Blue (Ben Blue Book 2) Read online

  “Wal…” he said, “They look purty good overall… there’s some scrawny ones in there, but I reckon we can fatten em up.”

  “All right then,” I said, “pay the man, shake his hand and let’s head for home.”

  Nelson had his saddle bags across his lap, like he was holding something precious and he reached in as if to pull out a bag of money, but came out with a sheriff’s badge. “Tom Williams, you’re under arrest for rustling and possibly murder of a Deputy Sheriff.” Both hammers of my express gun made an God awful noise which froze Tom in place.

  As I looked up, I saw riders coming out of the brush and crevices, each with a rifle or sixgun in hand. As Tom raised his hands I reached over and took his pistol from his holster. I said, “Sorry about this, Tom, but you shoulda cut loose from that family a long time ago.”

  The posse was busy disarming their prisoners and moving them away from the herd. I looked for Carver because I figured he’d be stupid enough to get really stupid. When I spotted him, he was at the rear of the herd with another rustler, two posse members were collecting their weapons. As the rider reached across his body to take Carver’s holster gun, Carver came down with both upraised hands. The man took the blow to the back of his head and left the saddle.

  Carver spun his horse and shot for the gap. I dug spurs into Jake horse and we were off. Carver had a couple hundred yards head start, and that cow pony was almighty quick on the take off. That little mustang was fast putting distance between them and us, but Jake horse had the stuff of outlaw horses. I could see Carver getting farther and farther ahead.

  I figured that if I had to run that cow pony into the ground, I’d do it. I didn’t want to kill a good horse, but I didn’t want that boy carrying a message back to Rank and the others. I also wanted to take Carver in one piece because he was just hotheaded and stupid enough to shoot his mouth off and tell us more than he ought to. Well shooting his mouth off would be one thing, but at that moment he was shooting his sixgun. He had turned around and got off two quick rounds that never even came close to anything except maybe a buzzard.

  The ground before him was wide open desert with some clump grass and sagebrush. There was no place for him to take cover and make a stand. His only chance was to get a lucky shot from horseback or hope that he could out run me, which it looked like he was doing.

  After about a mile and a quarter, and three more attempts at a lucky shot, he settled in low in the saddle and spurred for all he was worth. I was gaining on him. He had run that cow pony out. It was faltering and losing speed. I’ll give it to that critter, it was game. It was surely trying. Jake horse was running as smooth as when we started, he was like a well oiled locomotive with muscles driving limbs instead of pistons driving wheels.

  At first, I was closing in an inch at a time, then it was a foot at a time, and finally I was gaining a yard at a time. I knew he had one more bullet in that sixgun, and I had a pretty good idea what he had planned for it. He’d wait until I was abreast of him, and turn and shoot at point blank range. Well I didn’t plan to make it easy for him. I had been riding a little to his left, so I moved directly behind him then to his right. At close range, shooting to his left under his arm would be the easiest, so I wasn’t going to make anything easy for him. As I moved from left to center to right and back again, I repeated that over and over.

  When I got almost nose to tail, I moved a little to the left and stayed there keeping pace, then I dropped back to center. Next, I edged to the right, and he turned to look, and I dropped back to center. That’s when I gave Jake horse the spurs and went right back to where I’d been on the right. He turned to the left with pistol in hand. When he realized that I wasn’t there, he started turning back toward me, I swung the coil of rope I had in my left hand.

  I learned one thing that day. When Carvers hit the ground at that speed they don’t bounce very high, but they do some awesome rolls. By the time he had rolled as far as he was going to roll, Jake horse was coming to a dusty sliding halt. The mustang had run off about fifty yards and stood there wheezing. I went back to make sure stupid didn’t have any more weapons…he did and I took em. Then I put some rawhide cord around his wrists and snugged them up real tight before I went to get his horse.

  He was scratched and bruised up pretty much, not to mention dusty and dirty, and he was almost conscious when I got him in the saddle. With a little more rawhide I tied his hands to the saddle horn. By then he was clearing the fog from his eyes and snorting dust and dirt from his nose. I said, “Carver Williams, you’re under arrest for rustling, attempted murder, resisting arrest, and anything else I can come up with before we get back to Taos.”

