Deadly Is the Night (23 page)

He strode by him for the bar. When he reached it he leaned toward the bartender. “I am a U.S. marshal. Give me, very easy, the sawed-off shotgun from under the bar. I assume it is loaded?”

The man gave a wooden nod and he slipped the sawed-off gun out to him. Chet whirled with it in his hands and pressed both barrels to Sutter's back.

“You are under arrest, Ralph Sutter. You can live or die right now. Everyone, I am a U.S. marshal. My name is Byrnes. Those two with their guns drawn are my deputies. We are only here to arrest this man. No one will get hurt if you all remain calm. Rise, Sutter.”

The man grumbled but obeyed.

“Miguel, come put cuffs on him and liberate his guns and knives.”

His man removed a short-barrel sheriff model Colt plus two smaller guns and two knives from the prisoner.

“That your money?” Chet pointed at the pot on the table.

“Yeah.”

“Rake it off in his hat, Miguel. He won't need it where he's going.”

The crowd laughed.

Chet swung the shotgun around and that silenced them. “Miguel, take him outside. No one make a move.”

With Miguel out the doors and Jesus still covering everyone, Chet slowly set the triggers down, cracked open the gun, and extracted both shells. He gave it back to the bartender, set the ammo on the bar, and paid him with a ten-dollar gold piece.

The man thanked him. He went to the doors and told Jesus he could holster his gun. “There ain't no friends of Sutter in here.”

The crowd laughed.

They took the stairs down quickly and went across the road. The prisoner stood bare headed, while Fred took the money out of the hat and put it in the saddlebags. Then he put the hat back on him.

“Where is your room at?” Chet asked.

Sutter gave a head toss south. “Fred, bring half the horses. Miguel, the rest. We are going to find his place. One bad step, Sutter, and you won't ever see anything again. You hear me?”

“Who sent you?”

“Salty, who you cheated on a salted gold mine according to him.”

“That son of a bitch deserved that. He cheated a widow woman out of that money.”

“I don't have a warrant on him. I have one on you.”

“Jail me. They won't send anyone after me. I'll be loose in three months.”

“No. They raised the reward to a thousand dollars. They will come get you. Now where is the money you cheated him out of?”

“I spent it.”

“You are not living that high up here. I can get the hideout from you by holding your head under water until your memory improves or you drown.”

“You can't—” Chet stared him down. “All right. It is at the cabin I am living in.”

They were walking down the road shadowed from the stars by the tall pines but still visible enough to see things. Chet noticed the crowd had come out on the porch trying to get a look at them, but they were out of the line of sight. The knowledge there were four marshals should keep the greedy ones from trying to jump them he hoped.

The low-walled log cabin was up a holler and a horse nickered at theirs. Good, he had transportation.

Chet stopped him outside. “Who is inside?”

“A doxie named Judy.”

“Wife? What?”

“She's just a whore.”

“No tricks. Stay here.” Chet drew his Colt and pulled the drawstring that lifted the bar. Quietly he opened the thick door. Gun in hand, he went to the table, lifted the chimney, and lit the lamp. All the time watching the figure under the covers in the bed for any movement.

At the light she sat up, groggily, in her night shift and threw back the covers. “You are back early. How many did you bring for me to entertain tonight? Holy crap—you aren't Ralph. Why are you coming in here uninvited?”

“We are U.S. marshals. Get some clothes on; then you sit on a chair and keep your mouth shut.”

Cussing like a sea captain, she purposely dressed with little modesty and took her place where he said. When she started to say something, he shut her up.

Chet called to his men to bring Sutter in. They pushed him onto a second chair.

“Now where is your money?”

He shook his head. “I ain't got any.”

“He's telling you the truth. He has to sell my body half the time to play cards.”

“No, he lied to you. Now shut up.”

“There's enough water in that horse's trough to drown him,” Jesus said.

Chet gave a head toss. “Do it.”

“You going to drown him?” she asked.

“Unless he tells us where the money is at—yes.”

