Once a Ranger (2 page)

TWO

H
E STOOD ON
the porch in the early morning light. A steaming cup of coffee and the freshness of the desert's pungent smell filled his nose. He heard a horse coming down the road.

A cowboy named Chuck Malloy who worked for Jim Duval at the Duval Ranch came by to try to catch him and said that some raiders had struck their place the night before. The raiders took more than two dozen ranch horses, and they were not Apaches. No one was hurt, but the raiders shot up the place and took the best horses with them.

“Who would you say they were?”

“Mexicans. They whooped a lot and rode around like they didn't give a damn. Maybe a half dozen of them. Drunk.”

“I'm surprised they came this far up here. The army's down there on the border and there are lookouts up here at every spring trying to stop the Apache renegades' movements.”

“These guys were a rowdy bunch last night. The boss and Randal, who's another hand, were already tracking them south when I came up to find you.”

“I'll get a fresh horse, and then I need to pick up a deputy and ride down there to see if I can track them.”

“Oh, I figure they're back in Mexico already. I just came to tell you for the boss.”

Cally looked at Guthrey with a serious expression. “Isn't that dangerous, going out of the county?”

“Outlaws have no boundaries. I'm going to go check on it though.”

She raised her gaze at the ceiling. “Just be careful.”

“I will.”

So one night spent sleeping in her sweet arms and he would be gone again. Noble would want to go along. Guthrey would get him in Soda Springs and then head south. Better take along a packhorse as well. They might be gone for several days.

The cowboy had some breakfast with them and left, thanking Cally for the meal. Then she packed Guthrey some extra clothes. She threw in some of her beef jerky along with a tin of her oatmeal raisin cookies. Then she added two towels, a bar of soap, and some hankies.

Guthrey tied on his bedroll, then put a coffeepot, a small sack of her ground roasted coffee, a pot, an iron skillet, and some frijoles in a cloth bag and loaded them in the pannier. Then he kissed her good-bye. Riding Lobo, his tough Roman-nosed horse, and leading a bay packhorse, he headed for Soda Springs. He was there by midmorning and checked with Deputy Zamora, who was at the desk.

“Back so soon, boss?” the man asked.

“Yes, someone stole several horses at the Duval Ranch last night. Duval figured they're headed for Mexico and they weren't Apaches.”

“Bad deal, huh?”

“Yes. How did the trial go yesterday?”

“They found Slegal guilty on all three counts and the judge gave him ten years.”

“Good. I don't know much about this rustling, but I'm going to look for this bunch. I'll get Noble and we'll ride that way.”

“Will they try to sell them in Tombstone?”

“I don't know,” Guthrey answered, though he agreed with his deputy's speculation. “Beyhan, the sheriff down there, won't do much. But I need to try and stop this bunch from doing anything else.”

“The Wells Fargo man dropped by and wants to meet you.”

“You ever deal with them up in New Mexico?” Guthrey asked.

His man nodded. “They're a tough bunch. I think sometimes they shoot first, then ask questions.”

“I dealt with some as a Texas Ranger and I drew the same conclusion. They don't bother to bring many outlaws in for trial when they do catch them.”

“There's lots of agencies like that. I was pleased when you told us we were law enforcers, not judges and not juries.”

Guthrey agreed. “We each need to remember that.”

“I'm sure of the men here. They do remember that. They know your feelings. You still don't have many folks wanting to come tell us much like they did when I worked at Socorro, but you'll build their trust in time.”

“They never had any law here, only a drunken deputy who tried to run over everyone. No one was ever in the office tending business, only Tommy out there to take messages. I never saw such a lack of officials in my life. They said they had no crime, but when Jim Burroughs shot my wife's father, no one went to the crime scene or even got the bullets or had a coroner's trial.”

“I heard about that. You be careful. I don't have to tell you those Mexican bandits are ruthless.”

Guthrey found Noble at the adobe jacal and corrals he kept for the two of them to stay in when they were in town. The old man was cleaning his rifle and finished up quickly at the sight of Guthrey.

“Saddle up. We need to go see about some more horse rustling last night at the Duval Ranch.”

“Dad-blame bastards, who was it this time?”

