Blue (Ben Blue Book 2) Page 10

  Rafe had moved into the house with me. It never did make much sense to me to have him a quarter of a mile away and have to come up to the house for meals, horses, and equipment. Neither one of us was in need of privacy nor were there any womenfolk around…yet. And if I didn’t ride over to the Esses tomorrow, there may never be.

  I went over a few things with Rafe, to make sure that I still lived here and had a stake in the place. We’d laid out the foundation for the main house but not much more than that. I couldn’t blame him for not working on it. After all there wasn’t much he could do that could be done from the back of a horse, and I sure wouldn’t expect him to stoop so low as to do a job on the ground. Besides, I hadn’t told him to work on it while I was gone.

  “Oh, Boss, I meant to tell you, I saw Rubio the other day over on the east end.”

  “Yeah? How’s that old scalp hunter makin out? How many cartridges did he claim we owe him?”

  “Well, I’d say that old rascal’s doin better’n you and me. He had him a young squaw with him… she was fat and not much fun to look at, but she was a woman… She was young compared to Rubio… maybe forty or forty five. He said it got lonely in the jacal now that the boy is away at school.”

  “I wonder if he bought her, stole her, or courted her… I’d bet he stole her.”

  The next morning found me having coffee with Sheriff Nelson when Claybrook came into the cafe for breakfast. We howdied each other, and he pulled up a chair to join us. I suggested the ham and eggs or the bacon and eggs, since it was my bacon and ham that they used here. But he went with steak and eggs. How can a fella make a living if the public doesn’t cooperate?

  I asked if he was up for a little ride this morning, and he assured me that he was. So I told him to get into his riding clothes and gather up his weapons and we’d go out for a little target work. “Let’s get you acquainted with what to expect from the terrain and the population.”

  While he finished his breakfast, the sheriff went back to his office, and I picked up Claybrook’s horse at the livery stable. It was ready to go. They’d put a well worn rental saddle on it and a none too fancy bridle. The Deputy Marshal showed up at the office just as I was tying his mount to the hitch rail. It was all I could do not to stare. He was wearing a pair of skin tight breeches with little leather pads sewn into the inner thighs. His jacket looked more like something to go to a fancy dinner in than to wear out in the scrub lands. His shiny boots looked a bit more suited to a ballroom than where they’d be this day. I didn’t say a word. It would be much better for him to learn at the expense of his wardrobe than having him take offense at my criticism.

  Nelson must have been pretty glad to see us leave because he was having a hard time keeping that grin off his face. We rode out of town for a couple of miles, and I took us right through some of the less favorable terrain. There was a canyon off to the northeast where someone had built a shack a long time back. It wouldn’t have been much when it had been new, and it sure wasn’t much now. I wanted to show him the affects of a .44 slug on a wall.

  Before we started I told him, “That horse you’ll be riding, is first last and always a cow pony. I know he’s a full sized horse, but he’s known as a pony. He’s got a mixed bloodline and may have been wild at one time. If that’s the case, then you’re lucky to have him because he’s smarter than either one of us on the trail.”

  “You want to mount and dismount on the left side… that’s just the way he’s been trained. He responds to leg pressure and neck reining. You go pullin side to side on those reins and you’ll have a horse with a sore mouth and a bad disposition… You ready?”

  We jogged out of town and soon left the trail for a more direct cross country route. As we rode he made small talk, “Ben, that’s a good looking horse you’re riding. Is he a cow pony also?”

  I was riding Andy’s horse that day because like Bob, I only took him on short trips, just to give him some exercise and a feeling of being useful. “Well,” I said, “he probably had some experiences with ropes and horns, but this was my brother’s horse. He’s an outlaw horse.”

  He looked at me funny and asked, “Uh… was your brother… an outlaw?”

  I chuckled and said, “I suppose there are those who might have thought he was, but no, Andy was a manhunter, a gunfighter, a cowhand, a lady’s man, and a Deputy Sheriff. But I can honestly say he was no outlaw.” Then I went on to tell him how we got our horses that day when the world came down on us. “Outlaws, as a rule, get themselves good horses whenever they can. It could be the difference between dancin with a gal in a cantina or dancin at the end of a rope.”

