A Good Day To Kill (15 page)

“I went home feeling like a millionaire. The next year, we took two herds of two thousand head of steers north to the new shipping pens in Abilene. I sent the money home by an outfit named Wells Fargo that said they would get it back to my San Antonio bank. It was over one hundred sixty thousand dollars. My sister, Susie, and I danced in the kitchen when I got home. But we kept it all a secret and paid our debts.

“I was afraid the whole country would collapse. They've had some bad depressions but none like we had in Texas before and after the war. So, when I came out here, I started expanding. No one has any money in Arizona. Ranching won't bloom here until we get a railroad up north.”

“How did you see it coming—after the War, I mean?”

“I heard Texas steers were worth ten bucks in Missouri at the railhead in Sedalia. It was hard to get ten cents for them in Texas. What was I doing? Nothing to make money, that was for sure. My brother, Dale Allen, said I was crazy going off up there and I'd get killed.”

“What did he say when you got back?”

“That it was a fluke, and I'd never do it again and make any money. So I took two herds north the next year to show him.”

“He ever admit you were right?”

Chet shook his head. “He may have seen some light, taking that herd to Kansas, but them Reynolds murdered him.”

“I bet that was a blow.”

“Big one. Things were crashing down around me. So I went to Arizona and bought the Verde River Ranch.”

“Run by outlaws?”

“Oh, yes. It taught me many things.”

“Now six, and soon seven, ranches.” Shawn shook his head.

“Get some sleep. We'll be busy tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I love this job. I'm learning, too. Lots.”

Chet went to sleep in his corner of the rocking coach. He slept some between horse change stops. They made Tucson by midnight, where they ate from a street vendor, then bathed at China Joe's who pressed his pants and did their shirts. They slept in two beds in the Congress Hotel, ate a quick breakfast, hired a taxi, and at nine thirty walked in Russell's office.

He introduced his man. “Shawn McElroy, one of my deputies. Yesterday morning, we tried to arrest six outlaws. Four chose to die. Two are in the Tombstone jail, four are at the undertakers. He's here to learn about purchasing property and banking. We're a little road weary.”

Russell laughed. “You make my head swim.”

“There wasn't that much water. Are we ready to go to the bank?”

“Yes. This outlaw thing came up after you got back?”

“Yes it did. Two of my men located this gang of stage robbers in a canyon east of Tombstone. They needed backup, so they came and got me. We rode over there, surrounded them, and they tried to shoot their way out—that didn't work. There were two teenagers in the gang—one was fifteen, the other, sixteen, was a nephew of Old Man Clanton. They gave up.” By then, the three of them were on the busy street walking to the bank.

“Wasn't there a Clanton in the last arrest your men made?” Russell asked, waiting for a freight wagon to pass so they could cross the street.

“Yes, he was older and his name was Israel. He didn't make it and some woman wrote in the newspaper that we'd shot an innocent man. When my men found another Clanton was in this camp, they got me.”

“My, my, you do lead a fast life.”

Shawn frowned. “Is Tucson always this busy? I mean, all this traffic?”

“Yes,” Chet said. “It's a real busy place.”

When they entered the bank, Ralston Holmes was there to meet him, and Chet introduced both Russell and Shawn to him.

“Very nice to have you here,” Holmes said. “We have a large boardroom in the rear. Neither Mr. Townsend nor Mr. Weeks have arrived. My associate will be looking for them and we may go back and have some coffee.”

The boardroom had ceiling fans that stirred the air and it was comfortable. Chet wondered what powered them.

“What powers the fans?” Chet asked.

“A small boiler. A steam engine. I must say, it is the latest invention. It is a rather small one and the firebox needs to be seen about often, because we don't have coal available here. We use split wood, mostly juniper, and the engineer who set it up acted like that was impossible. But it works, and since then he's been busy installing them all over town and telling everyone that juniper wood will work. His biggest buyers are saloons, of course. They make much more money than banks.”