“Duval's cowboy told me they were Mexican bandits.”

“They're getting bold, huh?”

“I think the shortage of horses around here has made them most valuable.”

“That could be. That sure could be it. How was Cally?”

“She misses you.”

“Aw, she's a sweet lady. Made a fine woman for you.”

“You up to going along?” he asked as he dismounted to wait for Noble to saddle his horse. Guthrey knew Noble was past seventy by several birthdays. But while he was a little slow getting around, he'd soon be ready to ride.

“By damn, if I can't go, I'll go in and sit at the old soldiers' home in Tucson on the porch.”

“You an ex-soldier?”

“I don't recall, but they wouldn't know the difference.”

“They might.” Guthrey shook his head, amused at the old man's notions.

He slapped down the stirrup and nodded. “I'm ready.”

They mounted up and rode for Duval's place near the south end of Crook County. They arrived past noontime, and Guthrey knew that Jim and one of his men had already ridden out to try to track down the rustlers. Gladys Duval, a large rawboned woman in a wash-worn dress, met them as she stood in the doorway, shading her eyes from the high sun with her hand. “I can fix you some beans?”

“No, we'll go on and try to catch them. My wife sent jerky.”

“You tell that sweet girl hi for me and I'll see her at the dance if you ever get time to go now that you're the sheriff.” She smiled and laughed freely. “Jim will be glad to see ya. Those bandits sounded tough last night when they took them horses. Shot the blazes out of this place taking them. Lucky none of us got hit. They done stole one of his favorite ones too.”

Guthrey thanked her and they rode on in a long trot.

“She's a good woman, but I bet she could tail a big steer and throw him on his back.” Noble laughed at his own joke as they went down the dusty road.

Smiling, Guthrey agreed. “She really wouldn't fit at a fancy social event, would she?”

“Naw, but she's big hearted as any female living.”

Both nodding, they rode on. The mid-July day was heating up and some clouds were coming up from the Gulf of California—monsoon rains could start anytime and not a rancher between there and the Mogollon Rim would complain. Summertime in the chaparral country was always hot and this one had been no exception.

Most people tried to work in the early morning and get done by noon. Law enforcement knew no right time to get things done.

“This man Burroughs who killed Cally's daddy is going to be hung in September. Is it the sheriff's job to do that?” Noble asked.

“Yes. I told the county committee last week they had to build a scaffold. They grumbled about spending the money, but that was the judge's order.”

“You have to handle that?”

“It says the sheriff will on that day provide for a scaffold and the things necessary for a proper execution.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No. I never knew the father, but it's part of the job and should be a deterrent to others planning to kill someone.”

Noble jabbed his horse with his right spur to pick up speed to match Guthrey's mount. “That will be a big day in Soda Springs.”

“Yes, lots will be there and that's morbid, but that's part of the way folks get to see justice.”

“I bet that warden down at Yuma Prison hates you by now too.”

“I don't imagine we're very popular with him, all the felons we've sent him.”

“Hell, I bet you don't lose any sleep about that.”

“No, I'm glad they're gone.”

“You didn't miss many. You ever hear anything from those Ranger friends who came to help us?”

“They don't write long-winded letters, but they're doing fine.”

“You reckon they'll ever need you to go help them sometime?”

“If I have the crew I have now, I'd go in a minute.”

“Why not count me in to go along and watch?”

“You'd like doing that?” Guthrey reined up his horse on a rise to let him breathe.

“I damn sure would. You could tell how they had been Rangers. It was like a good ranch hand in a branding pen. They did everything with authority.”

“Let's get going. We're still tracking this bunch. Maybe by tomorrow we can catch Jim and his man.”

“Sure enough. Hell, he may have them caught by now.”

“Right.” Guthrey took off his hat, wiped his wet forehead on his sleeve, and nodded. “We get much farther south we need to take off these badges. Our authority runs out.”

“You planning on crossing the border if we need to?”

He nodded. Those horses needed to be returned, and he wasn't against bringing the rustlers back for their trial belly down either. When they crossed the south line of Crook County, they would simply be two men looking for stolen property. That didn't bother him—doing things right was all that was important.

