Hell's Gate (Ben Blue Book 8) Read online

  Chapter 10

  We found Ethan sitting in the Marshal’s office looking over several sheets of paper. What he had was the result of a morning’s efforts of interviewing a good number of local business men and women.

  “I talked to about a dozen or so merchants and businesses, and about half that number will admit they’ve received veiled threats from at least four of the five men you had jailed. They would tell them what “could” happen if they didn’t pay their monthly dues to the Junction City Betterment Association… Some suspect they’ve even tried to shake down some of the ranchers… The story is, Grossman was able to buy his spread because the former owner’s wife was too scared to stay there after they started finding dead cattle all over the range.”

  “Do they suspect Grossman of forcin’ them off?” I asked.

  “No, the ranch was vacant for six months before he showed any interest in it. They tend to lay it off on someone trying to get some cattle through extortion, instead of the old fashion way… rustling. I’m wondering if there are other ranchers who are paying for protection.”

  “You think that might be what got the Sheriff killed?” I asked. “If he was on to somethin’, whoever’s runnin’ that outfit would want him dead or out of the way.”

  “That sounds like a damned good motive to me.”

  I told him how the two cowhands, Parsons and Glover had drawn their pay and made a hasty exit right after we had been to the ranch.

  “You suppose he recognized Corbel?”

  “Most likely… I’ll take Flynn and see what I can find up that way, unless you’ve got a better idea. Buck Blaylock’s men will be at your disposal if you need them. In fact if I was you, I’d keep Stevens close at hand… he’s got a cool head and he’s a solid man.”

  “I think it’s probably best that you go ahead and do some tracking. At the very least, we’ll have an idea of their direction… my guess is they’ll meet up with the others out there somewhere… Don’t try to bring them in by yourselves.”

  We loaded up on supplies and left Junction City that afternoon. I picked up a couple of extra canteens, in case they led us off into the desert, but I figured they stay close to the San Juan River. But sometimes the most logical figuring is all chopped to pieces by unexpected thinking.

  Crossing the La Plata in mid-afternoon, we pressed on while the trail was still fresh. We made camp that night at the base of a huge rock formation that looked like a giant ship with sails blowing in the wind. Up close, it looked like a mighty big windblown and weather worn butte. Whether it was a desert ship or just a big rock, it was all mighty impressive.

  As I had figured, they were staying close to the river, so the extra canteens became luxuries instead of something we would desperately need. But I didn’t mind being just a little bit cautious when it came to water.

  Shortly after we broke camp the following morning, their trail turned left toward a bend in the river. At that point the northwest flowing river turned north and the tracks led us right into it. We crossed the river at a natural and well used gravel ford. I would expect that ford would be farther downstream next year or filling some drop off. Nothing stays the same from year to year in a fast running river.

  The trail led us into higher and more rugged ground. The river had cut away some of those hills leaving only smooth sandstone bluffs. Beyond the bluffs was a series of long ridges leading off to the west and into the desert. Near the river cottonwoods and willows grew, along with lush grasses. But on the slopes, it was all cedar and desert plants. And the thing to remember about desert plants is they are naturally designed to hurt you or your horse, so it was careful and slow going.

  From a distance the vegetation covered ridges looked smooth and rounded. But once you got up onto them and among the cedars, you couldn’t find anything smooth or rounded about them. There were drop-offs of forty feet or more at the most unexpected places, not to mention things like deadfalls and boulders strewn around as if a giant farmer was sewing giant seeds.

  An hour later, we topped the third ridge in a string of ten or more, Flynn spotted what looked like a stovepipe chimney. Actually he saw a flash of sunlight reflecting off the metal pipe, which he took as a rifle barrel’s reflection and dove from the saddle… into some low growing cholla. When he realized he’d only seen a stove pipe and not a rifle, he took the time to attend his wounds. His leather chaps took the bulk of the prickly spines, but there were a few that found homes in the backs of his hands and forearms. He spent the better part of a minute whispering words he hadn’t learn tugging on his mother’s apron. But he whispered them in Gaelic, like they say my pa used to do… so I had no problems with it.

