Between Hell and Texas (20 page)

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Authors: Dusty Richards

BOOK: Between Hell and Texas
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“What about the money I heard that you found?” Harold asked.
Chet set down his fork and reached for his coffee cup. “I guess you heard about that, too. I can take the money for stock out of it and send him the balance.”
“That sounds alright to me. I'll wire him and let him know you have agreed with the deal.”
“But if someone impounds that money, his part about replacing the cattle and horses that are listed on the inventory comes out of the place money that I owe him.”
“How short are they?”
“We found about forty horses. I have men out looking for the rest.” Chet sipped on the hot coffee and nodded in approval at Jenny.
Harold shook his head, as if a little lost. “At say thirty-five to forty bucks a horse, that's from two-thousand to twenty-five hundred dollars. How many cattle are gone?”
“That looks to me like the big loss. We saw one or two small bunches after the horses, and I've even seen my first brown-faced Hereford bull.”
“Huh?” Harold swallowed hard.
“The inventory you gave me called for twenty head of purebred Hereford bulls—all I saw were some longhorn bulls. I'll bet Ryan never bought one white-faced bull, but Talley paid for them.”
“Damn, he was slick, wasn't he?”
Chet nodded. “He was a damn crook, and not smart.”
“That's another twenty-five hundred. So we're up to five thousand or so.”
Chet pointed with his fork to make a point. “I bet good young cows will cost a hundred bucks, with everyone wanting to stock these ranges now the Apaches are gone.”
“If you're missing a hundred head, say, that's ten thousand.” Harold shook his head. “You're driving a hard bargain.”
“He'd have had nothing at all if I hadn't taken it over. Most locals were as scared of Ryan as Talley was,” Chet said.
“What if he agrees to give you that money for the stock that's lost—you pay him ten thousand now and ten thousand in eighteen months for the ranch?”
“If I am as short as I think I am on cattle, I'd be a fool,” Chet answered.
“But”—Harold screwed up his face—“you'd still be giving a cheap price for three sections down on the Verde, a nice home place, and some good grazing country.”
“I'll consider it.”
“Would you agree to that?”
Chet recalled the bank's figure on that sheet was only a hundred dollars off from their count at the ranch. He could make that all work. Whew, he'd been figured out.
“If he agrees to that, are you going on with the deal?” Harold asked.
“Tell him not to mess around. I need to get back to Texas.”
“Sure. Sure. I'm going to the telegraph office right now.” Harold patted him on the shoulder and rushed out.
“Well, big man, you've kinda woke everybody in town,” Jenny said.
“How's that?” he asked her, reaching for his piece of apple pie.
“Margaret Christianson.”
He paused for a second with his fork suspended. “I met her on the stage. What did she want?”
“Lot's of information about you.” Jenny rocked slightly with her arms folded.
“Did you tell her?”
“Didn't figure it would hurt to tell her what I knew. Besides, I was curious why she wanted to know so much about you.”
“Figure it out?” He wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Good pie.”
“Glad you like it. Margaret isn't my best friend unless she needs me.” Jenny wrinkled her nose, “But she sure has set her hat for you.”
“I ain't eligible. Unless a lady in Texas says no to Arizona. I have a woman back home.”
A smile crossed her lips. “Well, I've warned you.”
“Thanks. Hoot's doing fine. I'll find him a boy to help him. I'm sure the old man will make it.”
“Good. I thank you for hiring him. He was too old to cowboy, but Ryan never treated him right. He was sure proud when he told me about his new job.”
“He's what I needed. Total up my bills here. I imagine you need your money.”
“Margaret paid them. I hope that don't make you mad. She acted like she was doing it for you and you knew all about it.”
“Well, how much was it all together? “
“Twelve-fifty for Hoot's bill, plus what you two ate here.”
Chet pushed the hat on the back of his head and shook his head in wonderment as he rose off the stool. “That might be interesting to know—why she did that.”
Chapter 21
Chet soon learned his livery bill was paid, too, when he rode the roan to the livery. Frey came out of his office and told him he sure had a pretty partner.
Chet stopped and frowned at him. “What partner? Tom works for me.”
“I know Tom. Mrs. Christianson said you were busy out at the new ranch, and she was settling what you owed. She's sure a nice-looking woman.”
Shaking his head, he dismounted. “She's fine-looking, but she isn't my partner.”
Frey cocked his hat to the left, and scratched his brown thatch of hair. “She sure acted like you and her were partners.”
“How much was it?”
“I'll go look.”
“Thanks.” Chet went to stripping out the latigoes on his girth to remove the saddle.
“Wagon and team rental plus the board for your horses came to nine-fifty.”
“Thanks, I can handle that.” A stable man took his horse and said he'd grain him.
