Between Hell and Texas (14 page)

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Authors: Dusty Richards

BOOK: Between Hell and Texas
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“I'd be real proud to do that, Mr. Byrnes. Jenny knows how to get hold of me. And thanks for the meal.”
The man hobbled out the door and Chet nodded. “We learned something, Heck.”
“Sounds like this Ryan may learn about us, huh?” Heck grinned.
“Yes. We better eat. We have to get up early to meet Harold.”
 
 
In the morning, they met Bo Harold for breakfast and short-loped their horses to the edge of the great escarpment that overlooked the Verde River and the wide basin. Far to the north, another great wall rose up, and beyond that the San Francisco Peaks showed their snow-white tops. Before the breathtaking view, they started down the steep road that clung to the east side wall and practically dove off into the valley. Mid-morning, they reached the floor and rode west along the cottonwood-lined river. Red mesas rose in the north and the junipers were everywhere. Some had been burned out in grass fires in years past, and the grass had taken back the land. They spooked a few mule deer and even some cottontail rabbits. The day before, they'd seen plenty of big jackrabbits.
Harold had spoken about the water rights to this ranch, which gave them plenty of river water to irrigate the fields they had open. He reiterated what he'd said about the three crops, but he had a higher acreage total than Hoot. They soon saw the large house on the rise, windmills, corrals, and outbuildings.
“We going to get a chance to see this place?” Chet asked the agent.
“Why, of course. I'm Mr. Talley's agent.”
“Folks say his ranch foreman Ryan don't want him to sell out.”
Harold frowned. “He is a mere employee. He has no say-so about the sale whatsoever.”
“I heard he ran some folks off.”
“Not who I brought out here.”
“Good.”
“They were telling lies. Mr. Talley wants to sell this place. He lives in St. Charles, outside of St. Louis, and has no time or a quick way to get out here. He was promised a railroad to Flagstaff when he bought it, and that is why he invested in the ranch. But the rails are coming very slow, and some years they even stop building track whenever the stock markets get bad in New York.”
“They do that all over Texas, too.”
“Mr. Ryan will be no problem.”
“Fine,” Chet said and winked privately at Heck. He never believed that part of the man's conversation, but a land agent was allowed a few exaggerations. They reached the house and dismounted. A few stock dogs barked at them, and a pregnant Mexican woman in her twenties came to the door.
“Go away,” she said. “My husband is not home. I have no time for you.”
“Mrs. Ryan?” Harold asked her.
“Of course. I am his wife. But I have no time for you.”
“I am the agent that Mr. Talley hired to sell this ranch.”
“No for sale. My husband he say this ranch no for sale.”
“Excuse me, I am going to show these gentlemen the house. Stand aside.”
She tried to kick him, but with his hand on her forehead, he drove her backwards. Chet and Heck dismounted, trying not to laugh at Harold's plight. The two front doors they passed through were twelve feet tall, ornately carved, with brass door handles. Once inside, they saw him gently driving her off to the back. She had taken up cursing at him in Spanish.
The tile floors were gritty and cobwebs were everywhere. They found the bedroom that the Ryans must sleep in. A great feather bed, waist-high, with a shelf around it to get up on, and the headboard was also carved. The room smelled stale, like dirty socks.
Chet counted six bedrooms downstairs, and guessed there were more on the second floor. One room downstairs was an office with a large green safe that was closed, but, he could see, not locked. He sent Heck up the wide staircase to count the rest. The house looked big enough for his tribe. It needed a good cleaning, but other than that it should suit his family. The gentle spring wind would soon clear out much of the closed-up smells.
Ryan's wife and three other Mexican women were in the kitchen being contained by Harold. Chet decided that the spacious kitchen would please his sister. Large ranges and prep tables and running water from a tank—obviously Talley had spared no money freighting all that in there, plus the material for the house and the furniture from Mexico.
Heck rejoined him, out of breath. “There are six more upstairs, all full of beds and furniture.”
This place was a palace—the problem was: could he afford it? The land, house, and the rest would bring a fortune in the Texas hill country. What he knew about irrigation would fit in a thimble. But the native Mexican people would know how—he wasn't a farmer at home, either, but he had learned what he needed to do.
“Shall we look at the outbuildings?” Harold asked.