“You guys are lawmen! I never heard of that before.”

“Stay seated or Fred will tie you up.”

Out back he heard Sutter gurgling and finally in a garbled scream shouted, “I'll tell you all about it.”

“All of it?” Jesus asked.

“Yeah.”

They brought the dripping outlaw back inside. His hair was soaked and water ran down his face.

“Where?” Chet asked.

“Under the false bottom in the trunk.”

Fred emptied the clothing and things out of it.

Chet leaned over. “Use your knife to cut that seal and lift the false bottom out.”

Fred did as he was told. He lifted the thin board out, and stacked in side by side was money all wrapped up in paper bands.

“Holy cow!” she shouted, “you lying bastard, and you been making me do it for your gambling money.”

Chet shoved her down in the chair. “Now, where is the rest?”

He shrugged. “There ain't no more.”

“Take him back out there.”

“No, no. You will need a crow bar. It's in tin candy boxes under the floor, over there.” He pointed to the corner of the room.

“Where else is it?”

“No more.”

“Bank accounts?”

“I got seven hundred dollars in a bank in El Paso. That's all I have got. I swear to God.”

“Write her a cheek for the full amount.”

“Huh?”

“Where are your checks?”

“In the trunk.”

“I've got it.” Fred brought it out of the pile and handed it to him.

“What's your name?” he asked her.

“Judy Sacowski.”

“Spell it for him.”

She did and he wrote it in and the amount plus his signature. Then held it up with both hands for him to give to her.

“Now how do I get it cashed out here?”

“I am sending you with a note to a Mr. Tanner at the First Territorial Bank. The note will tell him to present the check to the El Paso bank by mail. You can wait for it to come back to you. May take a month. Here is twenty dollars to live on until it gets here.”

“Any of you guys need a live-in until then?”

“No, Judy. You will make it and I don't need to be kissed.”

Turning back to his men, Chet told them the next step. “Now put him in leg irons. We will chain him to a tree. We're going to sleep out under the stars, have breakfast in the morning, and ride home tomorrow.”

Miguel found a claw hammer to pry up the boards. There were eight metal candy boxes under the floors full of hundred-dollar bills. They put all the money in the trunk and carried it over to where they were going to sleep. Jesus chained up the prisoner away from them, and he was given a blanket to get under for warmth.

Next morning they ate oatmeal with bugs. Jesus made a big pot of coffee. Chet wrote Judy a note for his banker regarding the check.

She put everything she wanted in a sheet. They did that with the money, too.

Then she talked them into letting her ride double behind Sutter on his horse back to Preskitt. That sure drew laughs from bystanders, them riding double going through both Horse Thief Basin and Iron Mountain.

The dove that informed him ran up to them and walked beside Chet's horse, talking in a low voice. “Well, you got your man. Ever need a real woman, come back here. I'll be here as long as the gold lasts.”

She slapped his leg and then winked at him.

He never said a word but was amused.

When they reached the edge of Preskitt, Chet told them to stop and dismount.

“Miguel, take that rope off Sutter's horse and put it around his neck.”

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Giving you a bill of sale for that horse.”

“Well, Marshal, bless your soul. You sure do know how to treat a female right. Better than that old sumbitch ever did me. You ever get out of jail, don't come looking for me. By then you will be too old to do anything anyway. Thanks again, boys.”

Bill of sale in hand, a flash of her legs as she settled more comfortably in the saddle, her sheet tied on the horn, she beat her new horse's ribs with her heels and she left them laughing on the hill.

Miguel handed the rope lead around Sutter's neck to Jesus, who asked, “Do I need the telegram from that marshal that you have, for the sheriff to hold him?”

Chet got it out and handed it to him. “Tell Anita hi for us. We're going home.”

“I will. See you in a few days. Fred, don't let them pull your leg going home.”

“Thanks. I will try to prevent that.”

That boy was making better conversation already.

The last three quarters of a mile to the ranch they had a horse race. Miguel won. They rang the bell that the boss was back. His wife came running to hug all three, Lisa not far behind for Miguel.