Chet thanked him and waved at Frey. “I'll find out.”
The livery owner nodded his head. “Then tell me.”
They both laughed.
 
 
So far, he owed her twenty-three dollars. Why was Margaret Christianson doing this? The good Lord only knew. He went into the Chinese bathhouse. They soon had a tub of hot water ready for him to climb into, and the little man took all Chet's clothing with him. The room smelled of sour water and old soap, but he was getting the dirt out of his pores. Then he sat in the tub and about went to sleep, simply soaking.
“
Wince
you off?” the Chinaman asked from the doorway.
“Fine, whenever.”
He came back shuffling his wooden shoes and stood on a chair to dose away the soap. ”You
velly
good now.”
The large towel he handed him was no flour sack, and soon he was dry. Mr. China soon brought him the Miner newspaper and lighted a lamp for him to read by. He also found a robe for him to wear.
“Clothes soon be
weady
,” he said.
“Good.”
The newspaper spoke of a large silver strike in the area. The interview was with a mine superintendent at the Lucky Star Mine, and he really went on about the possible silver in that mountain and how much they expected to extract.
One man was shot in the back and left to die in his backyard. The city police had no leads, but were interviewing neighbors and his close friends. Someone unknown was lynched down by Dewey. Parties unknown were blamed. The dead man was suspected of appropriating horses that he did not own in the region.
Sounded like back in Texas to him. The little man entered with his clothing all pressed and folded.
“Thanks. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, no owe me. You are the new man on Verde ranch?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. I think so. Pretty lady pay me for when you come in.”
“How much was it?”
“Fifty cents. But you have three more baths coming she pay for.”
”Are you serious?”
“Oh, is so. She
velly
nice lady.”
The new total he owed her was twenty-five dollars. Dressed and ready to go find a barber, he thanked the man and then strapped on his gun.
Margaret, what are you doing?
He slipped into the barber shop. The barber was lighting a lamp and turned to nod. “You must be Mr. Byrnes, I presume.”
“Do I have a free haircut here?”
“Matter of fact, someone did come by and paid me for one.”
“Was it a lady in her twenties or so?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did she tell you to be on the lookout for me?”
The barber, who called himself Johnny, swung the sheet of cloth over Chet and pinned it at his throat. “She said if you don't come by to keep the money.”
“Generous enough, at thirty-five cents.”
“You must have done her a big favor, I decided.”
“No, we merely met on the Black Canyon Stage coming up here.”
“Oh, my, that's funny then. Unless she's set her hat for you.”
Chet slumped in the chair. “Beats me.”
Johnny paused clipping with his scissors. “Maybe you should stop by and ask. She lives on a place—”
“Oh, I know where she lives. She told me.”
“So what else did she pay for?”
“Everywhere I've had charges. Livery, café, I guess the hotel where my things are at.”
“Does she think you're broke?”
“Close to it. I'm buying a ranch down on the Verde.”
“Which one?”
“The Quarter Circle Z.”
“Interesting place. You keeping Ryan as your foreman?”
“No, why?”
“He's run that place several years, just wanted to ask.” He was using the hand clippers that pulled hair going up his neck.
“Lots of folks didn't like him.”
“Kinda gruff. Folks said he was wanted somewhere. But there's several of them living up here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. There's even an ex-marshal from Wichita, Kansas. Earp's his name. Raises hogs up here, says a man could make a fortune arresting them, but it was so damn hard to get them to pay them rewards on them handbills.”
At last his whiskers were scraped off, and he knew all the scandals and city problems in town, when Johnny rubbed some alcohol product on his face as an aftershave. Then the man swept the sheet off and thanked him.
“Don't thank me. Thank her.” He laughed, and headed for the hotel in the twilight.
“You're finally back,” the room clerk said.
“Guess you saved my room?”
“Oh yes, and someone paid your bill.”
“Let me guess.”
“I don't know who paid it. The day man took the money.”
His gritty soles ground on the stairs as he went up to his room. At last inside, he smelled something; then he lighted the lamp with a torpedo match from his vest pocket to see by. Roses filled a vase, and a note was hung on them. He picked it off and held it to the light.
Darling,
When you get time, stop by and see me.
Your best friend,
Margaret
Well, so much for the suspense of who this rich woman was—she even sent him flowers. Guess it was the first time anyone ever bought him flowers. He figured there would be some at his funeral someday. Of course, he didn't expect to smell them. He went and opened the windows. A little stuffy in the room, anyway. The cool air soon came in to flutter the curtains. Undressed, he went to be bed.
Strange woman who went around paying his bills....
