Ambush Valley (5 page)

He chewed on hard spicy jerky and rode on the trail with only two sets of horse prints; the rest were cloven hooves of cows and deer. He'd seen several more deer and hoped that Raphael was able to shoot one for the lady back there. A bear had left tracks down on a shoal and also a big mountain lion had watered there. Man, his paw tracks were nearly as big as his hat size.

He rode up the deep canyon and stopped to listen several times for any sound of horses or man. Many times he looked back. Big cats stalked people sometimes. He'd only known one man who'd been attacked by a panther. But he had scars all over his body from that attack. Said he finally killed it with a big hunting knife, after he lost his pistol. It all made a helluva spooky tale.

Birds were down by the water. Big crows—they called them ravens out there. Lots of little wrenlike birds in the junipers and a quail with an Indian headdress scurried about, but they hardy ever flushed like bobwhites did at home. They made a sharp
whit-whew
sound. And several kinds of doves that cooed. Folks in Texas called them rain crows. Hell, out here they could coo themselves sick and not get any moisture.

Then he heard some voices chousing their horses to go up a mountainside. They were causing some rocks to fall down.

“. . . can't make it come back.” They sounded close.

Lots of their cursing. “All right, but it's a lot farther to Rye that way.”

“. . . one I'm riding is weak.”

Chet got off and made sure Holdem didn't nicker to the outlaws' horses. The other one was coming back down. For sure he couldn't dare leave his gelding and go spy on them. His heart was beating hard under his chest and his breath was short. Not yet.
Not now.

They talked more, but he couldn't understand them. Then they were on the move again and he breathed easier.

Where was Rye? He'd never heard of it. Might be a town? Good, they'd have their guard down if no pursuit had showed up. He was too damn close to them, he'd have to be more careful and listen closer. Later in the afternoon he stood in his saddle and saw the man riding the saddle and the boy riding bareback. He watched them until they disappeared down a wide sandy creekbed and turned east. This must be the long way to Rye.

He built no fire at dark. Holdem was hobbled. Wrapped in the blanket, Chet slept in short stretches. Coyotes howled and a bobcat screamed. Wasn't a big enough yowl to be a mountain lion. Come daylight he checked his revolver and his rifle. They were loaded. His muscles were stiff and even his vision seemed foggy. At last he got in the saddle. He saw some houses and shacks off in the mesquite and juniper mix. Dogs barked but stayed at their homes. This must be a settlement. The wide dry wash was silt and sand, and some old gnarled cottonwoods grew on the banks. A few trees had been dislodged by past floods and they had huge dead roots showing where the raging water left them.

The fugitives had ridden up this easy way. There was an unpainted church steeple with a cross sticking up above the junipers and next he saw some store buildings. But what caught his eye were two jaded horses, one saddled and the other had a salty spot on his back where someone had ridden him bareback. They were hipshot at the rack, sleeping standing up. The sign said BAR in faded black letters. No one was in sight except a friendly yellow and white collie dog. He could hear some kids playing and by the sun he judged the time was about seven in the morning.

He eased up to the front of the building and, ready for any reception with them, he strode in the open door. The pair was pouring whiskey into glasses when his eyes adjusted to the darker room.

“Who the h—” But they froze facing his cocked Colt.

“Bartender, I am a lawman from Preskit. Don't either of you move. These two men killed two ranchers, stole several horses, raped a rancher's wife, and beat up another man over in Bloody Basin.”

He stepped in, disarmed them and busted the older man hard on the forehead with his pistol when he made a move.

“Don't ever try a thing with me.” Blood began to spill. He forced them to put their hands on the bar and took knives from them and tossed them aside.

“Barkeep—you got a pencil. Write down their names and their next of kin's name and the town they hail from.

“Tell the man your name kid.” He jabbed the kid in he kidneys with the gun barrel when he didn't answer right away.”

“Joseph Marie Lane.”

“Give him your folks' name and address.”