  He spit some dirt at me and shouted, “You can’t arrest me! This is Uncle Milo’s county, He’s the law here!”

  I pulled the badge out of my vest pocket and pinned it on then I said, “Son, this here US Deputy Marshal’s badge says I can arrest you anywhere between Canada and Mexico.” I was hoping that was true. I didn’t know about Indiana, but then, there wasn’t anybody I wanted to arrest in Indiana, so it didn’t matter.

  I took the bridle off that bronc and put a lead rope on for the return trip. I figured a game little horse like that deserves getting that bit out of his mouth. The way Carver was cussing me, I was inclined to put that bit in his mouth.

  When I reached the herd, Nelson and the boys had the prisoners all tied up and sitting in the shade. The herd had been pushed on to the river and was taking on water. Nelson told me that they had already identified at least eight different altered brands, and they were still trying to figure some of them out. He said the only thing he could think to do was to bring them to the plain outside town and let the ranchers or their reps come and get em.

  I suggested that we keep Tom and Carver separated as much as possible. Carver had a temper and a weak mind. He was going to rant, rave, and threaten. Sooner or later he was going to give us enough to put ropes around the necks of the uncles and Rank and Peter. Tom had more sense and could be a calming influence on Carver. I didn’t want him calmed.

  We spent the night there at Tres Piedras and moved the herd and prisoners out the next morning. The herd was going to move a lot slower than the prisoners, so we left half the posse to bring it in and the rest of us escorted the rustlers into town. We were more inclined to keeping those boys from decorating a tree than concerned about them getting away. Each was shackled to his saddle horn when we were moving and to each other when we were not. We found one skinny fella who could slip out of the shackle, so I took his boots and shackled his foot to his stirrup. There’s generally a way.

  When we finally got them to the lock up, we put six men in two cells that were designed for a maximum of two. And the seventh man in a four man cell, all to himself. That seventh man was Carver.

  Chapter 12

  Carver’s pals were doing a good deal of gripin and grumblin, and most of it was aimed at him. He was not a happy rustler. When it came time for eatin, the rest of them got the standard county paid for meal… beans or gruel, but Carver had beef and taters at the cafe, escorted by a deputy. The boys in the other cells were calling him every kind of unpleasant name. He yelled at them and cussed at them with some almighty amount of rage.

  The afternoon of the second day, Carver and I had a little talk. The sheriff brought him in chains to an abandoned adobe some hundred yards behind the jail. Nelson stood by the door and I started talking to Carver.

  “Boy,” I said, “you got yourself into a whole passel of trouble. Now I can get those boys off your back if you cooperate a little. You understand what I’m sayin?” He just stared at me and made no response. I expected that.

  “What’s Milo’s part in this rustlin business?” Still no response. He just glared at me.”It don’t matter. We got a rope for him too.” That got me a grunt of disgust.

  “How about Russell or Rusty as they call him… He take orders from Milo, like the rest or you?”

  “Ha!” He shouted. “Tha
t’ll be the day! Russell don’t take orders from nobody. Russell gives the orders and Milo takes ‘em just like everybody else. You stupid redheaded cow plop!”

  “You can’t make me believe that.” I told him, “Russell ain’t near smart enough to run an operation like that… No, Milo’s got to be the boss…not Russell.”

  “Oh Milo’s Rank’s boss and Tom’s boss, but he don’t boss Russell. We’d be starvin’ if Milo or Rank did the plannin… Whoever pinned that badge on you has got to be a bigger fool than you are. You eejit.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned; you mean Milo’s is just a workin man like you boys? You mean he gets the same payoff as you an’ Tom and Peter?”

  “Hell no! That ain’t what I said… he gets a lot bigger cut than us, but not as big as Russell does. Man you are dumb.”

  I got up and went outside while Nelson talked with him about who shot Deputy Duncan, but as we expected, he got no response. He sat there and browbeat Carver for about ten minutes, and then I took over again.

