Chapter 5

Malik, with three dressed rabbits hanging from his saddle horn, caught up with the group just after they’d crossed the ridge and started their descent. Maintaining a slow pace in deference to Cowboy’s recovery, they eventually reached a spreading, grassy bench with a stand of large cottonwood trees and, further off, some aspen.

The water flowed from the base of a steeper slope at the apex of the roughly triangular half-acre. The spring was fenced ‘round its front side with four strands of “bob” wire fence, the back protected by the steep rise of the slope. The spring run was a narrow rill through the grass, with two short falls over rocks into successive pools. The lower pool, more easily accessible to the cattle that wintered here, showed more wear at its edges. The upper pool, where the men set up camp, was grassy at its verge.

After they tended to the horses, turning them out, hobbled, near the lower pool, Edwards assumed the role of camp boss and directed the other men to collect firewood, though he suggested to Cowboy that he gather some willow bark, instead. There were plenty of dead branches on and around the cottonwoods, so a substantial pile of broken-up firewood was quickly assembled. Edwards asked Malik to borrow his coffee pot. He filled it with spring water and set it next to the fire he was building. He took Cowboy’s proffered willow fragments, further shredded them, and dropped them into the small pot. After the blaze was established, he untied a large coffee pot from the supply pack, and filled it with water. He set it next to the fire while he ground up some roasted coffee beans in a small mill.

The other men opened packs, pulled out food supplies, and set their saddles and bed rolls around the fire. Malik took three of the willow branches that Cowboy had peeled, sharpened one end on each, and used them as spits for the rabbits. He laid the spitted rabbits on a rock near the fire, allowing Edwards to determine when the proper coal bed had developed.

Edwards removed a small wooden box from a pack. He untied the string holding the lid secure, then opened it, pinching up some salt, which he sprinkled onto each of the rabbits. He set them back on the rock, awaiting the fire to burn down to coals.

Cowboy pulled an old flower sack and a yellow chunk of soap from his saddle bag and walked down to the lower pool. He pulled off his buckskins and waded into the water.

Edwards said, in a voice all could hear, “How ‘bout we use the space behind those two lighting-struck trees for our latrine, keep all the turds in one spot?” They all looked where he was pointing. There were several nods and grunts of assent. He held up a small gunny sack. “Paper’s in here.”

He pulled a big iron skillet out of the pack, then several potatoes and an onion from another gunny sack and began slicing them into the skillet. Trombley dug around in his saddle bags and went to wash up at the lower pool.

“Mister Edwards, Mister Malik, thanks for the meal,” Lonegan said, coffee cup in hand as he leaned on one arm against his saddle. The others, similarly relaxed, added like sentiments. Cowboy was asleep, half reclining on his saddle.

Lonegan went on. “Mister Malik, I see you’re partial to the big Mexican sombrero. How do you like it?”

“Well, as a hat, it makes a good horse-watering bucket. Be that as it may, I think that, after this little trip, I’ll go back to my old Stetson. The sombrero served its purpose, a bit of disguise, made me look different, if not viewed too close. You want a’ try it out? I’ll let you have it cheap.”

“Don’t think so,” Lonegan grinned. “A bit too flamboyant for my retirin’ ways. Brings to mind, though, the story you told, the tracks, the horsehair and young Anna Lestly’s body.”

Malik sat upright with a curious expression. Lonegan asked, “What? That name mean somethin’ to you?”

“The man at the root of all the trouble I’m havin’, in Waypoint? His name is Granger Lestly.”

Lonegan regarded him thoughtfully. “Then you’ll be interested to hear I talked to Mister Granger Lestly just yesterday mornin’. Big man, ‘bout my size, nasty scratches on his left jowl, says from a tree branch his horse ran him into, while he was chasin’ after the Injuns that stole his niece. Seems he was escortin’ her from his brother’s ranch down south, to catch the train at Shepherds Crossin’. Goin’ back east to finishin’ school or some such. Woke up in camp under attack by two or three men looked to be Injuns. They stole the girl an’ her horse, an’ rode off before he knew what was happenin’. He chased after ‘em, he said, but it was hopeless.”

“The trail to Dorado Springs is better and shorter. Why not put her on the train there?” Malik asked. “For that matter, Deputy, why are federal marshals involved?”

Lonegan rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. “Judge Westcott, who’s sort a’ our boss, got a wire from some US senator, so I reckon’ Mister Lestly has some pull somewhere.” Lonegan paused for a moment, staring into the fire. “Though, considerin’ the way you tell it, it seems like he’d a’ been better off with less commotion bringin’ him to official notice.” Another thoughtful pause. “But, like you said, maybe there is somethin’ more to this than just a rape and murder. Might could be there’s another reason he killed her.”

Malik said, “Wouldn’t surprise me. The way he does business, I think he’s got ambitions and schemes we’ve only begun to hear about. Just the way he’s gotten me under an arrest warrant, placed the Tsosies, and the Sonora tribe under suspicion, and the Jackson County government and US Marshals doing his bidding, shows how sly and clever he can be. Plus, he’s getting away with murder, not that it may be the first time, for that matter.”

Lonegan raised his eyebrows in speculation. “You paint a grim but credible picture, Mister Malik. And speakin’ of that Jackson County arrest warrant, I think I may have at least a temporary solution, for both you and your brother.” Nodding toward the napping Cowboy, he added, “Includin’ Mister Tsosie, snoozin’ over there.”

“Cowboy? There’s no warrant on him”

“Well, conjure this: I come up here with my search party, and I find one a’ the Injuns I was led to believe might be rampagin’ up here, along with another shady feller in his gang, that bein’ you, Mister Malik, who’s also a fugitive from justice, fleein’ an arrest warrant.”