“Tom Lane. Wildcat Crick, Texas.”

“Now you.”

“Thellman Catlin. I ain't got no kin.”

“What town did you live in?”

“Fort Worth.”

“You got any rope to tie them up with?” he asked the barkeep.

The near-bald man in his fifties nodded. “He needs a towel for his bleeding?”

“No. Get me some rope. I can pay you.”

“I won't charge for the rope. You work for what sheriff?”

“Sheriff Sims. Yavapai County.”

“This is Gila County.” The barman's hands were shaking while handing him a rope good enough to tie their hands. Chet did the kid's first, ignoring the man's words. Then made the kid get facedown and tied one boot up to his hands. Then he did the bloody-faced Thellman the same way.

“Now go buy me a hundred fifty feet of good hemp rope over at the store.”

He put a ten dollar bill on the bar. “I'll watch the bar. No one will bother a thing.”

“You—you're going to hang them.”

“Just get the rope, please, or you can hold that sawed off shotgun under the bar on them while I go get it.”

“No. No. I'll do it.” He took the money and ran out the open door.

A freckle-faced boy less than ten was on his hands and knees peering inside from under the batwing doors that had swung shut.

“Go home and stay there, right now!” Chet shouted at him. The kid flew backwards and he could hear him running down the boardwalk.

When the man came back, he spilled the change and folding money on the bar. After swallowing his Adam's apple twice, his face bleached white, he managed to say, “That's lots of rope.”

“It will be enough if it is all there.”

“Phillip measured it.”

“Fine. You two get up on your feet.” He bent over and cut the rope on their boots. “If you try anything, I'll gut shoot you and let you die in agony.”

“Mister I never,” the kid protested.

“Bad company hangs with bad company. Shut your mouth or I'll bust you with my pistol.”

Outside of the bar, he told them to start walking and he led the horses. When they reached the sandy creek bed, he said for them to go right on until they came up the dry creek. A good distance from the saloon, he made them sit down in the creek bed and began to fashion two nooses. The first one done, he put it on the kid and cinched it. Then he took it off and methodically made another. He had drawn a crowd of men and women onlookers hanging back on both sides of the wash at a distance to watch him. They talked in such quiet voices that it was hard for him to distinguish the words.

He mounted Holdem and stood on the saddle seat talking to him the whole time while he tied the nooses on the biggest, lowest thick limb he could find. That completed, he slipped down in the saddle, got off and put both men on their horses. He led their horses over one at a time. Then on his knees on his own saddle, he slipped the loop around Thellman's neck.

“You son of a bitch. I'll see you in hell,” he spit out.

“You better not 'cause I'll cave your sorry ass in.”

He did the same on the sobbing kid's neck.

All set, the crowd in the distance gave a loud moan and he led Holdem back and made him ground tie. Then on foot, he rushed their horses, screaming at them, and they ran away. The onlookers' chorus went, “Oh, no!”

Both men must have had their necks broken in the fall. They never kicked. But he was certain the kid's bowels had flushed. He climbed in the saddle and caught the two horses. He never looked back. Headed west, he reached the Verde by sundown and was at the beat-up man's ranch by the sunup with only a few hours sleep.

Bandage-headed, John Yeager and his wife, Shelia, came out to greet him. They introduced themselves and were grateful for the return of their horses and his saddle.

“I never expected to see them again. But Raphael told me he knew you'd get them back.”

Chet nodded and said nothing.

“The sheriff didn't come and that man you spoke about, Roamer, he wasn't with the posse, who were all worn out. I worried about you going alone, but again your man said, you would get them. Obviously you must have.”

“All I want to say, is they won't ever beat up anyone else.”

“Stop, Mr. Byrnes, and eat something. You look so worn out and drawn. Please let me feed you,” Shelia asked.

“I'll be fine. Two days I'll be home.”

“God bless you, sir.”