  I sat down in the chair that the sheriff had just vacated and pulled some papers out of my vest pocket. One was a letter from Elizabeth and the others were various tax forms and banking papers. I looked them over and put them away. “Carver Williams, I’ve got warrants here for you for the killing of Deputy Jim Duncan, and I’ve got a warrant here for Peter Williams for the killing of Bernardo Vega. It looks like you’re both going to get a chance to test out a gallows, specially made for the occasion.”

  “I didn’t shoot no deputy nobody!” He shouted. “That was Johnny… Johnny Kelley. He was our lookout at the river. He shot your deputy, not me. You can’t hang that’n on me.”

  “Well, just which one can I hang you for, Carver? How about the killing of the boss at the circle JD and his ranch hand?”

  “Ain’t sayin’ nothin’ more about nothin’, smart ass!”

  “It don’t matter.” I told him. “I’ll figure something that’ll get you hung. In the meantime, I got this other warrant for Peter, and that’s for killing Bernardo Vega.”

  “You’re just about as dumb as you look. Peter didn’t shoot Vega. Rank done that. You sure are stupit.”

  “Well Peter’s fancy silver studded rifle was found there, so he must have been the shooter.”

  Carver took on an exasperated expression and said, “Let me tell you this real slow, so even you can understand it. Rank’s rifle jammed, so he just grabbed Peter’s and shot that fella, but both him and Peter went over and pumped lead in him after he wrecked Peters rifle… Ol’ Peter was some mad about that… I’ll tell the world!”

  “What do you think, Sheriff? Have we taken up enough of this young man’s time.? Maybe we should take him back to his friends now.”

  “I think you’re right, Red.” The sheriff said. “He’s sure made us look like fools this afternoon. I don’t know if I can take any more humiliation today.”

  When we got Carver back to the jail, we just shoved him in one of the already overcrowded cells, leaving the third and biggest cell empty. He must have gotten a spark of intelligence from somewhere because he said, “Does that mean, I ain’t gittin no more beef and taters?”

  “You just shouldn’t have made us look so stupid, Carver.” Was my answer. I made a note to get the name of the murdered cowhand and the missing owner of the circle JD. I’d see what else I could squeeze out of Carver or maybe Peter… when we brought him in.

  The afternoon stage rolled in a little before four o’clock, and deposited US Deputy Marshal Ethan Claybrook in our midst. He walked through the door of the Sheriff’s Office with his valise in hand and an envelope full of papers. He was dressed for Philadelphia, I suppose, but having never been there I wasn’t going to swear to it. He was a well set up man with a sturdy enough frame. He was about five foot nine and weighed maybe one hundred and sixty pounds, but he had a pale soft look about him. I reckoned that he was a few years shy of thirty.

  We shook hands and his grip was firm enough, but he hadn’t hauled on many a rope with those hands. They were softer than most ranch girls’. Well, he’d toughen up or be on a stage back to Philadelphia sooner than scat. He was carrying a little short barreled pistol, which was butt first inside his coat. Instead of a rawhide thong it had a leather strap and some kind of button. I’ll just bet Jasper Stewart was sittin’ in his office laughin’ himself silly about now. Well, Jasper, you just wait till you get my bill for this bit of service.

  Nelson and I laid out what we knew and what Carver had told us. So all we had to do was go over there and bring back four desperate and dangerous men. We would leave the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow would be full of getting him ready.

  I walked Ethan over to the hotel and got him set up with a room, and then we walked over to the livery stable to get a horse for him to use. I almost suggested that he use one of mine, but decided against it. Bob was the only one that I felt comfortable about him riding, but I figured Bob to be about sixteen or seventeen years old and he’d earned short trips into town or to the Esses.

  Claybrook’s clothes were mighty fine for the city, but I was certain that they wouldn’t hold up very long in this country, so I asked him if he’d brought any riding clothes.

  “Oh sure,” he said, “I bought some just before leaving Baltimore.”

