Ambush Valley (3 page)

His foreman Tom's new house for him and his family was nearly done, Chet learned that evening. That was good, he decided the next morning, walking around the fine log structure. There was lots of craftsmanship in the fashioning together on the two-story log house. The wide porch welcomed them. Mill-made glass windows in the front looked at the Verde River. Millie, Tom's wife, showed him where the living room, dining room, and kitchen would be. The aroma of the fresh-cut sweet pine lumber stayed in his nose. Rock fireplaces were on both sides of the living room and half completed. Stairs went up to a fenced landing. The kitchen would have a pump in the sink and a new large wood-burning range to cook on.

“I hope you like it,” Millie said.

“Hey, this is your house. Do you like it?”

She nodded her head and chewed on her lower lip. “It's a mansion.”

He hugged her before she cried. “Good. You'll like my sister Susie. You two will get on fine.”

“I'm looking forward to meeting her.”

“I better go find Tom. I'm certain that there are things we need to fix.”

“Chet Byrnes.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for hiring Tom. We love this ranch and with the house it will be even better.”

“Good.” He went and looked for his foreman.

They met and discussed things. Tom planned to go look at some cows for sale. He had a good plan to ship some of their older cows and replace them with better ones.

After lunch, Chet saddled a big stout horse and rode off to Preskit. He planned to get a haircut along with all else, but forgot it. He made good time completing his other business and in late afternoon, he reined up at Marge's ranch gate. Drew a deep breath and turned
Brother
, his renamed horse, down the lane.

He didn't see anyone exercising horses, so he stopped at the house, hitched his horse, and went through the yard gate with the Scotch Collies barking excitedly at him.

“Oh my God—” Knuckles on her mouth, she looked pale enough to faint. Marge stopped halfway out of the open door. “You've come back from Texas.”

“Like an old tomcat. It's me. Are you all right?”

“No. I about fainted. I don't usually do that. Oh, Chet it is so good to see you.” She fell in his arms and they kissed. And kissed. “I'm sorry, but it shocked me so much to see you on my porch, I wondered if I was dreaming it all.”

“It's me all right. I knew I needed to stop. I sure never aimed to shock you half to death.”

“Oh, come in and sit on the couch and tell me all about Texas.”

He put his hat on the rack and settled next to her on the sofa. “Texas is still there. I don't own a shred of it. My family is about a day or so east of Camp Verde. I sent some of the boys to go meet them tomorrow.”

“How—how did you come?”

“First six hundred miles we made in train cars. Took three days . . .” He had to take a moment to kiss her again and then he went on with his tale. When he finished, she jumped up.

“My new housekeeper must have supper about ready.”

“New one?”

“Yes. My long-term friend had to go to Tucson and take care of her mother down there.”

A Mexican woman came in the room. “
Señora
, is your friend here going to eat with us?”

“Yes,” she said, then turned to him. “Dad's over in California on business. All my men are out chasing some horses that were turned out by someone.”

“Trouble?” he asked.

“I hope not. With my father gone—why I hope the gate simply came open and someone did not steal them.”

“If they did let me know. We can find them.”

She smiled. “We better go eat. Monica, this is my good friend Chet Byrnes. He sold his holdings in Texas and has bought the Quarter Circle Z ranch at Camp Verde.”

“So nice to meet you,
señor
.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“His entire family has been on the road moving here.”

“Oh, how far is that?”

“Close to twelve hundred miles by my guess.”

“Oh, did anyone die on such a long trip?”

“No, we only lost one horse.”

He seated Marge and she made him sit in the head chair. When Monica left the room he kissed her again. They both laughed. Neither of them could take their eyes off each other. But somehow they managed to eat and after Monica cleared the table, they were still looking at each other.

Marge made certain they were alone before she said, “You must certainly stay the night.”

A horse came in on the run down the lane in the bloody sundown.

She rose. “I wonder what's wrong?”

A short man under a sombrero came on the run. “
Señora
, the rustlers shot Logan and Buck. I came for help. What should I do?”

“They what?”

“Can you take me back there?” Chet asked him, taking charge.

“
Sí
, but it is many miles,
señor
.”

“Marge, go find the sheriff or Roamer. Tell them I will leave markers so they can find me. What is his name?”

“Raphael—”

“Raphael, go get yourself a fresh horse. Marge, get me a rifle and some cartridges. I may need them.”

“Take my father's good horse,” she said to her man and ran for the glass gun case. Looking at the half empty case, she turned to Chet. “The men must have taken the good ones. Is a .44/40 all right?”

“Fine.”

She handed him the new-looking rifle and then two boxes of shells. “I will go get Sheriff Sims or Roamer. Maybe Raphael can tell me where the rustlers were at.”

“Good idea.”

“Oh, I hate to see you going after horse thieves.”

“Hey, we need to stop them.”

She agreed. “I'll get some jerky, a blanket, and something.”

“What is wrong,
señora
?” her housekeeper asked.

“Raphael just rode in. He's taking Chet back. Both Logan and Buck have been shot. Get some dry cheese, crackers, and jerky for them. I'll get him a blanket.”

“Who will tell the sheriff?”

“We're going to drive to town and do that when they get gone.”

Monica said, “I can hitch the horses.”

“We both can. Get the food for them.”

He kissed her good-bye with his arms full. Her Mexican cowboy was back with a big fresh horse out front. When he came in the house Marge filled his hands with food. Then the two women ran by him to go hitch the team.