“Good to be back here, Liz,” Fred said, a little red faced while Chet kissed her hard.

Fred stared at the two of them. “That's all I need now.”

Chet turned to him. “What's that?”

“Well Miguel kissed his wife. I bet Jesus kissed his, and you kissed her. All I need is a wife for me to kiss.”

“No rush on that, partner. None at all.”

“Come on,” Liz said, “Monica has your food waiting. She doesn't need a kiss.”

Late as it was in the season, it snowed the next day. Fred busied himself building up the firewood supply for the various fireplaces. Chet read the
Miner
's latest issue. Not much news in it.

“Snow stopped yet?”

“It never really started,” Miguel replied as he finished loading the office fireplace.

“Hitch a team and we will take all this money to the bank and have it counted.”

He stopped before going for another load and buttoned his wool coat. “You trust me to drive?”

“I have to start sometime but not today. Strap on your gun. You run the guard part today. Wait? How many cartridges do you have for it?”

“Five.”

“That little ammo won't get you out of the batwing doors of the Palace Saloon.”

“Then I should fill the loops on my belt.”

Chet nodded. “And keep the rest in your saddlebags. We will stop and buy more in town.”

“I'll only be a minute.”

“I have time. Send word when you're hitched and ready.”

He sat back down, reminiscing, wondering if he had to learn all these things when he was young.

* * *

His father had come back home, out of his mind, from staying out too long without water or food looking for Comanche captives In truth he didn't come home by himself. Two Texas rangers brought him home on a travois from out there on the Llano Estacada. They said the Comanche thought he was mad and they would not harm him. But he never found his children that they had taken away. He lost his senses in those months searching non-forgiving land the heartless Comanche thrived in.

At the time, Chet didn't sleep more than a few hours each night. How could he hold the ranch together? He wore out two Colt pistols shooting targets in the canyon beyond hearing. No one was helping him learn anything. He taught himself.

He was looking for some cows he'd not seen in several days. From the ridge he rode on, he watched buzzards circling and rode down through the cedars and live oaks on some old cow-winding trail to find death. Then he saw a red-dyed half feather. His heart stopped—
Comanche.

The dead cow was a trap set for him to ride into looking for the deceased animal so they could ambush and kill him. His mind began to inventory his guns and bullets on hand. His .30 caliber Colt loaded on his hip. Powder in a horn. He shook it. Not a lot. Two dozen bullets in the purse on his left hip. A box of caps for the nipples and half a box of rim fire .50 caliber cartridges for the lever-action rifle in his scabbard.

Off his horse and on his knees, he prayed to God and promised him if God let him live that day, he'd never leave the house again without being fully armed. He hobbled the fine gelding, and with his hunting knife in his belt, his six-gun in his holster, and the heavy rifle in his right hand, he ran in his knee-high soft leather boots. Busy dodging from tree to tree he saw more barefoot pony tracks. How many were there?

He heard the soft fall of an approaching unshod hoof. A distinct sound in his ears. How many more? He crouched and when the war-painted buck rode by he shot him in the face and moved. He heard their guttural talking. As he reached another thick tree, two rode past him and he shot both in the back. He had two shots left in that pistol. Then he saw the outraged screaming face of another war-crazed buck holding a lance. He shot him twice and somehow the Indian's spear point missed his body because the sound of the shot had caused the painted horse to buck.

Were there more? They came at him through the trees busting brush on high-flying horses. His rifle's first bullet struck the center one's horse. Hard hit, he stumbled and the buck's spear plowed in the ground. When the buck scrambled to his feet, Chet's second shot blew a hole in his war-painted chest and threw him on his back.

The Indian on the right had to jerk his horse back, and the third shot from the long gun blew him off the horse.

Whirling in a crouch, Chet levered the empty cartridge out, jammed a new one in the chamber, raised the muzzle without aiming, and blew another buck's face apart not twelve feet away. Then, frozen, he sat down on his butt on the hard ground.