Chapter 22
The next morning, Chet moved his and Heck's war bags to the café to take back to the ranch later on that day. Jenny greeted him where he sat on a stool among the working men wolfing down their breakfast. In her usual good-natured way, she paid attention to all “her men.” Sashaying up and down behind the counter, there was a little more woman there than he wanted. Maybe she was the one Susie had recommended. “Go find some German girl over at Fredericksburg, marry her and she will be your wife, have a bunch of kids, do the gardening, and keep your clothes ready,” she'd said.
“You look so nice all cleaned up,” she said, putting his
unordered
breakfast before him. She looked it over. “Did I miss anything?”
“The food looks fine to me.”
“Coffee is coming. I ran low. Too many big drinkers this morning.” Her laughter was like a silver bell, and she told another man his order would be out next. He looked at his platter heaped with biscuits under gravy, browned German potatoes, ham and scrambled eggs. That might actually be the man's plate who she just promised his meal was next. Maybe Chet would stay single. Pleasing a wife might be more than he could stand, except Kathren, but that might be the most impossible thing in the whole wide world. How would he ever get her to come to Arizona? Big question.
“You going back to the ranch today?” Jenny asked, pouring his coffee.
“Yes, there are several things I want to resolve up there before I go back to Texas.”
“Sounded complicated yesterday.” She paused for a minute. “But I don't understand that kinda business.”
“Everyone simply needs to understand the deal. Buyer and seller.”
She smiled coyly at him. “I'll leave that to you. Tell Heck I miss him, too.”
“Oh, I will.” He blew on his coffee.
“You hiring, Mr. Byrnes?” a man asked from behind him.
He put down his coffee and turned. Hardly more than a boy, he looked pretty shabbily dressed. But he did look like a prospect to help Hoot.
“What's your name?”
“Cory Winfield.”
“How old are you?”
“I ain't real sure. I guess fifteen or sixteen, best I can tell.”
“You have any folks?”
“Naw, they got kilt by the Injuns. So did the rest of my family.”
Chet frowned in disbelief at him. “How have you been living?”
“Doing chores for folks. I quit my last job. The man went to beating me two days ago, he said for messing with his wife. I swear I never touched her.”
“My cook needs a helper. Pays fifteen a month and found.”
The boy's face lit up. “Sounds good to me.”
“You had breakfast this morning?”
“No—sir.”
“Get on a stool, Jen will feed you. Here's two dollars, go take a bath at the Chinaman's bathhouse, then go buy yourself a pair of new waist overalls, suspenders, and a long-sleeve shirt and a hat.”
Chet glanced down at Cory's dirty bare feet. “A pair of shoes. Be sure they fit.”
“Yes, sir.” The youth looked overwhelmed. “I ain't never had no new clothes in my life.”
“Time you had some. I have some things to handle today.”
“Oh, I can get to your place, alright. I'll be there this evening.”
“Fine. Tell Hoot that you're his new helper.”
The boy was chewing on his lower lip. “I sure appreciate all this.”
Chet gave him two more dollars for the rest. He nodded to his latest employee as tears ran down his freckled face. “Go get some breakfast.”
With Cory gone to take a place down the counter, Jenny came by. “You take on lots of strays, don't you?”
“You know him?” he asked with guarded words.
“He'll work.” She shook her head ruefully. “He's never had a real chance.”
She glanced down the corner where he sat on a stool. “You might make a man out of him, otherwise he'll be nothing.”
“That's how I figured it. Better go find Harold and see what's new in our dealings today.”
She smiled. “Watch out for Ryan, he's a back-shooter.”
“I will.” He didn't doubt her warning one mite.
 
 
Thirty minutes later, Chet found his agent Bo Harold at the telegraph office. The man had several yellow sheets in his hand.
“How is it?”
“Talley agreed to the money situation covering the stock loss. I really think he's relieved this is over. I am sending him a deed and a mortgage that you must sign today. Once we get a bank to certify that he's signed the deed, then you need to have your bank transfer the money to him. Ten thousand. And I will then get my fee.”
“How much is that?”
“Five hundred, and I get the same amount when you settle the second part.”
“A little nerve-shaking, but it all worked out and you weren't even shot at.”
“Shot at?” The man jerked to attention.
“Yes, Ryan had a sniper shoot at us.”
“Yes, but you're a Texan and they don't care.”
“Texans die, too. Good, now the brand deal?”
“I'm certain that we can handle that transfer at the courthouse, too.”
“Why don't you go try to find who in Arizona has the—
brand for me? Then you can contact them and buy it for me. I'll have lots of horses and maybe some cattle coming under that brand. I'd like to have it registered here to my family.”
“How high are you willing to go to buy it?”
“Two-fifty?”
“That should buy it. And what will you pay me?”
“Fifty bucks.”
“I'll start on it tomorrow.”
“Good. When do I sign the mortgage?”
“Courthouse at one
PM
in the clerk's office.”
“I'll be there.”
