Blood on the Verde River (7 page)

Mid-afternoon, Chet sat on a stool in the stationary and print shop with a quill pen and paper to write on. He dipped the pen in the inkwell.

He put the pen behind the small strip at the top of the desk. That was enough, he hoped, to hold her until he could get home. He handed the addressed envelope to the young man who worked the shop and paid for the stamp. The letter would get mailed from there.

He met Jesus at the stables about five and they went to eat Mexican food in the barrio. A street vendor lady made them large flour tortilla burritos filed with spicy chili, meat, and beans. They sat on a bench made from a split log and enjoyed her food.

“Did you know that crazy man we saw today in the wagon?” Jesus asked between bites.

“Yes, my first day, I was in Big Nose Kate's saloon and he was smashing a man in the head with his fist. I told him to quit. He threatened me and I gave him a haymaker and knocked him out cold. Must have busted his jaw.”

“I heard the start of that deal. That was him? What was his name?”

“An old-timer said it was Billy Bragg. He works for Old Man Clanton, which put me on his death list.”

“I'll watch for him. He must be loco. Will they try to kill you?”

Chet shrugged. “I am more worried how to get the girl back than about them.”

Jesus nodded.

After supper, Chet sent Jesus to check on JD and see if he needed any help. If JD didn't need him, Jesus was to ride to the ranch and spend the night out there. Chet went back to the Occidental Saloon, hoping to meet Wyatt Earp. Maybe the ex-lawman had some idea what to do with this bunch of slavers.

Wyatt wasn't there, but Chet talked to his brother Virgil. They stood at the end of the bar and spoke softly. The tall Earp wore a thick mustache and the black clothing that was a statement from his cow town days.

“It's hard to prosecute them. Harder to find victims to testify against them. What evidence do you have?”

Chet shook his head, indicating not much. “I'm not a lawman. But they need to be stopped.”

“I agree, but these bandits will only be replaced by more of them.”

Chet nodded. “I know what you mean, but about six months back, there was a big story in the
Globe Dispatch
about two horse thieves and murderers that someone hung in a dry wash at Rye.”

Virgil frowned, then he nodded. “Yes, at the time my brother Morgan and I were up in Globe and we wondered about that deal in the paper.”

“It cured a problem. They'd stolen horses, murdered two good men, raped a woman, and beat up a man in front of his young children. They aren't here anymore to do it again.”

“You answered your own question. These lawbreakers only understand one thing—”

“What do you know about this slaver, Ramaras, down in Sonora?” Chet interrupted, anxious to get the information he needed.

“He's tough. They say he's protected by a private army.”

That was what Chet needed to know. He emptied his glass and set it on the bar. “Nice talking to you. I appreciate your information.” He shook Virgil's hand and left the saloon.

No message had come from JD at the livery so Chet rode out to the Hampton ranch. When he was unsaddling, Ira came out from the house and spoke to him.

“You doing any good on your quest?”

“Some, Ira. We've found some good leads.”

“That's a miracle.”

“I know, and there is a chance she's alive, but getting her back could be a tough deal.”

“You have a hard job.”

“I have been running the family ranch for near two decades. Comanche kidnapped my siblings. Three of them. My father invested his life to find them and came home broken down mentally and physically. My mother lost her mind over that very thing. I have been running down loose ends since I was sixteen or so.”

“Then you came to Arizona?” Ira looked amused at him.

“No, a family feud drove me here. They murdered my brother in Kansas while he was driving a herd to the stockyards. I had to move out. I couldn't cover every one of us.”

“Well, I hope you find her.”

Chet nodded. He did too. In the shed, he dropped into his bedroll. It was not a good sleep but a troubled one. In his dreams, they had found her, but she disappeared from them into the fog. He woke in the hot night, his hair wet with sweat—he couldn't let that happen.
Wouldn't
let that happen. He shook his head and tried to sleep some more, but found himself awake and got up. He went behind the shed, took a cold shower, dried and put on his pants and came back around the shed.

“You can't sleep?” The voice came from the shadows when he walked back to the bedrolls.

“Bee?”

“Oh, when I can't sleep, I get up, study the stars, and listen to the crickets.” Wrapped in a belted robe, she stepped off the porch and motioned to one of the buggy seats on the ground for him to take a seat next to her. “Folks who can't sleep must share some of the same haints.”

“I was dreaming. Shocked me awake.” He buttoned his shirt, then sat down and rubbed his face in his hands. He still needed to shave when it got to be daylight.

“Tell me about your wife. I figure she's a special person.”