Aiming for Nogales on the border, at sundown they camped on the Santa Cruz River and gnawed on jerky for supper and then washed it down with riverbank coffee, which had a fishy flavor. Up before dawn, they headed on. The horse thieves' tracks had skirted the border town and gone south into Mexico. Guthrey removed his badge when they went past the post. No need in wearing it down here. He was just another horse hunter.

By evening, they joined Jim Duval and his cowboy Randal Stevens in their small camp. They had coffee made and shook hands. No doubt in Guthrey's mind that Duval and his man were grateful to see them both.

“What do we know about the rustlers?” Guthrey asked.

“I think they're holed up just over the hill,” said the rancher, who was in his forties. “We studied them through my field glasses before sundown. The horses, theirs and mine, are in a bunch up here on the flats, herded by two young boys.” Then he smiled. “Way I figure, they're going to have a fiesta tonight and get drunk to celebrate their big steal. Do you think when they do that we can take the ponies and make a run for the border?”

In his mind, Guthrey went over the terrain and the distance between them and the border—thirty-five to forty miles. The moon would be up early; the country went from flat desert to rolling country. In a twenty-four-hour push they'd be across the border and beyond the arm of the Mexican law if it rose up to stop them. If they also had all the outlaws' horses as well, the outlaws couldn't give chase. The plan should work if they didn't ride off into a hole at night. A good-size moon brought those thieves this far, so the moon would take them home as well.

“Let's get those boys that are herding them and their mounts, tie them up, and throw their horses in with the herd.”

“I'm ready,” Duval said.

“Randal, you and I need to find the herders.” He took the young cowboy as the quickest of the three men. “We'll catch them, then tie them up and gag them. You two bring our horses and we'll give it a try. If anything happens and we get too much hell, we can quit the horses and run for the border.”

Everyone agreed.

Guthrey and Randal started out on foot in the twilight, dodging cactus and mesquite until they drew close to the two horse silhouettes circling the herd in the growing darkness. The boys were well apart on their horses, keeping the settled ponies in a loose bunch. Guthrey and the young cowboy knelt in the grass to plan how to get their prey. The first boy came close by. They jerked him off his horse and, his mouth clamped shut by Guthrey's hand, smothered a short yell. Randal quickly tied his arms and legs with heavy twine. Then Guthrey gagged him. Satisfied they had that one, Guthrey moved low toward the other herder.

“Sanchez! Where are you?” the boy cried out in Spanish.

“Right here,” Guthrey said and pulled him off the horse. Quickly he covered the boy's mouth. “No yelling or I'll cut your throat. Whose horses are these?” he demanded in Spanish.

“Montoya's.”

“Who is he?”

The frightened boy did not answer.

Guthrey shook him. “What is his first name?”

“Royal.”

“
Bueno
.” He spoke to the boy in Spanish. “If you and your herder friend get untied before sunup and run to Royal, I will come back and cut your throats from ear to ear. You savvy?”

“
Sí
.”

They tied him up and gagged him. Then Guthrey and Randal took the bridles off the boys' horses and turned them to the bunch. Duval and Noble joined them in the starlight. In another hour Guthrey knew the moon would rise to help light their way northward.

“Let's push them slow-like at first,” Guthrey said. “Duval, you take the lead of the bunch with my packhorse, they should follow you. Me, Randal, and Noble will bring up the rear. When I whistle loud, set us a pace in a good trot. But we better walk them a ways, so those others don't hear us. And till we get more light.”

Thunder rolled and the horses threw their heads up, clearly spooked. Guthrey waved at his men. “Fireworks is all that is. Lead out. We'll bring up the rear.”

Those rustlers had some more powerful-sounding rockets that exploded over the hill. But to Guthrey's relief, the horses moved in a long succession about two horses at a time on the oxen-wagon tracks and headed north. They choused a few head by slapping their chaps with a rope tail—these were the slow starters. A few miles down the road, the rising silver moonlight on the chaparral began to make things clearer—it was time to move on faster. Guthrey whistled loud and more firecrackers broke the near silence behind them. The herd was on the move, smoothly making some dust, but it wasn't too bad for him and the others in back. The animals were tired enough from the drive down to be docile.