  Reaching the cabin in the canyon, we dismounted and I said, “Ethan, I didn’t bring you out here to try to teach you anything about being a US Marshal because I don’t think I can teach you anything about that… The reason we’re here is I want to help you learn how to survive out here. I can tell you things from now until Kingdom Come, but if you don’t see it… it ain’t gonna take root.” He agreed that was a good way to learn.

  Taking a few pieces of paper from that tablet I bought in Tierra Amarilla, I tacked them up to the door of that shack. Then I asked him to shoot the one on the left. The distance was about fifteen yards. He stood like a duelist, took careful aim down the barrel of that little gun and squeezed the trigger. He nicked the upper right hand corner of the paper. “Not bad.” I said from his right shoulder. I pulled my sixgun and let it drive from the hip, hitting the paper dead center.

  “Amazing,” he said, “You didn’t even aim!”

  “Oh but I did… but I aimed from the hip and not along the barrel… Let me show you how it’s done.” I moved off ten or fifteen feet and picked up a small rock which I tossed to him and said, “Catch it.”

  He reached up with his left hand a snagged the rock out of the air. “I don’t understand.” He said.

  “Shooting from the hip and catching that rock are the same principle. You caught that rock because that’s what you were looking at. Your hand knew where and when to reach for it. You didn’t even have to think about it… When I shot that piece of paper I was looking at the paper, and my body did the rest.”

  “Let me show you something else… I’ll bet you a beer that I can find and recover your bullet before you can even find mine.” We walked to the door and both pulled out our clasp knives, although mine was a might bigger and tougher. I dug into the rotted wood and easily pulled the slug out, while he was poking his penknife into an empty hole.

  “It’s gone.” He said. “There’s nothing there.”

  I told him that I’d taken unfair advantage of him, but he still owed me a beer. Then I told him that it was probably buried several inches into the logs of the back wall.

  “Western men prefer the bigger calibers, because of the stopping power. A .44 or .45 will stop a man easy enough if it hits any of the larger bones, and if it hits anywhere in the torso, you’ve pretty much put your man out of the fight and maybe killed him. It has the same effect on a bull, a cougar, wolf, or a runaway horse. And the range is considerably longer.” I lead him back another fifteen yards and repeated our shots at the second sheet of paper. That time he missed completely, and I hit the paper closer to the right edge.

  I prefer the .44 because you can use the same cartridges in a Colt as you can in a Winchester.

  “Would you be considered a gunfighter, Ben?”

  I chuckled and said, “Not that you’d notice. Oh, I can get it out fairly quick and usually hit what I’m aiming at, but I’m not even a shade of what Andy was or any other known man for that matter. Jasper knew that a long time ago and insisted that I carry this.” I went to my saddle and pulled out the sawed off ten gauge.

  “That’s the nastiest looking thing I’ve ever seen.” He said.

  “The whole Idea.” I told him, and I walked to about twenty feet of the door and let her rip with both barrels. Both horses shied but stayed. When the smoke cleared the door was knocked completely off its hinges
and was almost sawed in half.

  Ethan Claybrook just stood there with his mouth agape. When he recovered his power of speech he mumbled, “Son of a …” Then he turned to me and asked, “Have you ever had to use that?”

  “Twice. Both times were unavoidable. The first time I could have used a sixgun, but I was just trying to stop him. If he hadn’t started shootin, he’d have lived a bit longer, at least till his hangin. The second time I just didn’t give a damn.”

  “Jasper suggested that you get yourself one. It can go a long way to changing someone’s mind about how bad they really think they are. People don’t like to think about bein dead, but when they do, they think of themselves as bein laid out in a coffin with their best suit on and lookin real peaceful. They don’t like the thought of half their head gone or their guts having to be stuffed back in.”

  I reloaded the express gun and put it in its scabbard next to the one that held my Winchester. Then I pulled a pistol belt from my saddle bag and my old sixgun. I handed them to Claybrook and suggested that he belt it on and give it a try. “In this country there is so much space that a man should have both a sixgun and a rifle. Few men can hit anything at fifty yards with a handgun.”

