Once a Ranger (13 page)

FIFTEEN

D
AWN CAME AND
the wedded lovers shifted under the sheets. He was wrapped around and kissing her. “Good to be back.”

“More than that. I miss you something powerful when you're gone.”

“I'd hoped to be back by Saturday to take you to the dance.”

“I knew you were chasing down outlaws. I'm so glad you were not shot or hurt.”

“That big rancher reared up while I was gone. Three families reported that he threatened them.”

She rose on her elbows. “What's his name?”

“Walter Pierson. I may have to look him up.”

“What did he do to the people?”

“I'm going to read the reports today. My main men keep good records. Then I'll go and question the ranchers he threatened, and when I learn something, I'll question Pierson. I have to nip this in the bud.”

“We better get dressed.”

He agreed and swung his legs out of the bed. “Times I wonder why I took this job.”

“No. That's why you did take it—to end the injustice, and you've done well at it.”

He smiled. “I simply never had a wife before either and I love her.”

“I'm proud to be your wife.”

“Good thing. You sure have an upside-down life with me.”

“No, no, I love it.”

“All right. But most women would complain about it.”

She was dressing quickly on the far side of the bed. “You didn't marry most women.”

He laughed. “Obviously I didn't. I'll go feed the horse.”

“I'll start breakfast. Yesterday I bought some things to eat.”

“I saw them. I'll be back.”

He strapped on his holster and took his hat off the hanger on the wall. Once Guthrey was outside in the cool morning, Cochise nickered at him. But the person seated on the ground was roused by the noise and scrambled to his feet. He was young—early twenties—and wore a cheap black suit floured in dust.

“Sheriff Guthrey?”

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

He swallowed hard and tried to pat down his unruly black hair with his palms. “You are a hard man to catch. My name is Albert Gooding. I am a—”

“You're a reporter, right?”

“Ah, yes sir. I have been covering your takeover of the law here for the
New York Mirror
.”

“And?”

“I'd like to interview you about your experiences in this process.”

“Not much to it. I deputized several ranchers, and the morning we had the authority to enforce the law, we rounded up all the criminals in Crook County.”

“They said you brought in several Texas Rangers to help you.”

“Sure. Some of the folks helped me came from Texas.”

“Who were they?”

“Ask them.”

“But they went back to Texas. I need the answers from you, sir.”

Guthrey poured out some corn into a smooth wood trough for the stallion. The big horse was pawing the dirt, impatient to eat. Guthrey reached over and patted his head while the stallion crushed the kernels in his molars. This young man and his questions were making Guthrey anxious. Next he fed Cally's buckboard team, pouring corn in their trough too.

How could he turn the reporter off?

“I'm powerful busy right now. Could we do this at another time?”

“I've been here nearly two months and this is the first time I even caught you. I need to send in a story on you or I'll lose my job and be left penniless out here.”

“I really don't have time.”

“I won't take long. I promise.”

Cally came to the door. “Bring your friend in. I have plenty of breakfast.” Then she set up the washbowls on the porch.

“She's feeding you. Come on.”

“Oh, thanks. I didn't come to beg a meal.”

“She invited you, and she's a mighty good cook. Come along.”

“She's your wife?”

“Yes, she's my wife. Why?”

“Nothing. She just looked young.”

“Don't tell her that.” Guthrey chuckled.

“Oh, I won't insult her.”

“Thanks.”

They washed up on the porch and dried their hands. Albert tried again to pat down his hair without success, and Guthrey let him go in first.

“Cally, this a big New York reporter, Albert Gooding.”

“Nice to meet you, sir. Have a seat. There's more pancakes coming.”

“Thank you, ma'am. It sure smells good.”

“Just pancakes and homemade syrup. Do you drink coffee, sir?”

“My family call me Al, ma'am. Yes, I'd love some.”

“Albert has to have a story about my job as sheriff or he'll get fired.”

“Oh, what does he need?”

