Chapter One -- Rustlers
Bud Hagan was not happy with his present surroundings. He had been tipped that a small herd of stolen beef would be coming up this canyon sometime tonight. Against his better judgment he had shown up to wait.
First of all, his tip had arrived in the form of a hand printed note. The childish scrawl looked like it was meant to be that of a child. Hagan did not believe it. The message was nothing a child would be concerned with.
Secondly, this little canyon was too rocky for his taste. In rattlesnake country, knowing men avoided such places at night. Bud sat in the shadow of a mesquite bush with his eye to the blackness beyond. He wasn't afraid of snakes; he just didn't like taking unnecessary chances.
His third dislike was the rumor mill that that the area between Tombstone and Nogales had become in the last few weeks. The actual robberies were bad enough, but when people started talking about ghosts and spirits common sense went out the window.
It had started when the mule train of Jesus Morales had been attacked in an arroyo on its way back to Cananea.
It was a supply train loaded with supplies. Apparently this fact was not known to the outlaws, for they killed every last man and beast in front of them. The culprits were never discovered, but there were a lot of people that thought Johnny Ringo and the survivors of the Clantons did the dirty deed.
The one Mexican lad that escaped swore he saw a strange shadowy creature at the top of the arroyo that made the noises of Satan himself. Nobody present thought to ask the lad how he knew what the devil made for noises.
It was apparent that the people took the kid's word for it. No matter what the crime, from a hold up to a coyote getting in a chicken pen, reference was made to this
supernatural creature.
Bud Hagan was an Arizona Ranger based in Cochise County, Arizona Territory. While he wasn't actually required to be sitting out here in the dark he considered it his duty. The same duty that had been his guiding post throughout his life, that dictated the type of man that he was.
At fifty he was considered old by some people, but only by those that didn't know him. A lifetime spent mostly in the outdoors toughens a man and increases his skills instead of sapping them. He could keep up with men half his age. The few people in the know recognized him as one of the fastest pistol shots in the Southwest. He was never one to show off, so this fact was a well kept secret. On the occasions that he had to use it his fast draw was usually the last thing an outlaw got a glimpse of.
His exploits were far overshadowed by the famous lawmen in Tombstone, for Wyatt Earp and his cronies took recognition wherever they could get it. Hagan stayed in the background, working with the city marshals when necessary but never hogging the limelight.
A motion below him caught his attention. He looked away, for in the night the peripheral vision is often sharper than a straight gaze. Now he could make out eight shapes coming up the canyon. Ghostly shapes, perhaps, but certainly not ghosts. Now he could hear the animal's feet as they approached. Six beef critters and two drivers made up the whole parade.
Six cows were hardly worth stealing. Most ranchers would give away one or two head if a man needed meat to feed his family. These two rustlers must be starting small. Probably they figured they wouldn't be bothered if they kept the take low.
The cattle seemed to sense his presence in the shadows and began to balk a bit. The drivers showed their inexperience in that they did not pay attention to the beasts. Instead they rode close to their rumps and switched then with ropes. The more they did this the more the cattle wanted to turn back.
Somehow the rustlers kept the cattle moving forward. Bud watched closely, and when the attention of the riders was behind them he quickly waved his arm.
This was all it took. The half-wild cattle were sure he was up to no good and they circled to go back down the canyon. The outlaws lashed at them to go back and only succeeded in making an eddy of uneasy cows. When the confusion was at its peak Hagan stood up and announced his presence.
"This is Arizona Ranger Hagan. You're both under arrest."
A shot immediately rang out. The man was fast, Bud had to give him that. He was not accurate, though, for the sheriff didn't even hear the whistle of the shot. He now drew and shot over their heads, hoping to end this confusion without a killing.
To his surprise one of the riders raced directly at him, his six shooter blazing! Hagan rolled out of the way and snapped a shot at the man, who fell from his saddle upon the impact of the bullet. The other man was sky lighted as he galloped away in the other direction!
Cautiously the ranger approached the fallen man. It was well he did, for the man's arm jerked and Hagan kicked the revolver away from his groping hand.
"How bad are you hurt?" inquired the lawman.
"You got me in the shoulder. I'll live."
Hagan lit a match with his left hand and leaned over him. "One false move and you'll feel this barrel alongside your head. You savvy?"
"Yeah, I hear ya. You got lucky tonight you know."
"Lucky? When I was your age I was fighting Indians. If I'd been as clumsy as you I would have lost my scalp a long time ago."