  He worked with the sixgun for about a half an hour, mostly shooting from the hip and not trying for speed. He was starting to get the hang of it and was getting used to the weight of it on his thigh. Finally I said, “We’re not going to turn you into Bill Hickok in one morning. Let’s go get some chow. I know the perfect place.

  Chapter 13

  We rode into the ranch yard at the Esses just before dinner time, and wouldn’t you know it, they invited us to have our noon meal with them. Patty made no bones about how happy she was to meet Deputy Marshal Claybrook and that she would be happy to feed him anytime as long as it meant that a certain redheaded boob wouldn’t be called on so often to do his civic duty.

  Ethan took to the table like he was a regular cowhand. I guess a morning of riding and shooting gave him quite an appetite. The cherry pie sure caught his attention. Sitting on the front porch with Patty next to me and Claybrook in a rocker next to Sam, Patty said, “Why, Marshal, what in the world has happened to your clothes? And those beautiful boots. Didn’t Ben tell you that you need rough clothing if you’re to be riding around in this brush country?”

  “It seems that he mentioned something about that… I think Ben Blue likes to teach by example…There have been several lessons learned today.”

  I told Claybrook that if he were to stick around these parts for a while, he might come see Sam about some horse trading. “He’s got some mighty fine stock.” And I told Sam to not be shy about getting top dollar, “He’s rich, Sam, he works for the US government.” That got a chuckle out of Ethan.

  As we were leaving I told Patty that we’d be leaving for Rio Arriba County tomorrow to finish cleaning out that rat’s nest, and that we’d be gone for about a week.

  Addressing the deputy she said, “Don’t keep him too long, Marshal, he’s got a ranch to run and a house to get built.” That little gal could put it right on the line.

  The next morning we rode out a sunup on our way to Tierra Amarilla to arrest Milo Rafferty, Russell Rafferty, Rankin Williams, and Peter Williams. We also had an unnamed warrant for any person involved that we were not aware of. Claybrook joined us at breakfast dressed like any working cowboy on the range. At least, I got one message across. There were four of us in the party Claybrook, myself and two Taos County Deputy Sheriffs. I was happy for the extra help. Mid afternoon of the second day, we rode into town.

  Our first stop was the Sheriff’s Office. We dismounted at the blind side of the building. It was the only side of the adobe jail that didn’t have a window. I crept around to the front window and though it was fly specked and grimy, I could see an oldish fella asleep at the desk. He was much too small to be Milo. Going under the window, to the other side, I looked at the room from another angle. There was a single cell with no one in it. I could see the entire room, but there was no Milo Rafferty in it.

  Motioning the others, they came to the door. I whispered, “When I count to three, you push the door open, and I’ll go in.” On three the door was kicked open and I went in with the express gun leading the way.

  The man sleeping at the desk bolted straight up and nearly upset the desk. There were some words coming from him that I didn’t understand and some that I knew exactly what they meant. His hands were trying to push the roof off, they were so high, and he was shaking like a leaf in a cyclone.

  Claybrook was right behind me saying, “US Marshal’s Office. Milo Rafferty you’re under arrest.”

  I held up my hand, telling him that this wasn’t Milo Rafferty. Addressing the afternoon napper I said, “Where’s the sheriff?”

  “I guess, I’m the sheriff now,” He said. Milo came in here this morning and said he was quitin. ‘Then he said, ‘Farley, you’re the new sheriff.’ He grabbed a bunch of stuff and took off.”

  Claybrook said, “Good. Sheriff Farley, we’ve got warrants for the Rafferty brothers and the Williams brothers, Rankin and Peter. Would you like for us to ride along with you when you ride out to arrest them?”

  The old man looked from Ethan to me and to the two deputies, and then he looked back to Ethan again. “No… I reckon you fellers got me confused with the sheriff. I’m just the jailer here and I’m thinkin ‘bout quittin that.” With that, he took the sheriff’s star off his vest and walked out the open front door.