  Leaving the horses, we went the rest of the way on foot. The chimney pipe was only about fifty feet above us, but it would be ten times that far by the switchback trail. Slowly and quietly we climbed the slope toward the stove pipe. It would come in and out of sight, depending on the terrain and the cedars. About halfway to where the cabin should be, I heard a noise off to the left and below our position. Someone was moving up the hill from a different direction. We waited.

  We could hear the click clop clop of the horse climbing the grade. Anxiously, we waited for the rider to appear. When he did, he was no more than a hundred feet from where we waited. It was Curley Mathers, and he was packing a good sized mule deer buck across his horse’s rump. He must have been bringing supper.

  There were voices and the slamming of a door heard from above us. While all the commotion was going on, we slipped closer to the clearing and the stove pipe. Mathers had gutted the animal but that’s all he had done. Sanchez shooed the others away and started skinning the carcass. While that was going on we took note of the layout.

  The cabin wasn’t a large one. It could accommodate four men, if they were good friends, but I didn’t believe these seven men were that friendly with anyone. The cabin was strongly built of native stone and split cedar logs. At six foot three, I wouldn’t be able to stand up straight, unless the floor was dug down below ground level. There were only two windows and one door that we could see.

  It wasn’t likely that any one of those hombres would be so fair minded as to share the cabin with the whole bunch. Chances were the toughest or the most vicious staked their claim, and the others worked out the rest. Some probably wound up sleeping outside.

  Someone had built the cabin within the last ten to fifteen years. The clearing seemed to be the work of God rather than the labor of man. From the amount of deadfall in the area I’d say there was a landslide at some point in the last fifty years. Cedar doesn’t rot as quick as most other woods, so setting a time for the rockslide was difficult.

  Digging them out of there, would be a formidable job. It wouldn’t be impossible, but it was likely to be downright costly. The rock walls would shed lead like a duck does water. And we’d be going uphill, and that’s never easy.

  I made some mental notes about approaches and vantage points, but none of it filled me with a lot of hope. There was always the roof if someone could get close enough to torch it, but there was that big two letter word…“if”.

  We backed out and inched our way down hill to where the horses were waiting. Instead of going back the way we came, I had a feeling there was a more direct route to Junction City, one that didn’t include going through the Ladder 6 range. Out in a place like that there wouldn’t be much traffic, so it would be a safe bet that any tracks we found would be coming from or going to Junction City.

  Within half an hour, we picked up tracks coming from town. Of course the wind had played hob with them and they could have been cattle or buffalo. But they looked about right for five of something, whether it was horses or cows, it was a small enough group. Cattle wouldn’t stay in that tight a group unless they were being driven. And cattle will often move in single file.

  We wouldn’t make it back to town before sundown, and I was anxiously hoping to find the starting point for those weathered tracks. So we found a sheltered
campsite, had a little supper and coffee, and then called it a day. We were far enough off the trail in a wash, so we could have a fire until the sun went down. There was little need to post a guard. The horses would know more about what was going on than either of us, and we had both been in enough wild country to master the art of light sleeping.

  It was still dark, but I could tell the sun wasn’t too far away. There was still plenty of light from a three quarter moon, but it was on the downhill slide over the western hills. Everything was dark, but you could see. I would go ahead and get coffee and bacon started, so Flynn could sleep just a bit longer. Something had been nagging at me, but I couldn’t nail it down.

  That was when I looked over at the horses, and they were both looking toward the east. I started separating my mind from the camp noises and the wind. Then I heard it, the far off drumming of hooves. The sound was too faint and too far away to tell just how many were coming… if they were coming. I had no reason to believe they were heading our direction.

  Just a slight touch to Flynn’s shoulder produced an eyeball looking up at me.

