Chapter 4

Socorro

“How long have you been with JB, Brazos?” Arizona asked as they rode.

“About a couple of months, I signed on just before the drive,” Brazos replied.

Arizona turned to his left and saw Tex Riley gazing thoughtfully at Blaze.

“What are you thinking about, Tex?” Arizona asked.

“Just that your horse looks like a desert-bred critter, not something you’d find in the Tonto.”

“He is desert-bred, came from Apache country. Blaze was a gift from my blood-father. He taught me all I know about tracking and training horses.”

“I had noticed he seemed like an Apache war-horse, a one-man horse that you not have stolen. You are blood-son to an Apache?” Tex asked.

“Mescalaro Chief named Nighthorse, he raised me for five years before sending me to find my folks. I lived with Apaches from when I was seven until I was turned thirteen. I even participated in some of the raids into Mexico. I’ll never forget those years,” Arizona said.

“Ah, Mescalaro you say. I know Nighthorse, mostly by reputation. He is my cousin’s uncle. My mother was a Mescalaro. It is a good life, a hard one but a good.”

“What sent you to Taylor, Tex?”

“I shot a couple of men who did not like half-breeds, down in Nueces country. One was a town marshal so I lit out. I came across Brazos and we decided to travel together.”

“Funny what life throws at you ain’t it kid?” Brazos chuckled. “I myself took my first step on the Outlaw Trail about a year ago, then I met JB and he set me straight. Same sort of trouble that Tex ran into, shooting the wrong fella, only mine was a sheriff. A crooked sheriff but that didn’t matter much.”

They talked more of towns they had seen, horses and men they had encountered and of the Circle K, Taylor’s ranch. A day later they reached Socorro and knew they were almost half way home. It was late afternoon when they rode in, hot and dusty from the trail. It was the first town they had stopped in since picking up Arizona and all were eager for a bath, food they hadn’t cooked themselves, and a drink.

Socorro was an active town, located near the banks of the Rio Grande. Taylor and Arkansas went to the hotel to see about rooms while the others took the horses down the street to a stable where a Mexican stood waiting.

“Give ‘em good hay and grain, amigo. They’ve had a long ride,” Tex said as they handed over their reins. All except for Arizona, who took care of Blaze himself, knowing the mustang was picky about whose hands he allowed to touch him. When the horses had been taken care of the four of them made their way up the street to a saloon where they met Arkansas and the Boss. From there they crossed the street to a small restaurant that was serving dinner.

“What can I get for you, senores?” inquired the Mexican proprietor after they sat down. “I have frijoles with beans, frijoles with chili, and…”

“We’ll have the frijoles, amigo,” Taylor replied with a smile to the grinning Mex.

“Si, the senor has chosen well; Juanita makes the best frijoles in all of New Mexico.”

Taylor gazed around at his boys, Brazos was joking with Curly and Jack, Tex was leaning back in his chair taking a quick nap. Luke was quiet and watchful, wary of everything around him without seeming to be. Taylor again found himself wondering who the boy was and what he was. He had noticed the kid’s wariness as they entered Socorro, especially his appraisal of the Marshal’s office. But Taylor’s train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the steaming frijoles.

After dinner they wandered over to the saloon across from the restaurant. Taylor and his hands walked directly to the bar. Arizona paused at the door to allow his eyes to adjust and to take in all the people inside. Satisfied there was no one he knew, he joined the Circle K riders at the bar and ordered a beer.

“Boys, I want to drink to a job well done,” Taylor said, raising his glass.

“Naw!” Brazos argued. “You just want a reason to break that no-drinking pledge you made to your sister!” The boys all burst out laughing at the sight of JB turning purple in mock rage.

“Why you good for nothing cowpuncher, I never made no such pledge!” Taylor growled. “But even if I had, how’s she gonna know, she lives in Boston!” he continued with a grin.

They all laughed and moved to a table across the room. Two hours later they heard the thunder of horses outside. A moment later three dusty riders came into the saloon. One was a great bear-like man with unruly brown hair, and deceivingly innocent brown dog-like eyes. He wore a gun on his right hip, but Rip Cutler preferred to use his bare hands to kill. Beside him stood a slim, sickly man with watery blue eyes, a pasty white face, and sparse blonde hair that was plastered to his head. He wore a pearl handled pistol in a shiny, silver bedecked gun belt. Trey Harlan was good with a gun and loved to flaunt his skill, he also had a fetish for killing. Next to him was a short swarthy Mexican whose preference ran to knives, though he too could handle a gun. A fourth man came in with them but stayed at the end of the bar.