With a blanket over his arm, a box of ammo and rifle in his hands, Chet headed for his fresh horse. Marge's cowboy loaded both his and Chet's saddlebags with the food. He jammed the rifle in the scabbard and tied the blanket on behind the cantle. When they were both in the saddle, they whirled their horses around and headed up the long driveway. They turned hard at the main road and headed east. By Chet's calculation they had less than a half hour of light and then it would be dark. He hoped that Marge and her housekeeper would be all right going into Preskit. By this time, several of his Arizona cowboys had already met his wagon train. They should be good. They raced through the small mining town of Mayer and off the east mountain toward the Verde well downstream from the ranch. Forced to cut down the speed of their mounts to a hard trot, going off the mountain, he decided to quiz her man.

“Could you tell how many rustlers had the horses?” he asked.

“Three or four. One of them, maybe a boy. They had taken twelve of our good ranch horses. When we got close to them, one of them dropped back and began firing at us with a rifle. Buck was hit in the leg and he told me to go for help. I think Logan was already dead. Nothing I could do but what Buck said. I told him I would and the bullets whizzed by me like hornets but I was soon out of range. I was plenty scared and never looked back. They may have killed both of them.”

“You did real well, amigo. Where were they headed do you think?”

“Buck said before the shooting that they were going to Bloody Basin.”

Chet shook his head. “I don't know this country and I have never been there.”

“Me either
señor
. But it is south of us according to him.”

“We'll just follow them after we check on those two men that were shot.”

“I hope that Buck is alive. He is a good
segundo
and I sure like to work for him.” Raphael crossed himself and looked up at his sombrero for celestial help as well.

Chet marked where they took the trail off the road for the posse to see where to turn. A note said they were on the trail ahead of them.

Both horses were still breathing hard as the twilight set in, and recovering from the hard race they made to get there. The country was mostly head-high juniper and open spaces. They spooked range cows and calves and a British breed bull or two. Couple of them were Herefords and some were red and roan shorthorn males. They reminded Chet about his own planned upgrading breeding program. He'd have to buy more of those kinds of bulls. The mountains ahead looked tougher and he knew the quarter moon wouldn't rise until later.

Pretty brazen rustlers to take ranch horses out of a pasture, then halter and lead that many away. It was a big decision because folks would sure notice that many passing by. He bet several folks saw them when they came through Mayer.

“How much farther to the ranchmen?”

“
Señor
, it is over another mountain from where we are. Those banditos were really moving on when we discovered there were men leading them. I saw them from one mountain to the next. I guess they saw us coming too. Buck was mad as hell.”

“I can't stand a thief either. Back in Texas, three men once stole my whole remuda and I hung them when I caught them about two hundred miles away from our ranch. Over eighty horses,”

“Oh, how did they do it?”

“Just rode in and took them. One of the mothers of the hung rustlers later said, ‘Oh, they would have brought them back.' Dumb woman. We caught them near the Red River—that's the line that goes into the Indian Territory. Their execution caused a feud with that family that made me move out here.”

The starlight grew brighter, but the trail grew much steeper and slowed their pace even more. A coyote howled and another answered. An owl hooted for its mate. Chet settled in for a long night. The trail was obvious enough that he figured the law could trace their tracks in the daylight. They'd bring a posse. But this was tough terrain they went down then up again, and their horses had to cat-hop up. It would sure sift out the weak ones in a big hurry. He wished he had his roan horse that had been shot out from under him. The one he rode was tough, but that pony was made for this steep, hard country.

They chewed on jerky about the time the quarter moon rose. And the new light really outlined the steep mountains they were in. Way past midnight they approached the ambush site that Raphael had pointed out to him from across the dark canyon.

“They may have come back and caught their horses and took them too.”

He agreed with Chet. “I bet they did.”

That in consideration, they rode in silence off the mountain, then up the even steeper trail. Raphael held up his hand in the lead. “This is where they started shooting at us from up there.”

Even in the starlight he couldn't see any bodies. There was little more than some pear cactus beds. Raphael was off his horse and looking. He struck a wooden match. “There's blood here.”

Chet dismounted. “What in the hell did they do with their bodies?”

Raphael pushed his sombrero back on his shoulders. “I don't know. This is where Buck told for me to go get help.”

“I don't doubt you. They must've taken the corpses with them. Let's go up on the mountain and wait until dawn so we can track them.”

The blood was real. Why take the bodies except to hide them? Corpses would make a loud call for the arrest of the killers. Horse thefts were just things that happened every day, though ranchers were upset any time they happened. But dead men raised big rewards for the capture of the killers.

“I hope not, but I think they're dead and the thieves want to hide the bodies.”

“I savvy. But when I find them I may strangle them myself with my bare hands.”

“I understand,” Chet's stomach roiled over the thoughts of the men's demise. Not a good picture to consider.

They emerged on a large mesa of grass and pear cactus beds. With matches for light, Raphael studied the tracks. His words sounded sad. “They must have taken them with them.”

Chet dropped heavy from the saddle. “I have a blanket. It'll be cool up here by sunup.”

“I have a blanket-lined jacket here on my saddle,
señor
. You use that blanket. I don't know if I can sleep anyway.”

“I understand. It will be past noon or later before the posse shows up here. I will leave them a note about what we found.”

“Good idea.”

Chet used the side of his boot sole to clear a place of any debris and rocks from his resting place.

With a stub of a pencil he found he would write it in a small tally book he kept notes in. By the light of Raphael's matches he wrote a short note. He planned to tie it on yucca stem in the path for them. On the hard ground, he grabbed some shuteye, waking every hour or so until he sat up and wondered if they could see anything yet.

The short man came over and squatted on his boot heels. “I never sleep much.”