Hagan took a chance and lighted a small fire so as to tend to the wounded man's shoulder. The bullet had gone straight through the muscle and barring infection it would heal with no trouble. He bandaged it and helped the man to his saddle. Then to insure he didn't run off he handcuffed his by his good arm to the horn. With one arm in a sling and the other cuffed it was doubtful the man could make an escape. To make sure the ranger retrieved his own mount and led the other by its reins.
The cattle had drifted back the way they came and Hagan rode in that direction until coming upon the trail that ran north to Tombstone. This he followed, bringing his prisoner to the jail just as the sun came up. He sent the jailer for the doctor, then leaned back with his feet on a desk. He was beat. As he grew older the long nights didn't get any harder; they never had been easy.
As soon as the jailer came back with a doctor Hagan decided that a good breakfast was in order. Entering Molly's Place, he spotted Wyatt Earp sitting alone and went over to join him.
"Saw you come in early with a prisoner. Was he trying to steal silver?" Earp queried.
"Nope, he's a cattle rustler, and a mighty poor one at that."
"Looked like he'd been shot. He must have made his play."
"He did. Not a very good one, but he made it. He was fast enough but he couldn't hit anything. You know the type."
"Yeah, I sure do. Some of these fellows never learn that being fast isn't even half the battle. If they can't hit what they're shooting at they might as well be shooting blanks. Oh, well, it makes it easier for us. If these would-be gunmen were as good as they would have you believe we would have been dead a long time ago."
Earp ordered more coffee and asked the ranger about the adventures he had the previous evening. Hagan told him of the way his prisoner had shot immediately while his partner turned and ran away.
"Sounds like a certain Clanton that I know. Doubtful, though."
"Yeah, both of these fellows are pretty young. The prisoner wouldn't give me his name. Maybe it's someone you recognize."
"I'll take a look later. I know about everyone that comes to Tombstone. What's this about spooks out in the desert? I've heard stories that make me want to hide under the bed at night."
"I'd like to see that," the ranger laughed. "What gets me about this banshee that people hear is that it always heard or seen when a robbery is taking place. A spook is just a spook. I never heard of one going into a career of rustling and robbery."
"No, any ghost is beyond the reach of human needs. Probably it's just a noise heard by scared people. Makes for a good story, though. Make a good penny dreadful." Then, getting down to business, he asked the ranger, "Are you going to go out and try to track down the other rustler? I'm pretty much unemployed today. Why don't you sleep until noon and then I'll come along and see some countryside."
"Sounds good, Wyatt. I'll meet you back here for lunch."
By mid-afternoon they were arriving at the point where Hagan and his prisoner had met the trail on the previous night. They circled around the escapee's route and found that he had turned and rode toward Bisbee. When his track merged with a large herd of cattle the lawmen gave up.
"I'll run into him later," said the ranger. "Crooks that dumb always try it again. Let's go up to Applebee's and see if we can spend the night."
"There must be some attraction," replied Wyatt dryly. It was known across the territory that Applebee had not only a very attractive daughter of twenty five but a wife that was possibly the best cook south of Denver.
"Yeah, I could stand to catch up on my sleep. I've got to admit that a feed of roast pork would taste pretty good, though. I haven't had any since the last time I was here."
Applebee was known for the quality of the pigs that he grew. He had taken note of Pete Kitchen's success with hogs and had bettered the product. Kitchen's hogs were not well protected and often sprouted so many Apache arrows that they were know as Pete Kitchen's pincushions. Leon Applebee had constructed sturdy pens for his pigs, and they ate the best food that he could get for them. He would gather wagon loads of nuts and berries for them and when he had the manpower he would herd them to the verdant banks of the higher streams and let them root.
He also raised a large garden, some chickens and some cattle. The garden was watered with an ingenious irrigation system that was a forerunner of things to come. He brought in a little silver from time to time so he must have found a lode somewhere in his hills. The amounts were never too much so nobody had inquired further into the man's mining activities.
Wyatt had been pondering events as they rode along. "You know, it's great that Applebee does so well, but his kind of operation with be the end of the Southwest as we know it. I've heard talk of irrigation in California as well. Such things would tame this area and leave you and I out in the cold."
"Why? There will still be crime. The human race is never without it."
"True enough, but how would you like to be chasing a watermelon thief instead of a rustler? I just can't see it. I can get by anywhere, and Bat is already talking of going to New York to work. But you have lived your whole life out here, right?"
"All my working years, anyway. I came from New Hampshire, did you know that? Once I got out here I never had any urge to go back. Those winters are cold!"
They were almost to the top of the last hill before Applebee's holdings when a sound filled the air and stopped them dead in their tracks.
"Now what in tarnation was that?"
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