Chet agreed, and they left the cursing woman in the house and went out through a once-garden that had been let go and out the gate of the walled area. For Indian defense, he knew about such areas. They had the Apaches there, like the Comanche had been in Texas. The windmills creaked and needed greasing. But like the many things that were unrepaired, like the wired-up once-hanging gates, he knew a new crew could have this place shaped up in a month. He liked the layout of the pens and saw that lots of alfalfa hay had been wasted. Several rails were missing in the corrals and pigs were running loose. At their approach, a sow and six piglets fled. All in all, it could be a real ranch headquarters.
They mounted up, and Harold shook his head. “I wouldn't even ask those sloppy housekeepers for lunch, even though it is long past that time.”
Heck laughed. “Guess we'll starve, huh?”
“No, I'll find us some food. Let's ride upstream and I can show you the small dam and the diversion canal that feeds this place.”
“They sure are wrecking his ranch, letting it fall into such disarray after he spent so much money building it.” Chet said.
Harold twisted in the saddle. “It is a grand place, isn't it?”
“I like it. What does he want for it?”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
“That include his livestock?”
“Yes.”
“How many head will he guarantee?”
“Three hundred mother cows and a hundred head of horses.”
“Where are they?” Chet booted his horse up beside Harold's.
“Out on the open range,” Harold made a wide sweep of his arm.
“What if they aren't all here?”
“Oh, they're here, alright. Roundup up here is big business. There are lots of cattle out on these ranges.”
“When is roundup time?”
“In May.”
“How many men do I have to furnish if I buy this place?”
“Two or three for the six weeks, if it takes that long.”
“They're going to start the roundup then, shortly.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Let's say I pay Talley ten thousand dollars down and all the cows are worth fifteen bucks, then the difference in three hundred head he credits me. Same on the hundred horses at thirty per head.”
“I would have to ask him by wire if he would do that.”
“Good. I can have my bank in San Antonio wire him the money once they can confirm he has signed the mortgage agreement. The balance I'll pay in two years at six percent interest. There are no liens or loans on this ranch?”
“None, but we can be certain by checking with the clerk in Preskit.”
“Is Talley that afraid of Ryan?”
“What do you mean?”
“I had word that the man back east was so afraid of his foreman that he is selling it.”
“Oh, I can't believe—”
“Yes, you can. He's walked away from it.”
“Alright. And if I had that much money, I'd own it myself today.”
“You aren't afraid of Ryan at all?”
“I brought you down here today, didn't I?”
“You sure did. Wire Talley and give him my offer. The Stockman's Bank in San Antonio will tell him all about me. I've never missed paying any note I owed.”
“How in hell did you ever gather that much money?” Chet shrugged. “Driving cattle to Kansas over the last few years.”
Harold shrugged. “What made you think the cattle count might not be there?”
“The way the ranch is being run. I bet there ain't a quarter of the horses around there anywhere.”
“Where did they go?”
“I bet the sheriff can find where Ryan sold them.” Chet twisted in the saddle to look back one more time at the large house.
“Ryan?”
“Whoever did it.”
They rode for the small settlement at Camp Verde at the foot of the mountain which they must climb to get back to Preskit. Chet checked the sun time and turned back. It would be after dark before they found any food. They'd live—this day turned out special for him and Heck. He'd found a helluva great place where all the Byrneses could live—now the details were all that kept him from moving there.
Chapter 16
Well past midnight, Chet and Heck parted with Harold and made for the stables in Preskit. Heck proved excited. “I wanted to ask you all day, do you think we will get that place?”
“Good thing you didn't, they might ask for more money.”
“That is a good price, isn't it?”
“Sure, but between Ryan and the fact that folks avoid him, it may not be such a bargain. I need to line up some tough cowboys, I figure, to take that place. I wonder why Talley didn't get the sheriff to evict him.”
“That's strange, isn't it?”
“Maybe Talley couldn't hire any tough hands to back him. In a few days, we'll know the answers. Let's get some sleep.”
“Why, I think even Louise will like that place.”
Chet laughed at his words. “You might be right.”
The next morning in the café, Chet asked Jenny to send word for Hoot to join them. She smiled, “You're going to make that old man's day.”
Chet blew on his steaming first cup of coffee. “Good. We're going to need a half dozen good men as well. You think he can find them?”
“Sure, he knows every ranch hand in the territory that's worth his salt.”
“Good.”
The coffee was hot enough to make his tongue tender, but the first burst of it filled his mouth with saliva. The rich taste exploded in his brain and he savored Jenny's words. He needed the toughest men he could hire. Ryan would not go without a fight unless he was outnumbered, outgunned, and he knew they would wipe him out.