“Maybe we can finally close the deal.” Harold looked worn out and close to collapse.
They both walked out into the bright light. Harold made certain they were alone before he asked, “You courting Margaret?”
“Not really. I have a woman at home that I hope will marry me when I go back and come out here.”
“Oh.”
“You tell me. I only met her coming up from Hayden's Mill on the stage. That's near Phoenix, I guess.”
“The word's out that you and her are very serious.”
Chet shook his head. “Who was or is this Christianson?”
“Her first husband, you mean?”
“I guess. It must be her married name. I met her father, Harold McClure, at the stage office.”
“Walt Christianson was a handsome cowboy. Smooth talker, came in here a few years ago. Folks thought he had lots of money. I showed him some places, but we were having lots of Apache trouble. He said that was why he wasn't ready to buy. That made me check on his credit in Fort Worth, where he said he hailed from. None of the banks I wrote knew him.
“There was a bank in Denton who finally answered me. Said he'd made some cattle drives to Kansas and had a respectable reputation, but he had no deposits in their bank at that time.”
“What happened to him?”
“Margaret had been married to a Yankee officer who was killed in some battle in Virginia during the war. His name was Fulton. So when her and her father moved here from Kansas—at the end of the war—she wore black and cried a lot. She met Christianson at some dance, and he must've swung her around. Soon they were taking buggy rides and became engaged. They had a big wedding and he became the ranch foreman.
“Two years later a horse threw him, broke his neck, and he died that evening. So once again she was a widow. She must really like you.”
“How's that?”
“She sent you roses, I heard.”
“And I'm still wondering why.”
Harold clapped him on the shoulder. “My amigo, to my notion there must be lots of real woman under those satin dresses of hers.”
“There might be. I better do some business while I have the time.”
Harold shook his head warily. “If she's got her mind set on having you, she's an awful persistent woman.”
“I have one of those back in Texas right now.”
“I'll see you at the courthouse at one o'clock.”
Chet closed his eyes for a moment. A persistent woman, huh? No time for that. The store where they got supplies and rifles. Two blocks away. He smiled and tipped his hat to ladies on the boardwalks. Got lots of smiles back—like oh, you're the new man in Margaret's life. He made it to the mercantile unscathed.
Ab Morton owned the large store, Yavapai County Mercantile. A tall, bearded man who did look some like Abe Lincoln, but perhaps not as rawboned a face.
Chet met the man and Morton showed him into his office that looked very neat. The door closed and shut off the noisy store.
“Welcome to Preskit,” Morton said. “They tell me you're buying the Quarter Circle Z. Good to have someone real out there to run a ranch.”
“I'm going back to Texas soon and close out my business there, which may take some time. But I have the money to run this ranch while I close my Texas business and will pay my bills monthly, if that is satisfactory. My address is Mason, Texas.”
“I've heard lots about you and all good. I'll have the account listed in your name if that is satisfactory?”
“No problem. The man I make foreman while I'm closing out in Texas will be the party to deal with here.”
“You picked one?”
“Not yet, but I'll do that before I go home.”
“Fine, I'll be glad to do whatever I can to help your manager.”
“Thanks.” They shook hands and he left, headed for the Palace. Maybe the barmaid Jane who had steered him to Harold had some information on Ryan as well.
She saw Chet come in the batwing doors and trailed him to a table. “I hear Harold found you a ranch.”
He nodded. “You know anything about this foreman Ryan?”
She looked around as she stood beside him. “I heard someone trying to recruit a guy the other night for him. Ryan seldom ever comes in here. He was always secret-acting.”
“Any idea where he might be now?”
“Horse Thief Basin. That's what I heard someone say.”
“What did they want him to do?”
“Never said, but I know it was something illegal. Ryan's a cheap little bastard.”
“I trust you, thanks.” He put a ten-dollar gold piece on the table. “Keep your ears open.”
“Holy shit—I don't get that much for laying on my back—never mind.”
“Bring me a beer and a sliced beef sandwich.”
Jane took the coin, dropped it down into her small cleavage, and rushed off. Soon he had a draft beer. Then she came back and assured him his lunch was coming on fresh hot bread. The mug of beer was cold and tasted like honey. Plenty of foam on the top. He sipped it and sat back as the lunch crowd began to file in. She brought his sandwich and she was right. The sourdough was still warm and the meat tender.
Jane came back and took his mug to refill it. Chet paid her for it all with fifty cents, which left her a dime tip. The new beer came with foam lipping over the side and she smiled big. “See you later.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
He sat back and watched her sashay her way back to the bar. Horse Thief Basin. Where was it at? If things settled down some more, he might ride down there and check it out. Maybe Roamer, the deputy, in the meanwhile, would figure out an excuse to arrest Ryan.

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