“A story about me and what I do as sheriff, he says.”

“My husband is a little stiff about his accomplishments. You know he was a Texas Ranger captain before he came to Arizona to find a new future for himself and, I must say, a wife—me.”

“Yes, ma'am. He's very proud of you.”

She blushed. “Thank you. Phillip Guthrey rescued my younger brother, Dan Bridges, from being gunned down in the community of Steward's Crossing at the hands of hired gunmen. Then he came home with Dan and said he'd look at the situation that most of us were facing under the threat of a powerful rancher. My father had been shot twice in the back. There was no inquest held nor did any lawmen come to see about it.”

Albert was busy scribbling down notes. “What did Sheriff Guthrey do?”

“He started to investigate the crime and eventually solved it. That man will hang next week.”

“How did you find out who the killer was?”

“I asked a banker if anyone wanted to buy the Bridges Ranch. He told me about a man who acted very interested, I followed that up, and he confessed.”

“Amazing.”

She went on to tell the man about the lazy sheriff and the nonenforcement of the law that allowed a powerful rancher to pursue running off the small ranchers.

In the end, Albert shook his head. “Pure amazing. I am grateful; this report will save my neck. Thank you very much.”

“Now eat your breakfast,” Cally said, pointing at his plate. They all three laughed.

After he finished, Albert politely thanked them, excused himself, and left hurriedly.

With him gone, Guthrey winked at her. “He first thought you were my daughter.”

“Oh, Phil, he didn't say that.” Standing over him, she smothered his face to hers. “That's terrible.”

“No, he didn't. I am a baby stealer. But I love you.”

“Oh my. You are a devil. What will I do with you?”

“Put up with me.” They both laughed.

* * *

L
ATER HE WENT
to his office and read the three reports on threats by night riders. The incidents involved masked riders with torches. Their numbers ran from six to eight masked men. The attack comprised threatening men milling around and firing pistols off in the air, telling the ranchers to leave the country or face death by being burned out.

He knew only one of the ranchers who had been threatened. Mark Peters and his wife, Olive, were one of the three families threatened by the masked raiders. The party came to their place after midnight. Mark reported that he was concerned they'd burn him out, waving their pitch torches around. Deputy Baker said he had nothing to prove they'd been there. Nor did Mark recognize any of the riders in the group. They wore flour-sack masks and no hats. He saw no brands on the horses either.

Guthrey decided to ride out and speak to Mark and Olive. Such raids were a renewal of the past range war and he had no intention of allowing it to happen again. But he'd have to work swiftly to stop it. He called Baker over.

“There's no one place they started these raids. Peters lives over on the west end of the Dragoons. This Davis family lives close to the Pima County line, and the other, the Cody family, lives up close to north line near San Carlos. No one saw these men gathering?”

“No, sir. They must have drifted in and then formed a gang to raid them,” Baker said. “I stopped at every small store and community to see if any strangers had stopped on that day or had ridden by in a group. I learned nothing.”

“You did good. Last time we knew the enemy and where to start. This time we may be dealing with a smarter man in charge.”

“Walter Pierson?” Baker asked.

“Whoever it is who runs that big ranch, I suppose. Who else wants these small ranchers off the range? I am going to go see the Peterses and learn what they think. Then we'll ride out to talk to Pierson the next day. I'll get a few deputies to go with me and a search warrant from the judge.”

“What will we look for?” Baker asked.

Guthrey said, “Masks, among other things.”

Baker nodded. “That should point a finger at someone, huh?”

“Exactly. I had some men prosecuted in the last range war that I arrested because they had flour sack masks in their saddlebags after a raid.”

“Will Pierson threaten us?”

“He better not.”

Baker nodded.

Guthrey thanked his man and went back to the small jacal to meet his wife.

“Learn much?” she asked.

“One of the ranchers threatened was Mark Peters over at the base of the Dragoons. I'm going over there to speak to him and I will likely be back here late.”