Crows were calling. Probably about the dead roan longhorn cow that he had found speared, lying in the open grassy spot.

Standing, he went to his horse, found the whetstone, and sharpened his big knife. It took awhile to get it sharp enough to suit him. Then he scalped each Indian, mounted each one's hair on the shaft of one of the spears. He walked to the top of the hill and drove the spear into the ground. He mounted flat rocks around so it would stay longer. Now any Indian who came by would see it and be warned.

He mounted his pony in the red flair of sundown. The Indians' blood had dried on his hands, making them stiff. His shirt was all bloody and his good silk neckerchief was stained.

He almost fell out of the saddle when he finally reached the ranch. In the dark he stuck his head into the water of the horse trough a couple of times. The stinking buffalo grease of their hair still clung to him.

Susie wasn't even twelve then. She came with a lamp and she brought the little Mexican Adeline who cooked for them and cleaned house.

“Oh, my God, you are all bloody, brother. How did you do that?”

“Comanche killed a cow to trap me. I killed them all—six or seven, I don't know. Then I scalped them, tied their hair on a lance—ah, spear—and planted it for all them red devils to see when riding by.”

“You aren't hurt? No wounds? How did you do that?”

“Sis, gawdamn it, I just had to.”

Those two girls hugged him and they all cried.

He finally fell into bed. In the morning, at breakfast, his younger brother got real mad. “You're nothing but a damn killer, Chet Byrnes. Why, if you'd have shot two of them the rest'd run away. But five or six; that's damn murder.”

“Dale Allen, I had no choice. They kept coming after me.”

“Where are you going to now?”

“To town. I promised God that no one would get after me again where I wasn't better armed. And I soon will be.”

He bought a Winchester .44/.40 and a .45 caliber Colt. And plenty of ammunition.

* * *

An hour later after Chet came back from reliving that part of his past in his leather chair, Fred drove him and the proceeds of the Sutter arrest to the bank.

At the bank, Tanner met him. “That woman you sent has her money. I wired the details to El Paso, said a U.S. marshal guaranteed he signed it. They wired back the check was good. She paid the fee and went out the door with her cash. Oh, and she said to thank you, too.”

“Good. Now I want you to meet Fred Brown, my new helper. Fred, Mr. Tanner.”

Fred shook Tanner's hand and handed over the money still in the sheet. Two employees came out into the lobby, took it, and they said they would have it counted in a couple of hours.

Chet and Fred left the bank. Fred was laughing.

“What's so funny?”

“In this outfit and all cleaned up he didn't even know me. I did lots of work for him.”

“See, Fred. Don't let your head get too big, but this proves you are moving up the social ladder around here.”

They laughed all the way to the buckboard. They went by and introduced him to Bo who showed Fred the land that Chet owned across the territory.

“Aren't you the boy that did odd jobs around town?” Bo finally asked.

“Yes. I am. Though most people don't recognize me, now, sir, thanks to Chet.”

“I thought that was you. Let me tell you a story. I was drunk when I came here and he tried to sober me up. I did not want to be sober. He hired two tough men to work night and day and made sure I didn't drink for three months. I don't drink anymore. I have a pretty wife with one baby boy and another one on the way. I live in a damn nice house. I have a damn good land business. All thanks to him. So you listen to him; he's a real good teacher.”

“Bo. You don't know how proud I am.”

“Where's your folks?”

“My dad died back a few years. My mom told me two years ago that I was old enough at fourteen to make it on my own, and last I heard she was working in a cathouse in Tombstone.”

“You've got a real education then?”

“I sure did.”

“How did you meet Chet?”

“I ran an errand for him and his wife, and he told me in the morning to meet him and I'd have a job.”

“Where did you start? Shoveling pig shit?”

No. I started with Jesus Martinez and Miguel and we went and captured this outlaw at Horse Thief Basin who had this money. His name was Sutter.”

“Any shots fired?”

“No, sir.”

“Sounds like you started at the top of the ladder.”

“I believe I have and I pinch myself every morning to be damn sure I ain't dreaming.”

