The Range Detectives Read online

“Shucks, ma’am,” Charley said. “Hamp and me ride for the brand, and now that Mr. Dempsey’s gone, God rest his soul, you’re the Box D.”

  Laura lowered her eyes, clearly embarrassed, and Dan looked away, too, Stovepipe noted. Even though nothing really improper had happened between them, this show of loyalty to Laura’s late husband by Hamp and Charley must have made them a little uncomfortable.

  Judging by everything Stovepipe had heard about Abel Dempsey, the man really hadn’t been evil, but the way he and Laura’s father had conspired to push her into marrying him showed that he possessed a large degree of arrogance and had a ruthless streak when it came to getting what he wanted. To Hamp and Charley and the rest of the crew of the Box D, though, Dempsey had just been the boss. According to their code, when you took wages from a man, you gave him your loyalty, no matter what.

  And no matter what Abel Dempsey’s faults might have been, he hadn’t deserved a bullet in the back. That was reason enough for Stovepipe to want to discover the killer’s identity, but in addition to that, his finely honed instincts told him that Dempsey’s murder was tied in with something bigger, something that threatened the whole basin . . .

  “Grub’s ready,” announced Hamp, breaking into Stovepipe’s reverie. “It might be a little crowded, but everybody gather round the table.”

  The food was simple but good. Hamp had cooked a couple of pieces of salt pork with the beans, giving them an excellent flavor, especially when combined with the corn bread and washed down with strong, black coffee.

  After Wilbur had polished off two plates, Stovepipe grinned and told Hamp and Charley, “It’s a good thing this pard of mine ain’t stayin’, boys. He’d plumb eat you outta house and home.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” said Wilbur. “I’ve seen you put away practically a whole side of beef at one sitting.”

  “Red meat’s good for a man. Keeps the juices flowin’.”

  Hamp said, “I don’t want to disturb anybody’s digestion, but I’d sure like to hear what happened to the boss.”

  Stovepipe and Wilbur looked to Dan, since he was the natural one to answer that question. He said, “Mr. Dempsey was bushwhacked a couple of days ago over by Apache Bluff. I happened to be close by and heard the shot, but by the time I got there and found him, he was gone.”

  Charley frowned and said, “I don’t mean to talk outta turn here, Dan, but seems to me the last I heard, you’d been run off the Box D. Didn’t the boss fire you and tell you to never come back?”

  “That’s true,” Dan admitted. “But he had cooled off and sent word to me that he was willing for me to hire on again. In fact, that’s where I was headed when I heard the shot.”

  That lie would be easily disproved if Hamp and Charley were to talk to anyone from the rest of the Box D crew or from Hat Creek, but as long as they stayed up in these high pastures and nobody else came around, they would accept what Dan had told them. Stovepipe’s hope was that the respite would last long enough for him and Wilbur to discover the truth about what was going on in the Tonto Basin.

  “Well, I’m glad to have you back,” said Hamp. “I always took you for the decent sort. Not to speak ill o’ the dead, and I’m beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I thought the boss sort of flew off the handle when he fired you.”

  “Things happen,” Dan said with a shrug. “I don’t hold any grudges.”

  “It’s good of you to try to find out who bushwhacked him,” said Charley.

  Again Dan looked away. He needed to find Dempsey’s killer to clear his own name, not out of any sense of wanting justice for the murdered man. But Hamp and Charley didn’t need to know that.

  With the meal finished, Stovepipe, Wilbur, Dan, and Charley went outside, leaving Hamp and Laura in the line shack to clean up. Stovepipe and Wilbur unhitched the team and watered the horses.

  “I need to borrow a mount from the string you and Hamp brought up here,” Dan said to Charley. “Hate to leave you short, but I might need a better horse than those draft animals.”

  “Sure, that’s all right. We’ll still have a few extra cayuses.”

  “You expectin’ any visitors in the next few days?” asked Stovepipe.

  Charley shook his head and said, “Nope. Willie brought a wagonload of supplies up from the home ranch four or five days ago. He won’t be back for a week, more ’n likely. I reckon some of the boys could ride up here, but there ain’t no way of knowin’ that.”