“She is. Marge's first husband was killed in the war. He must have been Union. An officer. She was very young. Her family moved to Arizona from Kansas and she met her number two. He was off riding by himself, got thrown and broke his neck. Then she met me. I had a woman in Texas at the time. Not my wife, but we were close. In the end, she had to remain in Texas and care for her parents. I had to come here.”

“Sad?”

“Yes, but there was no way I could stay in Texas. I had committed all of us to come to Arizona.”

“So you married this women.”

“Marge. Yes, a great lady who puts up with me.”

“You wouldn't be hard to put up with. She married a white knight. When challenged, you rise to the occasion. She knew you well enough to expect that from you.”

He nodded his agreement. “I sent her a note today at the stationary store and the man there mailed it for me. Told her I hoped she and our unborn were all right.”

“First one?”

“Yes. She's never carried one full term. We have our fingers crossed.”

“Kids are wonderful. Ira and I lost our two children to disease after we came here.”

“They tell you what it was?”

“They guessed, I suppose. It didn't help.”

He agreed. “I better go and try to get some more sleep. Tomorrow may be a big day.”

She rose and nodded. “I will sleep knowing you are here.”

“That isn't much.” He chuckled and they parted.

Back in his bedroll, he drifted in and out of sleep. At Bee's triangle ringing in the first pink of dawn, he got up and nodded to Jesus who was in the shadows, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “We'll get some home-cooked food this morning.”

“That would be good.”

They ate a generous breakfast at the house and thanked her. When they went to saddle their horses, he noticed the two grave markers on the rise north of the house. Poor woman. He thought about Marge.
Lord let that child join us.

They rode into Tombstone and JD was at the livery waiting for them. In the street, they dismounted and Chet asked him what he knew.

“Whittle committed suicide last night.”

“Damn. That cuts off us from contacting Ramaras through him, right?”

“I guess. She said we drove him to it,” JD said.

“No, he committed suicide because he was caught red-handed and expected to go to prison. Of course, we had no final evidence to prove it, but he didn't know that. We're going to ride to the Baca Hacienda and make Ramaras an offer for Bonnie's return.”

“He'll want lots of money, I bet,” JD said, looking troubled.

Chet shook his head. “We have one chance. I think I have a key to open the door down there.”

“What is that?” JD asked.

“Some of the Barbarossa blood stock we have.”

JD looked aghast. “Wow. He might exchange her for some of them.”

“He can't buy any of those blood lines anywhere. I have the only stallion and his colt that is outside that hacienda.”

“It damn sure might just work.”

“That is the golden stud I saw at the Verde Ranch?” Jesus asked. “Oh, he is a fleet one.”

“If Baca won't do it, I doubt we can storm his place and survive to get her out.”

“What do we do right now?” JD asked.

“We send him a letter and ask if he would trade her for a Barbarous stud colt and maybe a filly or two. There is no sense in us storming a castle.”

“How in the hell will we find out his address?”

“I think that could be done. Jesus, you will have to dictate the letter in Spanish.”

“Tell me what you want me to tell him and I will simply go down there and tell him for you.”

Chet shook his head. “No, I need to do that in a letter first and then go down there.”

“And by damn, we need to go with you,” JD said. “Surely to God, he won't kill us if we have something he really wants every bit as bad as he wants her.”

“Tomorrow we will head south—” Chet saw Marshal White coming toward the livery. “Morning, Marshal.”

“I guess you know it. Whittle committed suicide last night.”

“He don't have any cactus needles under his nail from us.”

“His wife says you three caused it. You can't prosecute anyone for causing a suicide. But she's got folks up in arms.”

“He admitted to us yesterday that he lured Bonnie Allen to Ramaras, who sold her in Mexico.”

“There will be lots of folks at his funeral.”

“That no-good son of a bitch was not a nice little man. Bonnie wasn't Whittle's first one, either. He threatened another girl who quit the trade. He was a white slaver. He expected to be prosecuted and took the short way out.”

“I understand. I appreciate you coming to me yesterday. He simply had many of us fooled.”

“We're going to Mexico in the morning.”

White looked taken aback. “If you three are going to Mexico, I'll pray for your souls.”

“Good,” Chet said. “We'll need lots of prayers. Plenty of them and candles burning at the altar.”

Mexico wasn't all blaring trumpets. Two days later, they were eighty miles of desert south of the U.S. border in a small village called Costa Something. All they could see was more Mexican thorny desert. There were lots of hip-shaking women in the cantina. Castanets were cracking and guitars were strumming like bumble bees in the background, then some would-be trumpet player would raise up and play the song Santa Anna had played for the Alamo defenders—“No Quarter Given.”

Chet, JD, and Jesus drank red wine and watched the cantina activity as they ate fire-roasted chicken off the bones set in a big dish in the center of their table. The tortillas were hot and freshly made.