Chet regretted that Ryan had not been available so he could have studied the man in person. A bully was a bully, but this might be the toughest man he'd ever faced. Communication with the owner would take Harold some time. The ranch owner, Talley, might want to check with his bankers in San Antonio. No reason to think they wouldn't immediately answer him, but again that would take time. He'd have to trust that Harold was pressing for an answer.
Hoot arrived before he and Heck finished their breakfast. Chet asked if he had breakfast and the older cowboy said, “No.”
“Put him on my tab,” Chet said. “For three meals a day until I have to leave.”
“Sure,” Jenny said and smiled.
“I-I didn't come for a handout—”
“It isn't a handout. You're on my payroll. While we work on buying the Quarter Circle Z, I want you to find me a handful of good men with lots of backbone.”
“How many is that?”
“About four or five. I want real cowboys with lots of bottom. This may get tough if we have to evict Ryan.”
Hoot agreed. “I know the men we need.”
“Roundup is coming. We are going to need to do several things before that time.”
“What'll they ride?”
Chet frowned at him, “You think the ranch horses are gone, too?”
“There haven't been many, I can tell you, in the year I worked there.”
“This is the most serious thing I can think of. Bo Harold thought they were out on the range.”
“We can go look, but I don't recall seeing many.”
“Can we slip in and look for them? You draw us a map for where to look.”
Hoot agreed. “I can get a good wrangler to go with you. He ain't working, and has a good horse or two of his own to use.”
”Who is he?”
“Tom Flowers.”
“Where does he live?”
“He's on a small place in Prescott Valley.”
“Heck can find him?”
“Sure, I can fix him a map. Tom needs some work, like them others.”
Chet stopped Jenny when she came by. “We need some butcher paper and a lead pencil.”
“I'll get some soon as I set down these plates.”
“Wonderful.” He leaned back and sipped some coffee from his cup, pleased with the turn of events. Things were beginning to take shape. There were still lots of problems that could trip him.
“Heck, when we get the map I want you to invite Flowers to come in here.”
“You bet.”
“Tell him we have a good job for him if things work out.”
“I can do that.”
“Is he a tough man?” Chet asked the older man.
Hoot nodded. “He'll sure do to ride to hell with.”
The old man neatly drew a map on the paper and pointed out the features where to turn off the main road. Heck was up in a shot.
“Don't run that horse into the ground,” Chet said after him.
Heck nodded and went out the door.
“Can he deliver the message?” Hoot asked.
“A year ago, he rode back from the Indian Territory to get me when his father was killed by rustlers on a cattle drive.”
“How old was he then?”
“Eleven. No, he can get your man back here in a few hours. Harold's cattle count is three hundred mother cows.”
“Maybe half that many. Ryan has sold the heifers every year for the past three or four. Some of them cows haven't got a tooth in their head.”
“Where did they go?”
“Died, I guess. He sold lots of calves right off the cows.”
“Why has he sold them as calves? They ain't worth anything. You mean there aren't any yearlings?”
“Not many.”
“A hundred head?”
“I don't know. Ryan's been working with only a few ranch hands, so some may have escaped. We were working some yearlings up in the north canyon country. He said he needed them to pay for his expenses.”
“Who bought them?”
“Some dealer named Young up at Ashfork.”
“Isn't that a strange place to sell them?”
“You tell me.” Hoot shrugged.
“I'm going to try to see the sheriff today.” Chet tossed the idea out to see if Hoot might know if it was worth his time to talk to him.
“I'm not sure. He's an office man who sends out deputies to do his field work. He might give you a deputy or two, but I doubt it.”
Two men came into the café and nodded at Hoot. One asked, “How are you making it, old man?”
“Fine, without the likes of you.”
“Hell, it wasn't our fault Ryan fired you.” The thinner one adjusted his gunbelt around his waist and searched around with a hard look, acting mean. “You seen that damn Bo Harold? He upset Ryan's wife yesterday. I think he must have tried to rape her.”
“So?” Hoot said.
“He sent us to teach him a lesson. That damn land agent needs to know he has no business stepping on the Quarter Circle Z land.”
Hoot nodded and the pair started for the door. Chet rose and drew his six-gun. “Real easy, drop them gunbelts on the floor and then get your hands up high.”
The sound of the click of his hammer being cocked made both men start, then reconsider. They reached carefully for their belts and let them fall to the floor.
“Who in the hell are you?” the skinny one asked over his shoulder.
“I was there with Harold yesterday. She was not raped or even manhandled, despite her mouthy charges.”