  “If you see anybody coming, lie low,” Dan said. “And whatever you do, don’t let them know Mrs. Dempsey is here.”

  Charley frowned.

  “Even if it’s somebody like Lew? He’d never double-cross the boss.”

  “Maybe not, but until we find out who shot Mr. Dempsey, we can’t take any chances.”

  Charley’s frown deepened as he looked over at Stovepipe and Wilbur.

  “You know, nobody ever told me who you fellas are or how you fit into this.”

  “We’re just a couple of driftin’ waddies who met Dan and got a hankerin’ to play detective when we heard what was goin’ on in these parts,” said Stovepipe.

  “Yeah? And how do we know you didn’t have anything to do with the boss gettin’ shot?”

  “They didn’t,” Dan said. “It’s not possible. They were nowhere around when that happened. They didn’t ride into the basin until yesterday.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I ain’t that trustin’,” said Charley. “They seem like good hombres, but you better keep an eye on ’em anyway.”

  Stovepipe grinned and said, “We’ll all keep an eye on each other. How’s that?” He grew more serious as he went on, “What can you tell me about the rustlin’ that’s been goin’ on around here, Charley?”

  “I don’t know much except that it’s got to be a slick gang behind it. Practically every spread in the basin has lost some stock here and there. Never a big bunch at a time, you understand, but it sure adds up. I got a hunch the wide-loopers are just feelin’ us out, tryin’ to decide just how much they can steal and still get away with it. One of these days, there’s liable to be a big strike, and they’ll clean out the whole basin.”

  “That would ruin everybody in these parts,” said Dan.

  “Well, I don’t reckon a bunch of damn rustlers would care about that, do you?”

  “No,” said Stovepipe. “They sure wouldn’t. With Dempsey dead, along with those other two ranchers, that’ll make things easier for them.”

  Charley stared at him and said, “You figure whoever shot the boss is tied in with them rustlers?”

  “That’s what we intend to find out,” Stovepipe said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Dan picked out one of the horses from Hamp and Charley’s string and put an old saddle he found in the shed on the animal. It was time for him, Stovepipe, and Wilbur to leave.

  Stovepipe could tell that Dan didn’t want to be parted from Laura. The young cowboy would have liked to take her in his arms and bid her a proper farewell.

  But to have done so would have shocked and scandalized Hamp and Charley, and for the time being, they needed the two old-timers on their side. Dan was smart enough to know that, so he just nodded and told Laura, “So long, Mrs. Dempsey. We’ll be back as soon as we can, hopefully with good news.”

  “And good luck to you, Mr. Hartford,” Laura said. She held out her hand. Dan hesitated for just a second, then grasped it and shook it as he would have a man’s hand.

  It was a poor substitute for a kiss, thought Stovepipe as he concealed a smile, but better than nothing, he supposed.

  Dan didn’t look back as they rode away, although Stovepipe figured he wanted to. Quietly, Stovepipe said, “You done the right thing back there. Havin’ those two old pelicans around to look after Miz Dempsey gives us a fightin’ chance.”

  “That’s all I’m asking for,” Dan said with a grim cast to his face.

  Now that they were heading lower in the basin, onto the main part of the Box D range, the likel
ihood of running into some of Dempsey’s punchers was greater. All three men remained as alert as possible and stuck to the trees when they could. They didn’t want to be spotted.

  Because of the need for stealth, they couldn’t move very fast. It took more than an hour to reach the crest of a bluff where the landscape fell away into a rugged stretch similar to the one farther west where Dan had been hiding out in recent days.

  They rode out of a stand of trees to the edge of the rocky promontory. Dan reined in, nodded to the rough terrain in front of them, and said, “When the Apaches were still giving trouble around here, back in the early days when the basin was still being settled, that was where they holed up between raids. That’s how this bluff got its name. At least, that’s what I’ve heard the old-timers say, like Hamp and Charley and Willie Hill, who’s the cook for the Box D now. That was a long time before I was ever in these parts, but the name stuck. I suppose when you’ve had to fight the Apaches, you never forget what you went through.”