Weeks and Townsend arrived and Holmes took charge of the paper signing.

“Mr. Craft, you do have the papers releasing the banks?”

“Yes, they all agreed and I have them on file for my client.”

“Then this agreement is acceptable to both parties, or shall I read it aloud?”

“I read the original and told my client to sign it. It contains the transfer of the cattle and horse brand on those my client is buying,” Russell said.

“We understand the contents and will accept his money,” Townsend said.

“Gentlemen, it requires both of your signatures and for you to sign the check, Mr. Byrnes.”

Weeks signed it, looked over at Shawn, and spoke out, “I don't appreciate you bringing an armed guard to this signing.”

“My armed guard hasn't hired any men to kill you yet, like your foreman Masters did me.”

“Gentlemen.” Holmes spoke in a placating voice, but the two men ignored him.

“My man never did that. That's a damn lie.”

“Funny thing, Masters has disappeared. If he was innocent, why did he run?”

“No doubt, he feared you'd frame him, or worse, shoot him like you did that Clanton boy.”

“Weeks, some day you and I need to have a fistfight and decide once and for all who is right and who is wrong. But if I ever see Masters, I'm going to do what his hired guns planned to do to me. Send him to hell.”

“I'm telling you—”

Shawn blocked Weeks's way when he started for Chet.

“Mr. Weeks, if you don't back down, you're going to find out why I'm here. Now back away.” Shawn stood his ground.

Weeks backed up and turned on his heel. “You ain't heard the last of me. You and that punk gun hand of yours.”

Chet was about laughing. “Guess you're a gun hand now, Shawn.”

“He wasn't going to lay a hand on you or even try to draw.”

“I think you are both bullies,” Townsend said, and started to leave.

Holmes cleared his throat. “Mr. Townsend. Your client left his check here.”

“I'll take it to him.” He grabbed it off the table and left.

When they were gone, Holmes spoke softly. “If this is repeated outside the room I will deny it. That check you signed, Mr. Byrnes, had our name and his on it.”

Chet nodded. “I saw that.”

“It only covers a portion of what he owes us on financing that operation.”

“I hope we do better,” Chet said.

“I hope you do. Anything else, gentlemen?”

“I'll be back in a few days to set up an account for that ranch,” Chet said.

“I will have the papers ready any time. We look forward to doing business with you, sir.”

“Very good.”

“What now?” Russell asked when they shook hands.

“Go back to Tubac. Then Shawn and I may look over all this grief I bought for us down there.”

Russell smiled. “If I ever needed a guard, I'd hire you, young man. Standing up to Weeks like that took a lot of guts. You did good.”

“My job.”

“Weeks was impressed, too.”

When Russell was gone across the street, Chet said, “From a boy I hired, you made the turn today.”

“Thanks to you, sir.”

“That stage to Nogales won't leave till five o'clock. I know a real expensive place for us to go eat lunch. Let's try that.”

“Do I look good enough to go in there?”

“No, you need a new hat first. That one is kinda old and floppy. There's a wonderful hat maker right down the street.”

When they entered the shop, the bell on the door rang. A Mexican man came out and met them.

“What can I do for you, señor?”

“My friend here needs a new hat. Not those,” Chet said about a cheaper hat on a lower row. “One of those up there.”

“This hat is one of my very best. It costs eighteen dollars. American money.”

Chet wondered what other kind of money there might be. Oh, maybe paper
pesos
? “You like that?” he asked Shawn.

“Oh, that is way too high priced for me to wear.”

Chet held his finger up. “I'm buying this hat, not you. Do you like it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Try it on.”

He did so with gentle fingers. The grayish ash-colored felt cowboy hat looked very fitting on Shawn who was as handsome as Reg wearing it.

The hat man made a critical-looking face at his customer. “Too big. The wind would blow it away. Try this one.”