Taylor and his hands gave them a passing glance but Arizona stiffened in his seat, his eyes suddenly cold.

“I say we keep it to ourselves, Davis won’t know how much they sold for, and what he don’t know can’t hurt him,” said Cutler.

“And what happens if they find out that the cattle sold for more than eight dollars a head, a lot more?” the Mexican asked.

“They won’t find out. Anyways they were in such a hurry to get shut of that Travis herd it won’t matter none, Montez.” Cutler replied.

“I reckon I can handle that fool, Ben Davis,” Trey Harlan said, backing Cutler up.

Taylor had been watching young Ryan since the riders had entered and sensed the change in the boy’s manner. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he could tell that trouble was brewing. When Harlan spoke the name Davis, Luke, suddenly spoke. But his voice was so cold that at first Taylor and the others didn’t realize it was he who had spoken.

“I reckon you don’t have to worry about Davis anymore, Harlan.”

Harlan, Cutler, and Montez all whirled at the words spoken by an unknown voice. The fourth man also turned, but slowly and stayed off to the side.

“What the hell would you know about it, boy?” Harlan snapped.

“Just that Ben Davis is dead,” Arizona continued, rising to his feet. As he rose the Circle K riders and everyone else between or behind the four men scrambled out of the way.

“Dead you say? Well, what do you know, Trey, guess we don’t have to worry at all,” Cutler chuckled. But Harlan was studying the boy in black, especially the two ivory-butted colts that hung at his hips.

“Well, thank you for that bit of information, kid,” Harlan said and started to turn away.

“Any of you boys ride a horse with a short stride and bar shoes on the front?”

Quiet descended over the room as Harlan turned back to face Arizona.

“I do. Why?” he answered.

“That means you’re a rustler and a murderer, just like Ben Davis. Just so you know he’s already been paid for those cows…In lead, mine!” Harlan’s hand darted for his gun but even as he did so he saw the kid’s guns spout flame. He went to his knees trying to bring his gun into line, but Arizona walked in, blasting Harlan with three more bullets. Then his guns shifted to Cutler, who’s first shot had just tugged at his sleeve. Rip Cutler took two bullets in the chest but he kept firing. One shot smashed into Arizona’s shoulder but he felt no pain and emptied his own guns into Cutler, who finally fell with seven bullets in him. Arizona turned to face Montez with the remaining bullet, only o find him down with two bullets in him and the fourth man holding a smoking gun.

In the silence that followed the crashing of guns the men stared at Arizona.

“That’s the fastest draw I’ve ever seen!” exclaimed one suddenly and then the silence was broken by excited muttering.

Arizona and the stranger stared at one another for a moment. The stranger was young, built like Arizona, with black hair and emerald green eyes. Then the stranger gave Arizona a broad grin.

“Still need me to watch your back, hey, Arizona?” Logan Skye said.

“I’ve managed alright without you, Logan, you gun totin’ saddle tramp!” Arizona replied as he ejected the empty shells and refilled the chambers of his guns.

“Oh, you’ve hurt my feelings. I should have let Montez shoot you,” Skye replied good-naturedly.

The marshal entered just as Arizona snapped the full chambers shut.

“Alright, what happened here?” the marshal asked.

“That kid just killed Trey Harlan and Rip Cutler! Damnedest thing I ever saw! Harlan went for his gun and the kid killed him, I never even saw him draw!”

“Harlan and Cutler, well, the world’s certainly better off without those two. But I have to ask, what started it?”

“Harlan and Cutler were talking about some cattle they’d sold and some guy named Davis. The kid tells them that they don’t have to worry about Davis no more. Well, Harlan asks why and the kid tells him that Davis is dead and he killed him. Then he asks if one of them rides a horse with a short stride and bar shoes. Harlan says he does and the kid calls him a rustler and a murderer. Harlan went for his gun and got killed.”

“Well that suggests a prior acquaintance,” said the marshal. “You have a name son?”

Arizona hesitated; he noticed the Circle K riders and Taylor walking up.

“You men ride with him?” the marshal asked them.

“Yes, sir, we do. He’s one of my riders. My name is JB Taylor; I’ve got a ranch down in Texas.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” the marshal said turning back to Arizona.