  “I reckon not,” said Stovepipe. “Chances are the ’Paches ain’t forgot about those days, neither. They were smart enough to know they were fightin’ a losin’ battle in these parts and beat what they call a strategic retreat down to the area around the border.”

  “The Apaches may have headed south,” said Wilbur, “but there are still plenty of rustlers and owlhoots around here, I’ll bet. There’s always somebody lookin’ to make trouble.” He nodded toward the badlands. “Could be that gang’s hiding out in there right now.”

  That comment made all three men sit in solemn silence for a moment. Then Stovepipe said, “Tell us again about what happened the day Dempsey was bushwhacked, Dan.”

  “Laura and I were sitting here on our horses, right where we are now,” said Dan. “We were talking.”

  “What about?”

  Dan frowned and said, “I don’t see what that has to do with Dempsey being killed.”

  “I don’t know that it does. I just like to round up all the information I can. You can’t never tell when somethin’ will turn out to be important.”

  “We were talking about running away together,” Dan said bluntly. “I told you before, we considered starting over in California. We were trying to figure out when we could go, and how we could manage it so that Dempsey wouldn’t try to hunt us down.”

  “You figured he might come after the two of you,” said Stovepipe.

  “And from what I’ve heard of Dempsey, he might come gunning for you,” added Wilbur. “Or at least pay somebody to do that.”

  Dan looked back and forth between them and said, “What are you trying to do, give me even more of a motive for murdering Dempsey?”

  “Just linin’ up the facts,” said Stovepipe. “I don’t reckon Sheriff Olsen needs any help figurin’ out your motive.”

  “Whether or not I had a good reason to shoot the old buzzard, I didn’t do it,” Dan said. “While Laura and I were talking, we heard a shot from that direction.” He pointed north along the bluff. The trees came closer to the edge in that direction, blocking the view. Dan went on, “I knew there might be trouble, so I told Laura to get out of here. Then I rode up yonder to have a look.”

  “Let’s do the same,” said Stovepipe with a nod.

  They walked their horses slowly along the bluff toward the pines. Stovepipe kept a close eye on the ground as they proceeded. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just looking. That was a habit he had gotten into over the years, and it had served him well many times in the past.

  They entered the trees, which grew close enough together to form a screen, although the trunks were far enough apart that it was no problem for a rider to weave through the growth. The stand wasn’t very thick, and when the three men reached the far side, Stovepipe reined in and turned his horse so that he could look back to where they had come from.

  “If a fella wanted to spy on somebody on the bluff, he could sit here and do that,” he commented. “You can see well enough through the trees to make out what’s goin’ on, but if you were quiet about it, the folks you were watchin’ might not ever notice you.”

  “You’re saying that Dempsey was sitting here spying on Laura and me,” Dan said with a frown.

  Stovepipe’s bony shoulders went up and down in a shrug.

  “I don’t reckon we’ll ever know for sure, since the fella’s crossed the divide, but it makes sense.”

  “I told you, we weren’t doing anything except talking.”

  “And I ain’t disputin’ that. Howsomever, a lot of gents would take exception to their wives talkin’ to some other fella out in the middle of nowhere, especially one they’d done fired and thrown off their ranch.”

  Dan sighed and nodded. He said, “We were foolish, and we were wrong in some ways. But so was Dempsey. He had no right to force a young, vibrant woman like Laura to marry him. He knew she wouldn’t be able to stand up to the pressure from both him and her father.”

  “I ain’t makin’ excuses for the man, just tryin’ to figure out who dry-gulched him.” Stovepipe gestured toward the ground. “This is where you found him?”

  “Yeah. He was laying right there, facedown, with a good-sized bloodstain already on the back of his shirt. I knew as soon as I saw him that he’d been shot.”

  “Was his horse still here?”

  “Yeah, about fifty yards that way.” Dan pointed along the line of trees. “It must have spooked when Dempsey was shot out of the saddle.”

  “Or Dempsey had dismounted and was holding the reins when he was shot,” said Wilbur. “Either one works to explain what you found.”

