A Good Day To Kill (2 page)

“Well, big man,” Jenn began. “Has it eaten your guts out yet, not being up in those mountains with your men on this business tomorrow?”

He smiled. “You know it has. But, like I said, they're the best lawmen around. Before I shut my eyes tonight I'll pray for God to take care of them.”

Later in the evening in his bed, he shut his eyes and prayed for them . . .
since I can't be there, Lord, take care of them . . . amen.

Seated on the front porch in the rocker in the early morning, Chet heard a horse snorting dirt coming down the street. An hour earlier, the sun had swung up over the Chiricahuas and there was still some coolness in the air. The mine hammer mills were rumbling the ground and the giant pumps roared in the distance. Sounds of shod horse hooves on the caliche street brought him to his feet, and he leaned on a white four-by-four porch post to observe. Roamer, aboard one of his good roan horses, came at a swinging walk in the lead. One by one, he counted them, and his men were all there with their Winchesters resting across their saddle horns, guarding their captives on horseback. Several belly-down corpses strapped across their saddles came behind, led by Shawn.

“They all here?” his wife asked, squeezing his good arm when she joined him.

“Every last one of them. Yes, they did good. Like I said, best damn lawmen in the territory.”

“Well, bust your buttons then,” she said, and laughed.

“Morning, ma'am,” Roamer said, removing his hat for Marge and Jenn who'd joined them by then. “I'm sending a taxi out here for you. We want you at the courthouse when we turn the prisoners over to Behan.”

“You ladies come with him, too.”

He turned back to Chet. “Jesus said they were your new guards.”

They laughed.

“I don't—” Chet started to protest.

“Yes, you do. Trust me, you don't need to walk down there. And this posse is your posse. You gathered us and have done a great job teaching us. You'll be there at the exchange. Israel Clanton is one of those dead. He chose that way himself. That may raise a stink, but he was involved in those two stage robberies and ranch raids.”

“No problem for me. Send the taxi. Send a boy to tell the
Epithet
and get word to the Wells Fargo man as well. Dodge may be in one of the saloons by this hour. He likes to play poker. Between you and Cole, send Marshal Blevins in Tucson a telegram about this at once. We can all meet at the Cochise County Jail by then.”

“Now you're talking, boss man,” Cole shouted.

A cheer from the rest of the men followed his words, and they and their prisoners rode on down the street.

Marge kissed him. “Did you see Jesus's face? You did well to send him with them. He's sure part of your Force.”

“Oh, yes. Ladies, get ready. We're having a public gathering down there. Behan will be wearing his best suit accepting them. How many outlaws were there?”

“I counted four dead and the same alive,” Jenn said.

“Those boys have earned four thousand dollars right there, plus the outlaws' horses, gear, and guns. There may be other rewards as well.”

“Wow, they'll be well off when this is over,” Marge said.

“It's counting up. Let me get some better clothes on.”

“Yes, you need to do that. But don't you overdo things today.”

“I won't.”

“You heard him, Jenn—‘I won't'?”

“Hey, this will be fun. I have never been to one of these things before. Oh, Marge, he'll be fine,” Jenn said to his worried wife.

“Keep telling her that. Keep telling her that,” Chet said, going inside.

When the taxi man came by, both women had on new dresses and straw hats to shade their faces. Chet wore a brown suit coat, pressed pants, and his dusted off hat. He also wore his six-gun for the first time. Not that he figured he'd need it, but it felt better strapped on than without it.

When they reached the courthouse, a crowd had already gathered around his men and their captives. A funeral home hearse parked close by was, no doubt, there for the bodies. The Wells Fargo representative was a burly man in a tan suit—fortyish, and his name was Tom Dodge. At first, Chet couldn't recall his given name—but he did when he saw his face and was satisfied that the man would handle getting the rewards for his men.

No sign of Behan. Chet helped the women down and they moved to the boardwalk to stand aside. In irons, the four live gang members sat on their butts in the dirt. The dead ones rested on the ground in a row. A photographer was there taking photos of them. A puff of smoke and a flash and he would have a negative to print, a grim picture of the dead outlaws with their arms folded on their chest and their eyelids closed.

Chet wondered which one was Clanton's kin. The blond curly-headed one must be him; the others were Mexicans. He didn't know any of the men seated in the dust. Roamer brought him a paper with their names on it.

“That's who they are.”

“Thanks. Is Behan coming?” Chet glanced around for him.

“They sent for him.”

“Good.” Chet felt put out that Sheriff Behan was late, but Dodge did join him and shook his hand.

“Great work. You're healing?”

“Yes, I'm doing fine. They brought in a large part of the outlaws operating around here.”

“Yes. Your men have quite a stack of rewards coming.”

“My men get that money. They're the ones taking the risks.”

“Oh, yeah, I know, but I'd say you took a big one in the shoulder getting the last bunch.” Dodge scowled at him as if still concerned about him.

“Part of the job. This is my wife, Marge, and our friend, Jenn Allen, from Preskitt.”

He swept off his hat. “My pleasure, ladies. I understand you two came down here to take care of him.”

“He says he's about well,” Marge said.

“Well, he does look better than when I first saw him last week.”

About that time, the sheriff made a grand entry. “Well, ladies. What a bright glorious morning to be in Tombstone. Nice to have you here. And may I have your names?”

They introduced themselves and he turned to Chet. “What a lovely wife you have.”