  “Rider coming.” Was all I had to say.

  He came out of his blankets with his Smith and Wesson Russian in his right hand, and he only laid it down long enough to get his boots on. Strapping his gunbelt on and scooping up his rifle only took a few seconds. Michael Flynn had lived by his wits a long time. From the streets of Dublin to the trails of New Mexico, he had learned to be ready to fight or die with little or no warning.

  He joined me at the rocks I’d used for cover, and I pointed in the direction of town. He nodded to let me know he’d picked it up. We both crouched behind the rocks, with rifles already cocked with a cartridge in the chamber. I didn’t have to look… I knew.

  If that rider stayed on the same course, he’d miss us by at least a hundred yards. And he was beating a path straight toward the hills we’d left yesterday afternoon. He was holding a steady lope, could eat up a lot of miles in a day’s time. That was a good deal faster than we’d ridden away from those hills. But he probably knew where he was going, and I couldn’t say positively that we did.

  When he passed us without any indication he knew we were there, I went ahead and built up the fire. We travel a lot better with a little coffee and bacon. Flynn went about breaking camp and getting the horses ready.

  When I had enough of a fire to do what we needed, I pulled out my watch and checked the time. It was just past five o’clock. The rider must have left no later than one o’clock…. Was he carrying a message, or was he going out there to add to their number? Or he could be someone who just likes to go riding in the middle of the night, although that didn’t sound too likely.

  Chapter 11

  We reached Junction City before ten o’clock, and went directly to the jail. Claybrook had more or less made that his headquarters. When we went through the door, I could hear noises from the cell block. So I took a look through the little barred window in the door. He was telling a couple of down and out looking characters what to expect if they insisted on staying in town.

  I opened the door and we walked in. Flynn walked to the bars grabbing one in each hand, and shoving his scowling face into the space between the bars.

  “What kind of riff raff you got here, yer h-onor?”

  “Sheriff, these boys have been hangin’ about town for a while now, and nobody seems to know what they do for a living. They both had money in their pokes, but no way to account for how they come by it.”

  “Well, that’s a vagrancy violation if I’ve ever seen one… Wha da ya think, Squire?” I nodded my agreement.

  “Since we don’t have a Justice of the Peace nor a Judge to collect fines, it behooves me to put you gents on work detail…. The County Sanitation Department ruled that all the privies in the populated areas need to be cleaned out once every year… and it’s been at least a year since they’ve been freshened up… Now wouldn’t it be nicer workin’ in the fresh air, than bein’ cooped up in this stuffy jail for the next thirty days, Lads?”

  Wailing and swearing filled the cell block, to the point where Sheriff Flynn held up both hands and yelled, “That’ll be fine, me lads. You can start this afternoon, and work till your supper comes… you’ll work up a fine appetite by then… I’ll round up some buckets and shovels… Oh… Marshal Blue, might I borrow your express gun?”

  “You can use mine.” Claybrook offered. “It’s a two barrel with a bigger bore.”

  “Thank ye kindly, Gov’nor.”

  Flynn went off, presumably to get buckets and shovels. The wailing and moaning started up again before Michael was out the door. We let them carry on for a bit before we gave them the alternative option.

  “Now you boys can do the next thirty days in one of two ways. You can choose the Sheriff’s plan, or you can get the hell away from here.” Ethan told them. “If you choose to leave… you got one hour to do it. And when you go, you can ride about sixty miles northwest to where four states come together… you might meet up with some Navajo folks along the way. You’re better off not letting them see you… they won’t be happy to have you there.”

  “When you reach the four corners… don’t ever come back to New Mexico, and don’t even think about going to Colorado because I’ll be there. I think you’d be smart going to Utah, settle down, get a couple of wives and, give up coffee and liquor. But watch yourselves up there because the saints don’t take kindly to lawbreakin’.”

  I pulled out my watch and said, “You have sixty minutes… Tick Tock.”

