on as he rode farther away. Reg still needed more help than the two posse men who were currently riding with Roamer.