“Yes, I am blessed. But I need to get our business concluded so I can take her home. Here's a list of the outlaws my men apprehended in the Mule Shoe Mountains last night. They robbed two stages and made various raids on small ranches that my men will elaborate on for you.”

“Is that dead boy Israel Clanton?”

“Yes, he was part of this gang and involved in the crimes that the gang committed. He could have surrendered last night. He didn't.”

“Oh, such a waste. Has his mother been notified?”

“No. I guess she can read about it in the paper.”

“His mother is Iris Clanton. She's a sister-in-law to the old man.”

“Behan, these men are to be held not only on these charges, but others that will surface now that they have been captured by order of the federal court. I expect you to keep them here in your jail.”

“Why, of course.”

“Several men have walked out of this jail because a cell door was not locked. Be damn sure they're all locked in, and that's an order from a federal officer.”

“Of course. My deputies will jail them. I need to go tell that poor boy's mother about her son's death. Excuse me?”

Behan left.

A deep voice cut the air. “You tell him something bad?”

Chet turned and shook hands with the Earp brother he liked so well. “How are you, Virgil?”

“Better than you are.” He chuckled deep in his throat. “Glad you're recovering. I meant to drop by but got busy. I see your bunch has got another gang rounded up.”

“They did well. Now if the sheriff can contain them.”

“When I walked up, I heard you set him straight there. He will have to, after that.”

“Is Iris Clanton pretty?”

Virgil shook his head. “But she does have some money.”

“Behan sounded upset she had not been notified.”

“Between you and me”—he dropped his voice to a whisper—“that might be worth a toss in the hay for him.”

Chet agreed and thanked him. Virgil smiled, winked at him, and shook his hand to leave.

“Have a nice day, ladies.” Earp tipped his hat to them.

Dodge was talking to the news reporter—good, that should suffice his part. They tossed the outlaws' bodies in the hearse like cordwood. He reckoned the county would pay the usual seven dollars and fifty cents for burying them in Boot Hill, but the Clanton boy, no doubt, would have a funeral. The funeral home would make some money on his services.

“Ready, ladies?”

“Yes, we are,” Marge said. They held their hems out of the dust and headed for the taxi.

Still talking to the reporter, Dodge waved to him. “I'll be by later to talk to you, Byrnes.”

“Me, too,” Roamer said, and smiled.

He acknowledged both of them and climbed in the taxi for the ride back. Seated beside his wife, she asked, “Did that wear you out?”

“No. I'm fine.”

“Tell me about this Dodge,” Jenn said. “Is he married?”

“Not that I know about. They say he has a good-paying job.”

She sat back, facing them, with her arms folded and a smug set on her lips. “I want to meet him.”

“You have a deal, my friend.”

“You know those two girls have husbands now. I don't have to slave in that café anymore to make work for them two if—well, if I had a good man to support me.”

“It might work, Jenn,” Marge said with a grin.

“Best thing is what Marshal Virgil Earp told me. The big man who came by to talk to me,” said Chet.

“Yes, we figured he was law, too.” Both women agreed with nods to each other.

“Virgil is a town marshal. Behan had a real problem with me that Israel Clanton's mother had not been notified of his death.”

“We saw the hassle he gave you.”

“Anyway, I asked Virgil about Behan being so anxious to notify Mrs. Clanton about her son's death. He said the information might be worth a toss in the hay with her.”

The women shook their heads in disapproval and then laughed.

“Behan is a real peacock,” Marge said, and Jenn agreed.

Chet had made some plans he intended to tell them about later. He wanted to go home, rest some at the ranch, and in two weeks go back to Tubac to let some of his married men run home for a week. That should work.

Back at the Doc's house, he sent word by messenger to Dodge to meet the three of them at Nellie Cashman's Restaurant for supper at six thirty. Jenn smiled, pleased, when he told her his plans. Marge agreed. Blevins's telegram came after the light lunch the women fixed.

Later that afternoon, they took a taxi downtown to supper. Tombstone's boardwalks were loaded with prostitutes, drunks, filthy dust-coated miners, and muleskinners. It was no place for his two ladies to tramp through to get to supper.

He told the taxi man to be back around eight thirty to take them home. The man agreed, and he told him he'd pay him then for both ways.

They had not heard from Dodge before they left the house, but, all dressed up, he met them in the lobby. He was very attentive to both women, and they were shown to their table. Chet had a notion the tall blond-headed Jenn had intrigued him some. This could be interesting.

The evening went fine and the two of them—Jenn and Dodge—were talking almost in private the last half of the meal. Dodge finally pulled himself away a little from her to tell them, “I plan to be in Preskitt in a week. I have some work to do up there.”

“You must stay at our house,” Marge said.

“The company pays all my expenses. I'll take a room at the hotel.”

“Then you must come out to the ranch one evening and have supper with us. I can send my driver, and Jenn can tell you all about the countryside coming out there.”

“What do you think of that?” Dodge asked Jenn.

“Sounds like I have already been appointed as your tour guide.”

“Wonderful. I accept.”

Chet had to admit, though Jenn was a rather buxom lady, she still had lots of appeal. The fire had been lit. Might work. He sure hoped so. Onward, he must go. It would sure be good to smell those pines up there again. And be home.

Marshal Blevins arrived in Tombstone the next day by stage. They met on the porch and spoke in low voices. “I know you knew that Clanton boy who was killed was the old man's nephew. And when we delivered them, Behan complained that we hadn't notified his mother.”

Blevins nodded. “You know the old man has lots of political sway in the territory.”

“I have no doubt. Are you telling me we have to step around him?”