  “Are they made of strong durable material like this denim?” I asked, indicating my jeans and the leather of my vest. “If not, they’ll probably be ripped to shreds between here and Tierra Amarilla. In fact, I’ll be wearing chaps on the trail. The road, after we get a ways out of Taos isn’t much more than a cow path cut through cactus, sage brush, chola, and every other kind of high country bush.

  He asked about chaps, not knowing what they were. I explained that they were a tough cover for your legs and almost a necessity riding in this country. I suggested that he get some.

  He told me, “The things I got in Baltimore are of the best material and from the top Massachusetts clothing manufacturers. I think they’ll be just fine.” I’ve never been one to argue with Massachusetts clothing. I couldn’t even spell Massachusetts and could barely say it, so I just smiled and walked on toward the Livery stable.

  We looked over the horses in the livery corral, and I have to admit that they weren’t very pretty. Most of them were mustang cow ponies, a few were suited for rigs, and one was suited for someone’s granny. I suggested he stick with one of the mustangs. He looked at me with a wry grin and said, “Now, Mr. Blue, you wouldn’t be thinking of putting me on a mean horse, would you?”

  I held up a hand to stop him and said, “Hold on, Marshal, first off there ain’t no one here named Mr. Blue. There’s Red, there’s Ben, or there’s just plain Blue. And I’ll admit that I’m not above tryin’ a stunt like that, but I been waitin’ too long for you to get here to take a chance on you gettin’ busted up before you can cut me loose.” Then I smiled and said, “But maybe later.”

  He smiled and said, “My apology, but that’s what I was told might happen.” I just brushed it off with a wave of my hand, and we went to looking at horseflesh.

  Looking at them, I chose one or two that I would put a saddle on for myself and a couple that I didn’t think would hold up if we had to do any running. I told him as much. He asked about a dark bay, and I have o admit the horse looked good. But he had kinda of a spooky look, and I wouldn’t trust him to be steady. “I’d be afraid of that one bolting when a jackrabbit or snake crosses his path.” Then I yelled, “Hyaaa!” The whole corral flinched, but that bay went crazy trying to get away.

  “How’d you know that, Ben?”

  “I guess, I’ve seen his like before… You fire off a gun a foot from his head and you’ll likely be sitting in the middle of the desert wondering what happened.”

  He settled on a good looking sorrel, of which I approved. I told the hostler to have him ready in the morning and we’d take him out for a ride, but we’d be leaving on the following morning early.

  As I was getting into Bob’s saddle
, Claybrook commented, “Now that’s a fine looking animal. You be riding him when we go to Tierra Amarilla?”

  “No,” I replied, “I’ll most likely take the Jake horse on the trail over there. This old fella just does the short trips these days. But you’re right, he’s got some good blood in him… a real outlaw horse.”

  He stopped me before I could turn and ride out of town, “Oh, Ben, I almost forgot. I’ve a letter for you from Marshal Stewart.” As he pulled an envelope from his inside coat pocket and handed it to me. It was addressed to Ben Blue.

  Later that evening after supper and when everything was cleaned and put in its place, I opened Jasper’s letter and read…

  My good friend Ben;

  I present you with Deputy Ethan Claybrook. Please be patient. Above all else he knows the law, and he’s an excellent lawman, but he lacks western seasoning. He knows to heed your advice and value your experience. I filled him in on your background, so he’s aware of your experience as a manhunter, and the fact that you will stand when needed.

  Take him to a gun shop or general store and have him get a real gun with a real holster. If you can, get him an express gun. He can afford it. He may be difficult from time to time, but he’s going to need a friend, and I think you can fit that bill.

  I’m going to owe you huge debt of gratitude, Ben.

  Jasper

  You can just bet, you’ll owe me, I mumbled to myself, just as Rafe came in from the barn. “Huh?” he said and looked my way.

  “Oh, I was just fussin’ at the US Marshal’s Office. Jasper Stewart knew that this new deputy hadn’t any western experience, and he sent him anyway. Now he wants me to keep him alive long enough to get some seasoning. I just hope he gets it without getting us both killed.”