“How much farther to Baca's Hacienda?” Chet asked the bartender after they'd finished eating.

“Another hot day's long ride, señor.”

“Good, we can finally get there.” Chet thanked him, paid his bill, and he and Jesus left. JD was in the doorway, kissing a lovely brown-skinned girl good-bye and promising her he'd be back for her one day.

Halfway down the street, Chet and Jesus were laughing about him. They turned in the saddle when he shouted, “Wait, I'm coming.”

In a small village named St. James, they found a small cantina and a bartender who told them how to find the Baca Hacienda. Sitting on homemade benches at tables, JD and Jesus drank a local-made, thick beer and Chet had a glass of red wine. From behind the one long board on top of barrels for a bar, the man talked to them about the three whores who were sleeping and how much beer cost him.

“I can wake them up if you want to use one.”

“No, not today.” Chet waved his offer away.

“But they are beautiful, señor.”

Chet shook his head. They needed to eat supper and find a place to camp for the night. In the morning, they'd make the ride out to Baca's ranchero.

They left the cantina and found a place to camp along the small running river and bought a burro load of firewood for a quarter. About sunset, three riders stopped by their camp. They weren't ordinary vaqueros and Chet noted they were well armed.

The one who appeared in charge, said, “Good evening señor. I hear you wish to speak to my patron, Don Baca.”

“Yes, if it's no trouble. I wish to talk to him about a colt I have. I'd like to bargain with him.”

The man shook his head. “Señor Baca does not need any gringo horses. He has some great stallions already of his own.”

“My colt is a Barbarossa bred horse.”

“You have such a horse?” The man with the thick mustache ran his finger under his nose and looked hard at him.

“Yes. I have a great stallion from that ranch.”

The vaquero shook his heavy sombrero in disbelief. “No one has one of those outside that ranch. They geld all of them they sell.”

“A boy on a mare once outran their best horse in a race, winning the horse for service to his mare. He sold me this horse, the only one outside of the hacienda. Will the señor talk to me?”

Very serious-like the man nodded. “I will tell him you are coming. Your name, señor?”

“Chet Byrnes, Quarter Circle Z Ranch at Camp Verde, Arizona Territory.”

The man swept off his sombrero and bowed. “Welcome to our hacienda, Señor Byrnes. I am sure the patron will talk to you in the morning at the main casa. My name is Sanchez.”

“Give my regards to your patron, Sanchez. We will be glad to meet him at last.”

“You are a long way from home, no?”

“A very long way.”

“
Adiós, señor.
We have to get back now.” Sanchez nodded to Chet's men, remounted, and the three riders left.

“Why in the hell did he come here?” JD asked.

“He's the ranch security force. Three strangers from another land come to see his rich boss. His job is to check us out.” Chet sloughed it off as pure business.

“I guess. Do you think Baca will trade for her?”

“We've got a shot at getting her if she's there. It's the only thing I could figure out, save we charge in, firing both pistols at the same time.”

JD laughed. “None of us have another pistol. That would be wild.”

Chet shrugged. “We have to try something.”

“No, no. Chet it's a good idea. You always seem to come up with good ideas. I never thought you'd sell those colts to the guy who bought the Texas ranch, but that money saved us a long trek by riding the rails to west Texas before we had to drive the rest of the way to Arizona.”

Chet agreed. “Tomorrow we learn Bonnie's fate, guys. Let's get some sleep.”

 

 

Next morning, the three drew some stares as they rode by the hacienda's ag projects—orchards, vineyards, vegetables, and crops of alfalfa and corn.

“Be calm,” Chet reminded them. “We are guests of these people. Don't do anything rash. We didn't come to fight them, no matter how this comes out.”

JD and Jesus nodded, looking serious. After a moment, JD shook his head. “We're badly out numbered by the damn field workers alone.”

“Indeed, we are,” Chet said.

Sanchez was waiting for them when they reached the large sprawling house. He removed his sombrero and greeted them. “Good morning, amigos. My men will put up your horses. The women have food fixed for you in the kitchen.”

Chet nodded in the lead. “That is very generous.”

“Oh, you are a guest of my patron.”

“I look forward to meeting him.”

Sanchez escorted them to the rich-smelling kitchen. They were seated at a long table by the woman in change. The young women who worked there were excited about their guests, pouring coffee into mugs and serving them. Plates piled high with food soon were set before them by the young workers, drawing Spanish from both of Chet's men to talk with their waitresses.

Chet thanked the lady in charge and dug in. No utensils were necessary as they ate flour tortillas rich with strips of tender beef, cheese, salsa, and black beans. The three had a good meal.

