A Good Day To Kill by Dusty Richards

Author:Dusty Richards [Richards, Dusty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-12-27T05:00:00+00:00

In the morning, he took Jesus, Cole, and Shawn back with him to Tubac. On the way, he went by to check on the well driller and his teenage grandson. The old man, Crazy Ed, was odd sounding, but the boy showed lots of get-up-and-go. Their little steam engine was thumping the cable drilling rig. Wood to fire his boiler might be another problem, but the men had so far snaked a lot of deadwood in for them. He left them working.

He planned to wind up the Force business and then go home for a spell. The ranch was JD’s to make it work. Plus, he had Ortega to help him. He had water development and the buildings soon going up. They would see about the rest in the future.

The next day, when Chet and Shawn arrived, Roamer had a few things for them to check on. He left that for Chet to decide after he read them.

“Number one, they stole six horses from a rancher up north of Tucson. He thinks they’re going to try to sell them in Tombstone. The market for horses there is sky high and no one asks questions. The horses all wear the rancher’s brand, the HKY. They’re well-broke ranch horses. I have their ages and colors. Let’s see, his name is Ace Stroud. Florence, Arizona Territory.”

Chet nodded, sipping on the steaming Arbuckle’s coffee Marie poured for him in a tin cup. “Those rustlers may already be over there.”

“May be,” Roamer said. “Business number two, this says Bill Hunter and Slim Blandon cheated a rancher named Harley Wiles on a gold flimflam scheme. The two men brought him some gold-flecked specimens to his ranch and offered him half interest in their claim for five hundred dollars. He bought it and they left. He later went to their so-called mine and found nothing but caliche. I have a description of the two. They’re supposed to be in the Tombstone District. Lord knows where.”

Roamer continued. “Third, a man named Trent Marks shot his brother, Abraham Marks, and killed him. They were both drunk, supposedly arguing over a woman, name unknown, over on Whiskey Creek, and got into a gunfight. Abraham’s body was found at their homestead and no one has seen his brother since then.”

“What the hell do Behan’s deputies do over there?” Cole asked in disgust.

“Sit on their thumbs and count cattle for tax purposes,” Roamer said.

“That’s probably right. Roamer, you and Cole see about the rustlers. They may be holding those horses outside of town until they find a buyer.

“Jesus, you and Bronc see if you can locate those phony mine sellers in the Tombstone area. Then Shawn and I will ride up on Whiskey Creek and try to find out where that shooter went. No border crossers doing mischief up here?”

Roamer shook his head. “Nothing like we’ve had in the past. But that don’t mean they ain’t around.”

“Four days from now, we’ll meet that evening at the O.K. Corral Livery. We’ll have a good supper at Nellie Cashman’s place.

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