Shawn very carefully exchanged the first one for number two. He nodded when he tried it on.

“Not too tight?” the man asked.

“Maybe a little.”

“Give it to me. I can stretch it.” He barely wet the leather lining with his fingertips and then put the hat on a screw stretcher and left it there for a few minutes. “It will fit good this time for you.”

“Where do you live?” he asked Chet.

“Preskitt, when we're home.”

“Oh, I know who you are. You are the man works for the Force, no?”

“Yes. My name is Chet Byrnes. This is one of my men, Shawn McElroy.”

“You and your men are doing a great job down here. I wish you luck. Those Mexican bandits all need to be shot.”

The hat maker removed the new one from the jig and handed it back. “Ah,
si
. That is a good hat for you. Some
señorita
will see you wearing it and fall in love with you,
hombre.
”

Shawn about blushed. “It's way too good a hat for me to wear.”

“No, when people see you wearing it and they like it, you tell them Obregon in Tucson made it especially for you,
hombre.
”

“I sure will.” Then he shook the man's hand.

Chet paid for the hat, and they went to lunch in the Towers. When the fine young lady took Chet's hat, she blinked at Shawn's. “My, what a great hat you have.”

“It's brand new, and please don't stack nothing on it, ma'am. It came from Obregon's.”

“Oh, he is such a fine hat maker. I will guard it with my life.
Gracias, señor
.”

A waiter took them to their table. Chet was about to laugh. She was pretty and Shawn was awed that his hat impressed her. Damn, he forgot growing up at times. A young woman did that to him one time over at Mason, Texas, about a big stout Comanche-bred paint horse he'd bought. Boy, after that he always rode fancy horses every time he went to town or courting.

The lunch impressed Shawn as much as the hat. And when Chet whispered the cost of their eating, he swallowed twice. Then he whispered, “God almighty, Chet, my hat and our meal cost you a man's monthly wages.”

“Worth every dime of it. I should be rid of Weeks any day now and in the ranch business down there.”

“We're still early for the stagecoach, aren't we?”

“Yes. I need to find a mercantile in Tucson to supply the ranch. Let's look at some of them.”

They spent several hours prowling stores. None of them really stood out, so Chet made no decision about which one to use. Jesus knew lots about Tucson, and his relatives lived there. He could find them a supplier that was a good one.

They climbed on the stage and made the run south to Tubac. Chet wondered about Stephanie Combs, the young lady who'd ridden down with him last trip. If she'd been on this trip, she might have talked to Shawn. She wasn't important to Chet, but she sure might have sparked Shawn's attention.

He had to find a week to go back to Preskitt and check on his wife and Adam. How much longer could he lead this Force? He wanted to resolve a lot of this across-the-border raiding. Until they built a stronger law enforcement structure down there, this job would continue. But it wasn't limited to Mexicans. There were more would-be stage robbers in southern Arizona than any other place he knew. Many of them weren't Mexicans, but Anglo thugs who were forced west by law enforcement in Texas and perhaps in New Mexico.

More commerce in the Arizona section, like the mining industry, made the country more vulnerable than all of southern New Mexico, where nothing but sheep wandered the southern part of that territory. Apaches were still running around. Things weren't too settled in this land, and his Force had a need to fill.

When Chet and Shawn got off the stage at the ranch gate, it was after midnight. He thanked the driver, tipped him, and they hiked up to the camp under a starlit sky. When they arrived, Jesus got up and spoke to them.

“It was pretty quiet, except when I challenged Weeks about his man Masters. But Shawn stepped in and bluffed him away,” Chet told him.

“Good for you. He's a big bully.”

“You didn't go with them to the ranch?” Chet asked Jesus.

“When Roamer got back, he thought one of us should stay here. So Roamer and Ortega turned around and went to see about some raiders who robbed a store and post office between here and the Fort.”

“That's fine. We need continuity,” said Chet. “Get some sleep. We'll assess things in the morning.”