When they finished, Sanchez came and invited Chet to meet the patron.

Leaving JD and Jesus in the kitchen, Chet followed Sanchez to a small parlor.

Don Baca was a silver-headed man in a fine Mexican suit. He sat at a high back chair behind a desk with hand-carved features. He rose to greet Chet, extending his hand for a shake, and then motioned for him to take a chair. “Nice to meet you, señor.”

“Don, my name is Chet.”

“My segundo was very impressed by your story. He's says you own a stallion from the Barbarossa Hacienda.”

“Yes. He's a wonderful golden horse. I know of no other that is not on that ranch.”

Baca agreed. “But why ride so far to talk to me about him?”

“Because I have a question to ask you. I was told you have a young woman here named Bonnie Allen. Her mother sent me to bring her home.”

“Why would I have her?”

“I am not making judgment. If you have her or you can get her for me, I will continue the discussion about the colt.”

“Can you describe her?”

“Better yet, I have a picture of her.” Chet half rose and took it from his vest.

Baca looked hard at the locket framed picture. His stone face never showed any emotion or recognition as he handed it back. “What if I do not have such a woman?”

“Then I will continue my quest.”

“You are a very determined man.”

“I am.” Chet's stomach did a flip-flop. Was Baca playing games or wasn't she there? Up to that moment Chet had been convinced Bonnie Allen was there. Was the man lying? Hard to tell.

“I am told you have some large ranch holdings in Arizona.”

“We're busy. How do you know about me?”

“I make it my business to know the men I want to do business with.”

Chet nodded at his words. Baca damn sure was thorough. “That is fine. I am here for one thing, the return of the woman. I came to offer you a trade for her safe recovery. I have a fine Barbarossa colt. I would not sell him for a million dollars cash, but I would trade him for her.”

“Has anyone offered you that much for the colt?”

Ready to tell him his real feelings, Chet shook his head. “He and my stallion are the only intact males off that ranch.”

Baca tapped the desk with a fingernail. “I am amazed you rode down here with two boys. Mexico is a dangerous land.”

“Those boys are men. If we had been challenged, I would not have worried. They're serious.”

“What if you have lied to me about this horse's blood lines?”

“I don't have to lie about that. You will be proud of him.”

Baca looked at Chet for a moment as if piecing something together. “Where will you look next for her?”

“I'll trace down more leads.”

“What if she isn't alive?”

“I'd need to find out who buried her and get thorough proof she's dead.”

Baca shifted slightly in his chair. “So you thought I had her and needed your colt. I am amazed at your skills. You must be a success at ranching.”

“I work hard at that too. We are furnishing cattle now to the Navajo Agency.”

Baca shook his head. “Start for home, mi amigo. In the morning, if I can find her, she will join you. My segundo will come for the colt in the fall when it is cooler.”

“What if you can't find her?”

Baca shrugged. “Then, as you say, you will go on looking for her.”

“That, I plan to do, sir.”

“Yes, I believe you. You are a determined man, Byrnes.”

“Thanks for your talking to me today. You have a beautiful hacienda.” Chet left the man at his desk and went back to the kitchen, wondering, did Baca have her? Would he trade? Chet felt he had stuck a pin in the man, but he'd make a great poker player.

“Get the horses,” he said to his men busy flirting casually with the kitchen girls gathered around them. “We're going home.”

JD gave him a questioning look.

Chet dismissed the inquiry and tossed his head. “Let's go.”

They kissed the girls on the cheek and fell in behind him. Their horses were hitched at the rack. Sanchez was not in sight. Ready to mount the roan, Chet decided to tell them part of the story. “We can talk on the road. The issue is not resolved—yet.”

Satisfied, both nodded. The three rode away from the great house. On the dusty road going north, Chet began. “The matter isn't settled. Baca said if he could find her, he'd deliver her to us in camp in the morning and for us to head for home now.”

“What about the colt trade?” JD asked.

“If he finds her, he says Sanchez will come in the fall for the colt.”

“He must trust you.”

Chet nodded. “He must. But he never admitted he had her.”

“We could never find her if they had her hidden on the ranch.” Jesus shook his head. “Such a huge place.”

“Aw, hell, Jesus give us a break. We want her and if she's there, we'd find her,” JD said.

They laughed, but Chet felt it was an uneasy one. He looked back at the red tile roof behind him. He still didn't know this Don Baca and probably would never know him well enough. Behind that poker player façade, Baca was a complicated man. Chet couldn't congratulate himself for his idea of making a trade. It would only work if they received Bonnie Allen in their camp.

His thoughts turned to his wife. How was she? They'd be well over a week getting home—maybe ten days. He shuddered. Just so that it all wasn't in vain....