Rubbing his bristly chin and nodding, Lonegan went on. “Seems likely to me that your dastardly plans were hatched with the advice of your brother, who you’ve mentioned as your partner, so it would only make sense that I place y’all under arrest, you two for murder, and your brother for aidin’ an’ abettin’, or maybe conspiracy to commit murder.” Then he added, in a thoughtful tone, “Maybe a kidnappin’ gone wrong.” He nodded and showed a satisfied smile.

Lonegan’s deputies suddenly looked more alert to the conversation. The Marshal added, “To flesh out that notion, I figure that your crime likely took place, at least in part, on the Sonora reservation land. That makes it a federal crime, which is my jurisdiction. As a result, I’ll collect your brother and hold all three of you to hand over to the federal court in Fort Birney. But, first, I’ll take you to the Franklin County lockup in Shepherds Crossing, until I receive further instructions from my boss, Judge Westcott.”

“That’s some pretty tall thinkin’, Deputy,” Malik said, with a wry smile. Then he looked sideways at Lonegan. “But I’m not sure the cure isn’t worse than the disease, though I think I see your strategy. Your plan overcomes all of Jackson County’s claims for custody of Andy an’ me and throws a damp blanket over any scare-talk about Indians, or at least as it might involve the Sonora or Cowboy’s Navajo family. Drawback is, the Jackson County deputy will be able to put that property condemnation notice in my hand.”

Lonegan shrugged. “Well, when you can’t have the best possible solution, you go after the best solution possible.”

“Ah, I reckon,” Malik shrugged. “And there is a ten-day period for me to respond to the condemnation notice in court, so there’re still some options.”

“In that case, Mister Malik, consider yourself under arrest. I’ll leave it to you to explain it all to Mister Tsosie.”

“Good enough, Deputy. I really do appreciate it.”

Lonegan said, “Da nada. (Give nothing, i.e., Think nothing of it.)” Leaning toward the fire ring, he asked, “Mister Edwards, is there any more coffee?”

Mid-afternoon, three days later, the six men rode out of the mouth of Isabella Canyon, just southwest of Waypoint. They’d spent an additional day at the spring below Green Ridge, then stopped the next day to examine the body of Anna Lestly, camping nearby her grave.

Before re-interring the body, Lonegan took note of a mole near her left ear and another on her neck, as well as collecting a lock of her hair to help establish her identity with her family—the lock of hair also possibly of comfort to her mother. Then Sean Edwards, displaying an unsuspected talent, used a pencil to draw an accurate, realistic sketch on some blank newsprint, locating the moles on a drawing of the girl’s profile, and he also drew clear representations of the rock cairns and the naturally imposing gravesite itself for anyone who might choose to seek it out.

Moreover, that evening, while Trombley handled the cooking chores, Edwards added to his list of artisan skills. By firelight, using the corner of a hatchet blade, he engraved a neat and serviceable representation of the girl’s name onto the front face of the topmost stepped rock above the grave.

That following afternoon, as the men emerged from Isabella Canyon, both Malik and Cowboy had their hands shackled, in front, so they could manage their horses. Both were now hatless, as Malik had decided to abandon the big sombrero, leaving it hanging from a tree branch, back along the canyon trail.

When they approached the first buildings at the edge of town, Lonegan had Trombley and Goodson take the reins from the two shackled men and lead their horses. Malik had to settle his roan when she took exception to being led in such fashion. Then he and Cowboy just held on to their saddle horns, looking forlorn.

As the dusty troop walked their horses north, up Wagon Road Avenue, foot traffic along the street halted. People stopped to look, then broke into excited conversations. In a few instances, storekeepers and clerks came to the doors of businesses to watch the group pass by. One such merchant was Jacob Baylor, who had been sweeping the boardwalk in front of his store. He gave a startled look at the grouped riders. Then he leaned back into the store briefly and his daughter, the slight, blond Christina, Andy’s wife, soon joined him.

Seeing the shackles on Malik, she hurried down the steps in front of the store and into the street, as the marshals and their prisoners made the turn east, down Jackson Street, toward the depot.

“Emil—” she started.

“How’s Andy?” Malik called to her.

“In jail. Broke ribs.”

“Go back by your father, Christina,” Malik said, more quietly.

“Stay away from the prisoners, lady,” Lonegan warned gruffly, then called out, “Everybody just keep back! We’re US deputy marshals and these men are in federal custody.”

Edwards led the group to the front of the train depot, on Jackson Street. There, the men all dismounted. Malik and Cowboy were taken past a watering trough, to the side of the depot that fronted the tracks, and up two steps onto the station platform. Their shackles were briefly released from one arm and the chain passed around one of the platform’s upright roof support posts, before once more being fastened to their wrists. Both of them were chained to the same post, near the steps at the north end of the platform, furthest from the stationmaster’s window and the doors into the station proper.

Lonegan said, loudly, “Deputy Goodson, Deputy Trombley, watch these two birds. Do not leave them alone. Do not let anyone near them. Keep a shotgun at the ready.”

He walked to the stationmaster’s window. “Northbound on time?”

“Left Utica Switch ten minutes late,” Joshua Trent, the stationmaster, replied. “Reckon about a half hour from now, Marshal.”

Lonegan grunted then said, “Deputy Edwards, please come with me.”

Lonegan and Edwards mounted their horses and headed back toward the center of town.

At the same time, Baylor and his daughter approached the steps at the station platform.

“Stay back from the prisoners,” Trombley warned.

Baylor asked, “Can we talk to them from here?”

“Just stay back.”

Baylor said, “Emil, what the hell’s going on?”