“Good enough. Lots of luck. You sound like a young man going places.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I'll stand back now. I bet Chet wants to talk business with you.”

Chet shook his head. The boy was learning fast. “Bo and I meet all the time. I support this office buying abandoned homesteads.”

“He steals them.”

Chet shook his head. “Lots of people come out here to hard scrabble to make a homestead. Then they give up. They can't make it or only eke out a living. It's a thing called the economy. You need markets and jobs. Arizona is sadly short on both of them.”

“What about the mines?”

“There are not enough of them. Oh, like Tombstone, it is flourishing today. But they haven't found many more mines or districts that rich.”

“You think they ever will find some more rich mines?”

“Anything can happen. Railroads will connect us and help. But this is a dry arid country. We got more rain in Texas than they get here.”

Fred nodded. “Thanks, I learned more today than I have in a year. I never thought about any of those things. So damn busy eking out my food every day and finding shelter.”

“Who was the guy you brought in to jail yesterday?”

“Jesus brought him in. He lives in town now with his wife. The prisoner's name was Ralph Sutter. He embezzled bank money and who knows what else. I got the warrant information from Texas. He beat some guy out of ten thousand dollars in Texas over a salted gold mine. He offered me half if I could recover it.”

“Did you bring in a lot of money?”

“More than Fred and I wanted to count. The bank is doing that now. And we don't need any publicity, either.”

“Oh, I know that. Fred, good luck. You be sure you don't let anything happen to him. I've got more land to buy for him.”

Next Chet took them by the saddle shop. Fred met McCully's daughter, Petal. Her father was bedridden but improving and she ran the sales.

They sat down with his best saddle maker, Gordon. He showed Fred all the features of the saddle that would be good for him. The seat Gordon recommended should be sixteen inches.

“You will grow that big. Too big now but not too big in five years. Our saddles last a long time. These swells are for riding bad bucking horses. You don't need that much swell—more like this model.”

Fred followed him to another style. “This back is too tall. You have to throw your leg over it with chaps in the cactus country. That gets to be work in a long day. That horn is for ropers. A smaller one will do you.”

“How much will this cost me? Don't you have a used one?”

“You work for Chet?”

Fred nodded.

“The price would be sixty-five dollars to you. Anyone else add fifteen dollars.”

“I have been a burden to Mr. Byrnes since I came—I have a saddle at the ranch I can use. That's good enough for me.”

“Gordon, make him the saddle. He will pay you.”

Fred dropped his chin and shook his head. “Yeah, maybe in two years.”

They left the saddle shop. The saddle would be ready in three weeks. Fred took the reins in his hand. “How will I get that money myself to pay for that?”

“Let's start like this,” Chet said, turning to face him. “There is that five-thousand-dollar deal being counted that that Salty Hogan man offered me for finding his money. I figure two thousand apiece for Jesus and Miguel and a thousand for your part. Then split the thousand-dollar reward money coming for Sutter, by thirds. Another three hundred some dollars.”

“Three hundred thirty-three, right?”

“Exactly. Today you start a bank account. We don't talk about that to anyone. It would cause jealousy among the rest at the ranch. You were there and took your chances. It could have been a shooting. Jesus has enough money to buy him and Anita a ranch. They may do that shortly.”

“Chet, I've never had thirty dollars to my name, let alone sixty-five. I see now how it works. Thank you.” He clucked to the horses and they went back to the bank.

When they walked into the bank, Tanner's assistant showed him into his office and left closing the door.

“This man did more than salt mines. He must have robbed people wholesale,” Tanner said.

“How much money did you count?”

“You two sit down. There is over eighteen thousand dollars here. What next?”

“Five is to be split. Fred here gets a thousand and opens a new account. Jesus and Miguel get two apiece into their accounts. I need five thousand shipped to Salty Hogan in Texas for that bad mine deal. That leaves a thousand reward to be split three ways between Jesus, Miguel, and Fred.”

“That leaves seven thousand plus left.”