“Should I go home?”

“No. Tomorrow I am getting a search warrant to inspect the big ranch run by Walter Pierson.”

“By yourself?”

“No, I'll take some deputies with me.”

“Good.” She looked relieved by his answer. “I have some beans hot.”

He looked over the interior of the hut. “Sounds great. But you're working too hard on cleaning up this dust bowl.”

“Oh, I'm fine. We did decide to remodel it for our use?” She indicated the hovel.

“Yes, we have a need for a place over here.”

“Well, your daughter is getting ready to do that.” She broke into laughter and hugged him.

“I'm glad she's doing it. Except we have a sow's ear to work with. Let's keep this and just build a house next to it. We have two acres here.”

“Can I find a contractor while you're gone?”

“Sure. I trust you.”

“Good. I won't build it until you're back. We need a windmill too.”

“I agree. That pumping water gets old.”

“And a tank and shower.”

“Go, girl.”

She hugged him. “Your beans will get cold.”

“Yes, ma'am. Like I said, I may not be back until late tonight.”

“I sleep light when you're gone. Take your time.”

“Don't run off with any reporter.”

“Oh, Phil, he doesn't mean anything to me.”

“Darling, I know that. I'm simply being funny.”

* * *

A
FTER LUNCH HE
rode out for the Peters place on Cochise. When he struck the road, the big horse, who was well rested, charged off eastward in the midday heat. He passed through Steward's Crossing and took the road southwest to the Mormon settlement, then east to the Peters place at the base of the red mountains.

“Hello, sheriff,” Olive said, coming out on the porch.

“Evening. Where is Mark?”

“I expected him to be back by now. He was going to check on his water holes today. Get down, he'll be here in a short while. I have some supper. We can eat.”

He stepped down and loosened the latigoes, then hitched Cochise to the rack.

“My, he's a loud-colored horse. He looks powerful.”

“He is all that. How are things going?”

“Fine, except for those night riders. That scared me half to death. The rest is going fine.”

Guthrey washed up on the porch. “That's why I rode out here.”

She handed him a towel. “Mark's usually back by this time.”

“It'll be dark in thirty minutes. I really need to get back to town tonight. Where was he checking the water holes?”

“We have three windmills on the foot of the mountains. I don't think he rode into the mountains to check on the springs.”

“Draw me a crude map. I'll go see if I can find him.”

“You need to eat.”

“I can always eat. Make me a map.”

“You may fall off into a canyon in the dark.” Her concerned face shone in the sunset's bloody light.

“I'll try to locate him.”

She rushed inside and drew a map on a piece of paper. “This is the south windmill. Take the right-hand trail down there. The rest are on a path that goes around the base of the mountains. You think you can find them?”

“I'll try. Thanks, Olive. Don't cry; he'll be all right. I'll find him or he'll come on in himself.”

She sniffed. “He's a damn good man. He never questioned my past. I hope you're right. I really love him.”

“I understand, Olive. You two have a great life here.”

“Be careful, Phil. I don't want you hurt either.”

* * *

I
N THE DIMMING
twilight Guthrey set out on the obvious trail as the desert slipped into darkness. The giant saguaro cactus stood about like giant cross-shaped silhouettes. He watched for the cholla cactus, which had a light aura he could see in the dimming light. Surviving in the desert took a tough individual. These ranchers earned their livings in a dry world.

A small owl flew off at Guthrey's approach. Some cow out in the chaparral bawled for her calf in a hoarse call that sounded magnified by the crickets' night music. The clop of Cochise's shoes clanked on some rock outcroppings as he pushed out of dry gulches. In places, the strong creosote smell from the greasewood scrubs filled his nose.

A horse nickered and Guthrey stood in the stirrups. The creak of a windmill on the night wind made him stare hard for the tower. Then he saw the windmill, and a horse nearby raised his head, obviously ground tied by training not to run off.