  They didn’t waste any time getting out. I never saw two men so pleased to be run out of a town. Flynn came in laughing at those boys running for the livery stable.

  “I’ll have to remember that business of the Department of Sanitation.” Claybrook told Flynn.

  I filled Claybrook in on what we’d found and how hard it would be to dig that bunch out of their cabin.

  “If I remember correctly, you were pretty handy with blasting powder… we may have to find out where we can get some.” He said.

  “They’re pretty crowded up there, with seven or eight men in a cabin that would be a strain for four. I think the place was never expected to be used by that many. But hauling in that first five spooked whoever’s in charge, enough to break ‘em out of jail. Then he had to put ‘em someplace in a hurry. My guess is, they’ll lay low and try to wait us out. When we leave, they’ll start up again. They’ve got a good thing going with their protection business, and with farmers and ranchers coming in, it would only get better.”

  “If they’re going to go underground, then we’ll have to dig them out. And we’ve got very little to go on.” Ethan said more to himself than to add to the conversation.

  “Right now, I’m going down to the livery barn on the chance he can tell me who rode out in the middle of the night. For all I know, it could have been a cowhand tryin’ to get back in time for work.”

  With that I left and I rode the few blocks to the stable and corral. It dawned on me, I was beginning to adopt the cattleman’s attitude of don’t do anything, unless you can do it on a horse. There was a time, when walking was second nature to me, I only rode if I had a need for speed or a lot of ground to cover.

  I hadn’t met the stable operator, so I introduced myself. He told me he’d been in the saloon, when I hauled Rio Sanchez out, so he knew who I was. I found Frank Jacobs to be a friendly and hospitable sort of fella.

  “Mister Jacobs, someone rode out of town in a big hurry about midnight or a little after…It may not mean anything, but it might be important. Is it possible that he got a horse from you, or maybe he was boarding a horse with you…? I’d like to get in touch with him, if you know who he might be.”

  “Oh sure… that was Cooter Singleton… I noticed his horse was gone when I opened this morning… He does that now and then… He got himself a gal out there on some farmstead… If that be the case, then she must be desperate ‘cause Cooter ain’t no prize. Out here, even
a ugly woman can find a good man.”

  “Any idea where I can find him when he’s not out visitin’?”

  “Oh… you can find him in either of the saloons or the general store… or here for that matter… See he don’t have a regular job. He works for four or five of us. He probably does better than most cowhands…. He’s good a fixin’ things, does a little smithy work… and he’s strong as a horse.”

  “He didn’t come back yet, did he?”

  “No sir, but he’ll be sweepin’ the boardwalk at the Lady Luck about sunup tomorrow mornin’.”

  I thanked him and rode on up to the boardinghouse. The only one there was Buck, and he was sitting in the parlor. It was good to see him up and moving about under his own steam. I didn’t really have a lot of encouraging news for him, except that we had a bunch of hardcases hold up about thirty miles downstream. They weren’t going anywhere.

  Buck was on the mend and for that, I was thankful, but he would never be the same man until that money was recovered… He felt responsible because he waited that extra day. It was my opinion that the robbery was nothing more than someone seeing an opportunity and all the pieces were in place…. it happens that way now and then.

  According to Jacobs at the stable, Cooter Singleton had a sleeping room in back of the Crazy Ace Saloon. So I stopped in to have a talk with County Commissioner and saloon owner, Copeland.

  “I understand Cooter Singleton keeps a room here… I’d kinda like to take a look at if I could.”

  He looked down at his cup of coffee on the bar, for ten or fifteen seconds before he looked up and said, “Marshal, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. If I remember my lessons from school, you need some kind of judge to approve that in writing.”

  He was right of course, by the written law, but here on the frontier where judges are often

  hundreds of miles away, it just wasn’t practical. It galled me to be called on the law, but all I could do was accept the beer he offered and be civil.