“You taking sides with him?”
“I guess so. I don't want a hair on him hurt, and if I learn you did anything to him you better go to wearing your Sunday clothing 'cause that's what they're going to bury you in.”
“Who in the hell are you?”
“The man that is going after you if you don't beat it out of town.”
“Can we have our guns back?”
“Hell, no.” Chet gave him a shove out the door. “Get out of town and be quick about it.”
“We're going, but you ain't heard the end of this. Wait till Ryan gets word of this. Mister, you're a dead dude.”
“Tell him my name is Byrnes, Chet Byrnes, and maybe he'll think better about going to his own death.”
“You'll see. You'll see.” In the saddle, they rode out and turned left on the main street and went east. Chet watched them.
Good, they went east, meant they were headed for the ranch.
His head stuck in the doorway, Chet told Hoot, finishing his breakfast at the counter, that he'd be back in a short while. He needed to find Harold and warn him to be ready. At the Palace, he asked the young barmaid Jane where the man's office was.
“Oh, he's gone to the telegraph office. Said he had lots to do today.”
“I can find him there?”
She shrugged. “He should be there.”
“Thanks.” Chet headed for the swinging doors. The incident at the café had upset him. He needed Harold in good health to make this deal. Ryan would increase his pressure when he realized the ranch might sell and he'd lose his stranglehold on the thing that was his golden goose.
The Western Telegraph office had several people inside. He found Harold reading the latest copy of the Preskit Miner newspaper.
“What do you need?” Harold asked.
“I just disarmed two of Ryan's cowboys down at Jenny's Café who came to town claiming you raped Ryan's wife yesterday.”
“What? Were they crazy?”
Chet shook his head. “You better get a gun or hire one, 'cause Ryan is going to send them or some others back. Have you heard from Talley?”
Harold looked shaken. “Not yet. I sent it early this morning. What did his men say about me?”
“Something about teaching you a lesson for messing with his wife. I know you didn't do much but push her into the kitchen. You had the right to show me the house.”
“I did—wait, they have a telegram for me.” He rushed over and straightened out the paper they handed him.
“What did he say?”
“That he does not want to sell it that cheap.”
“What else?”
“Ask the sale prospect for more money. Stop. I need at least twenty-five thousand for the ranch.”
“You tell him the ranch livestock has been rustled by his own foreman. The house is in ruins according to the buyer, too.”
Harold nodded. “I can do that.”
“Tell him that I would guarantee him twenty-two thousand, but I want the livestock count up to his numbers. Those he can pay for out of the final ten thousand.”
Harold nodded. “That may help.”
“We don't have much time to act. You tell him things are going sour at the ranch. If he accepts that, then have him send approval for the buyer to take charge of the ranch at once, before they destroy it further. I'll be at Jenny's Café.”
“It may take hours to do.”
Chet clapped him on the shoulder. “The clock is ticking, my friend.”
“Oh, I can sure use this sale.” He hit his forehead with his palm.
“Get a new telegram on the wire.” Chet expected his new plan to work.
“Chet?” Harold waited for him to turn back. “Thanks. I will be armed from now on.”
“Good.” Chet left the telegraph office and headed back for the café. Coming down the hill, he saw Heck's bay horse hitched with another in front.
Tom Flowers was a medium-built man with clear blue eyes. Chet guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. He had a slight smile and a nod when they shook hands.
“Hoot says you have work?”
“I'm in the process of buying the Quarter Circle Z. I need to hire a crew. Right now, this animal count interests me the most. Hoot thinks you have no respect for this Ryan.”
“Hoot underestimates my hatred for the man. What are your plans?”
“Bo Harold is negotiating an agreement on the price. I have asked Talley to give me control of the ranch so I can run Ryan and his men off. We have not heard on that yet, but Ryan doesn't need to know that. Tomorrow, I want to look for the remuda he counts as a hundred head.”
“Count me in.”
“I pay thirty-five and found. You won't make less than two months' pay.”
“Fair enough.”
“If the deal goes through, I will need to go back to Texas and settle my business there. That may take a year. I want some honest men to work for me. Hoot, I figure, can cook, and we'll get the rest of our crew I guess from former ranch hands who all seem to hate Ryan.”
“They won't be hard to find.”
“Good. This ranch buying business is getting tough. Let's make a three-day hitch covering part of the range and look for the horses. Meet us on the road to Camp Verde early tomorrow. Heck, you, and me. Hoot can keep an eye on Harold. I'll get enough supplies to feed us.”

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