“Thanks, I'll probably need it.” He swung his horse around and rode on. A couple miles from their place, three deer broke cover. His hand went for the Winchester in the scabbard and with a quick shot he downed a yearling on the hillside. Wading through the pungent sage brush, he cut its throat and then he dragged it out by the leg to his horse. He threw the carcass over the saddle, climbed up, and held the limp body on his lap.

The sunset was red as fire off in the west when he reined up at the woman's doorway.

“Who's there?” she asked trying to see in the glare.

“Another deer killer, Mrs. Smart. I have a fat deer for you.”

“Oh, you are the man the Mexican said went after those bastards.”

“Yes, Chet Byrnes. They won't ever bother you again.”

“Wait, we can hang it out back and I can gut it. Lands, I'll have enough jerky meat for a year.” She halfway led his horse around to her cross bar and handed him some rope to hang the deer by the legs.

Hands up to shade her eyes, she looked at him. “You look tired as all get out. Climb down. Is that dried blood yours?”

He dropped off his horse. “Not mine. We need the hide off it and the guts out or the meat will taste like stinking deerskin.”

“I'll get a light. We can do this in ten minutes.”

With the lantern, they skinned and gutted the carcass in no time. She carried water in buckets to wash it out.

“You go wash up. I mean wash up. I got a nightshirt of his you can wear. I'll do your clothes while you sleep. When have you slept?”

“Oh, here and there.”

“I'll fry up the fresh liver, I ain't got any onions, but it will be good for you.” She waved him on. “You just get undressed and pull on that rope. It will give you a shower. I won't look. Just get yourself clean. There's soap and towel up there. By then I'll have you his nightshirt.”

“I don't want—”

“Go on. You will feel ten times better.”

The shower was sun warmed and he did feel better after his bath. The garment was almost big on him, but he put it on. And he had a hard time staying awake eating his hot peppers and liver.

“I aired out them blankets, so they don't smell like them killers. Get over and catch you some sleep.”

“My horse?”

She pushed him down. “I'll care for it. You get some sleep.”

He lay down on the palate and it felt soft to his tight back. His eyes closed like a trap door and he slept. He awoke in the night and realized she was in the bed with him. He got up, emptied his bladder, and went back to sleep with her. They both awoke about dawn.

She sat up and wet her lower lip. “I hope I didn't bother you last night. I just needed someone to be near.” She shook her hair. “That sounds like some dove talking I know—”

He put his finger on her lips. “I enjoyed your closeness. It's lonely trying to sleep wrapped up in a blanket by yourself, I know.”

“How I'll ever repay you I don't know. But some day I damn sure will.”

“Don't worry about that. I better get back home. My folks will think I left them for good.”

“You going to marry Raphael's boss?”

“I don't know. I just got back from Texas.”

She laughed and jumped up, took her everyday dress in her hand and ran outside to change out of the nightshirt she'd worn. She came back swishing the dress around for it to be straight. “I'm making you some pancakes and all I have is some prickly pear jelly to spread on them.”

“You must eat like queens here.”

She frowned and shook her head. “No, no, but one day we'll have cattle enough to make a living here.”

They laughed and he agreed. After breakfast he rode on.

He was coming off a steep mountainside. From way across the canyon he heard a voice. “My lands, there he is and he's still riding hard.”

Hey, Hampt, who's with you?” he shouted.

“JD. And we've been worried half sick about you. Get on over here.”

Half laughing, he guided Holdem around the cactus and down the steep path. They met in the bottom of the canyon, shaking hands and looking each other over.

“You get 'em?” Hampt asked.

“My uncle hates horse thieves worse than anything,” JD said. “He'd not be coming back today if he hadn't.”

Chet nodded. “They won't steal any more horses.”

“How far did you have to go?” Hampt asked.

“You ever been to Rye?”

“No, why it's way over in Gila County.”

“A fur piece. Everything fine at home?”

“Now you're all right it will be” JD said, twisting in the saddle to look around. “I love this country.”