  Bob Nailer, one of the deputies, went with me to the Noah Count Saloon, leaving Claybrook and the other deputy to go through the file cabinet and the desk drawer, looking for anything that might be used as evidence or a clue to where Rafferty may have gone. We entered without fan fare, but it didn’t take Noah more than a glance to see that we were both wearing tin.

  “Well, Red, what do I owe this honor to? It ain’t every day I get a visit from a US Marshal and a…, as he looked at Nailer’s badge, a Taos Deputy.” He said as he drew two beers.

  “Howdy, Noah. We’re lookin to put some shackles on some prominent citizens… namely Milo, his brother Russ, and his nephews Rank and Peter Williams. You seen any of em today or the last few days?”

  “Yeah, Milo was in this morning, till one of Rusty’s hands came in and they had a hush hush conversation then they took off. Haven’t seen him or any of em since.”

  “Peter was in a couple days ago wantin credit, he was sayin he had a big payday comin…Didn’t give it to him.”

  “Smart move on your part.” We finished our beers and Noah refused payment. As we were leaving, I said, “If you see Burt Samuels, have him look me up.”

  Nailer and I walked down to the cantina, where I’d run into Filipe Vega on my last visit. Ducking through the door, I took a second letting my eyes adjust to the gloom, and then we walked to the bar. I asked the bartender if he had seen Filipe. He looked at me like he didn’t understand, so I asked him in Spanish. Then I heard a chair scraping back in a corner. Turning around, I saw Filipe coming toward me. He said, “Is all right, Manuel, Senor or Marshal Blue is an old friend from Taos.”

  I sat down with Filipe, while the deputy waited at the bar. Briefly, I filled him in on what had come to pass regarding the killing of his brother and the rustling operations. I told him that we were here to arrest both Rafferty and the two Williams brothers. I also asked if the Vega Rancho could supply men for a posse to help find them if they were on the run. He said that it would be his pleasure. “Will you be in town long?” I asked, and he said that he would.

  Nailer and I left and went to Simpsons Cafe, where we had planned to meet Claybrook and John Evers, the other deputy. They were just ordering as we walked in. I filled them in on the fact that Milo must have gotten a message from Russell this morning and it looked like he was on the run. I had no idea how the word got back to Russell, unless they had a friend in Tres Piedras who hot footed it to Russell.

  I told him about meeting with Filipe V
ega and his promise of support. I also told him that Burt Samuels, another prominent rancher would probably contribute men as well.

  “What’ll you have Ben Blue?” came a voice over my left shoulder. Looking up, I saw perky little Kate Simpson standing there with her apron and note pad. I told her what I wanted, and introduced her to the rest… telling them that she was a special friend of mine and be sure they tipped her well. She gave me a swat with her pad and blushed. I got up and went to the kitchen to have a word with her mother and to thank her for not telling anyone who or what I was.

  As we were leaving the cafe, Burt Samuels was walking up the boardwalk. I sent Nailer back to the cantina to ask Filipe to join us at the jail.

  The two ranchers agreed to furnish at least four riders each, plus themselves, to make up two posses. Claybrook, Samuels, and his men would hit the Rafferty outfit, while Vega, his vaqueros, and I would hit the Williams spread. We planned the raids for four o’clock that afternoon. That would give us plenty of time to be back in town before nightfall.

  I told Claybrook, “You let Samuels do the plannin. He knows the landscape better than either of us could, and I think he’s a pretty solid citizen.” He and the two deputies rode off with Burt Samuels and I went along with Filipe.

  Approaching the Williams ranch, we took to the ridge that I’d used on my previous visits to avoid being spotted by a lookout. When we were close up and there was plenty of cover to the south, I sent four of the six vaqueros to circle around and be ready to stop anyone wanting to make a break. I told them all, in pretty good Spanish, “Rank and Peter Williams both have murder charges against them, so they’ve got nothing to lose. If they try to run… shoot to kill.”

  One wiry rider, sitting easy in his saddle, with a Winchester across his saddle bows said with a grin, “Si, thank you, Senor Marshal, but we were going to anyway.” I touched the brim of my hat to let him know that I’d sort of figured that and returned his grin.