“Ryan, Luke Ryan.”

“And how about you? You obviously had a part in this too,” the marshal inquired of Skye.

“The Mex was going to shoot Ryan in the back so I shot him. Nothing more to it, I hate back shooters.”

“That’s very white of you, mister…?”

“Smith, Bud Smith.”

“Ahuh, well you best take your man to see the doctor, Taylor,” said the marshal gesturing at Arizona’s bleeding shoulder. “And you, Smith, stay out of trouble in my town.”

“Yes sir,” Skye replied tipping his hap in mock salute. “Come on, Ry; let’s get you to the doctor.”

Once outside the saloon and away from the marshal Arizona rounded on Skye.

“Smith! That’s the best you can come up with! What the hell is wrong with you, Logan?”

“Whoa now, take it easy. Excuse me if I’m not able to come up with something creative on the spur of the moment, Mister Luke Ryan! What’s up with the name anyhow? Last time I saw you the Law didn’t want you for anything.”

“Oh, so I should walk around yelling I’m the Arizona Kid, and have every two-bit hotshot out to make a reputation shooting lead at my hide, is that it?”

“Hey, since when are you so edgy?”

“Since people started shooting at me for my name. Since decent people started avoiding me, women look at me like I’m some kind of monster and the Law wants to run me out of a town as soon as I get there.”

Before Logan could reply Taylor and the rest came up behind them and they walked the rest of the way to the doctor’s in silence. Taylor and Logan accompanied him inside, the rest remained on the porch, and as soon as the door closed the exclamations began.

“You see how fast those guns came up?” said Arkansas.

“Hell! I never even saw them come up! It was like they just appeared out of thin air!” Curly replied.

“Me, I’m just wondering who our Luke Ryan really is. And that Mr. Smith, seems like he and Ryan know each other, and his name sure as shootin’ ain’t Smith,” said Brazos.

“Well ya’ll better keep those thoughts to yourselves. I reckon Ryan doesn’t want to talk about and I ain’t asking him,” Riley said bringing an end to the discussion. “And seein’ as we’re riding out in the morning I suggest you boys hit the hay.”

-----

Inside the office Arizona, Taylor, and Skye were greeted by a thin, kindly faced man dressed in a simple white shirt and gray trousers. His hazel eyes went from Arizona to Taylor and Skye and back again.

“You’ll be the survivor of the shooting I just heard, I suppose?” he asked Arizona with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, Doc, you ain’t got anymore business besides him tonight,” Skye said wryly.

“I take it the undertaker has some then?”

“Yes sir, three new pine boxes.”

“Ahuh. Well, don’t just stand there, young man, come in to the clinic so I can patch you up.”

Taylor took a seat by the door while Skye leaned against the wall to wait. In the clinic Arizona sagged onto the examination table. While the doctor heated water, Arizona removed his hat, shirt, and gun belts: wincing as he moved his left shoulder to remove the shirt.

“You were lucky, this is just a graze,” said the doctor after he had cleaned and bandaged the wound. He looked at Arizona with a sardonic glint in his eyes as he inspected the two mostly healed wounds from the Davis encounter. “It would seem you have a penchant for trouble, young man. But whoever doctored these for did a mighty fine job. There’s no sign of infection. I would recommend a day of rest but I know you will probably ignore me and even if you didn’t the marshal will want you out of town as soon as possible to prevent further trouble. So all I can prescribe is for you to get a good night’s sleep and try to take it easy for the next couple of day

“Thanks, Doc. How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it son.”

“Much obliged,” Arizona said as he swung his guns into place and pulled on his hat.

Logan left them when they left the doctor’s, leaving Taylor to take a new, harder look at his young companion. At first glance he had seen a boy, handsome and young. A second, closer look had shown him a man who knew well the ways of the world around him and the dangers he faced. But it was the third appraisal that was most revealing and this time Taylor felt a chill go down his spine. For in this young man he saw a coldness, a savage rage barely kept in check, and a willingness, almost an eagerness, for violence. Here was a man with shrewd intelligence and an affinity for weapons that far exceeded the ordinary, who would not back down even in the face of death. It was in this moment that Taylor realized that he never wanted to cross this man, for to do so meant death. However at the same time Ryan possessed a strong sense of justice; and he undoubtedly honest and loyal. A good man to have as a friend and terrible to have as an enemy.