  “I suppose, but I don’t see how that matters.”

  Stovepipe said, “You never know what matters until you figure out exactly what happened.” He nodded toward a cluster of boulders approximately seventy-five yards away. “The killer was hidin’ in those rocks, you said?”

  “That’s right. I got off my horse to make sure Dempsey wasn’t alive and needed help. I saw right away that he was dead, though, and as I straightened up, there was another shot. The bullet came close enough for me to hear it go over my head.”

  Stovepipe turned his head slowly, looking back and forth between the rocks and the place where Dan had found Abel Dempsey’s body. After a moment, he said, “What did you do?”

  “After that potshot, you mean? I grabbed my gun and fired back. It was just a reflex. Any man would do the same, don’t you think?”

  “I reckon most would,” Stovepipe agreed. “How long was it after you triggered that shot that some of the Box D hands rode up?”

  “I don’t know. Thirty seconds, maybe.”

  “You stood out here in the open for that long after somebody’d tried to ventilate you?”

  Dan shook his head and said, “Well, no. I ducked back into the trees and took cover. But then I heard hoofbeats from the other side of the rocks and decided the bushwhacker was lighting a shuck. I had just stepped out of the trees and was standing beside Dempsey’s body when Lew Martin, the Box D foreman, and some of the other hands came galloping up from the other direction.”

  Wilbur said, “You couldn’t have had more bad luck if you’d tried, son.”

  Dan sighed and nodded.

  “I know,” he said. “I mean, what were Lew and those other fellas supposed to think? They found me standing over Dempsey’s body with a gun in my hand.”

  “What did they do?” asked Stovepipe.

  “They threw down on me, of course. Lew yelled for the others to hold their fire, but they were too worked up to listen to him. I knew they’d fill me full of holes if I stayed there and tried to shoot it out with them, so I jumped in my saddle and took off.”

  “Where?”

  “Back through the trees and along the bluff until I got to a spot where I could get down into that rougher country. They chased me for a long time, but I stayed ahead of them and finally gave them the slip.”

  “Then you headed for the breaks west of here, where you’d b
een hidin’ out.”

  “That’s right,” said Dan. “I’ve told you the whole story—again—and no offense, Stovepipe, but I don’t see what good it does to go over the ugly mess so many times.”

  “Because sometimes it takes more than one tellin’ for all the details to come out. For example, you said somethin’ yesterday while we were locked up in the Hat Creek jail that you didn’t mention this time, and I got a hunch that it’s important.”

  “I did?” Dan said with a puzzled frown. “I can’t think of what it might be.”

  “You told us that when you found Dempsey, he’d been shot in the back at close range. Are you certain about that part, Dan?”

  Dan’s frown deepened, as if he were casting his mind back to the grim scene that had played out here a couple of days earlier. After a moment, he said, “There were powder burns on the back of his shirt. I’m sure of it. They were hard to see because the blood had spread enough to sort of hide them, but I remember noticing them and thinking that . . . Wait a minute . . .”

  “Yeah,” said Stovepipe. “Those powder burns prove that he wasn’t bushwhacked from those rocks. The killer had to be closer than that. Right behind him, in fact. You think anybody could sneak up on Dempsey like that?”

  Dan shook his head and said, “Not a chance. I’ll give the man credit. He’d been here in the basin for a long time, and he fought Indians and outlaws to establish his ranch. He wouldn’t be caught like that. But what does that mean?”

  “It means he knew whoever shot him,” said Stovepipe. “Knew him—and trusted him.”

  “So whoever it was . . . knew that Laura and I were over there on the other side of the trees.”

  “Yep. He gunned down Dempsey and then hid in the rocks, figurin’ that you’d come to see what the shootin’ was about. He must’ve spotted Martin and the other hombres headin’ this way, so he fired a shot over your head, knowin’ you’d be likely to shoot back at him. That’d put you practically on top of Dempsey’s body with a smokin’ gun in your hand for the others to find.”

  “Damn it,” Dan grated. “What you’re saying is that it wasn’t just bad luck I found myself in so much trouble.”