The Dogs of Justice

Prologue

In the early years of this country, men emerged who would be lawmen. Some of those would-be lawmen were, in reality, as many of the men before them, were outlaws who saw the opportunity to use their positions of power, a badge and a gun, to take from those less fortunate, they used every bit of the law as their shield. This opportunism was typical throughout the history of mankind from the beginning of time.

However, two men, Dean and Egan, came from rancher stock. They a morality and an ethic which demanded right and justice must work or the future of the country was, indeed, bleak.

They pinned on their badges, went to work to protect the innocent, and prosecute the evil doers who preyed on the less fortunate.

Their stories are intertwined in this tale. The men converge on one particularly important theme.

Justice will prevail.

Chapter 1

The man called Savage was young, but led men who caused trouble, spread fear, and destroyed lives. He had no political or social ambitions, but was, as his Mexican name suggested – Salvaje.

Newspapers reported he wore smooth a path of danger and hatred through Mexico. He was credited with almost mystical powers by the citizens he professed to protect only to steal from them their meager valuables. Salvaje never seemed to stop to ponder how the people would live. He told friends he only considered they gave to him so he could prosper.

Savage said to a ‘teniente one day, If they die it was destined by God. He shrugged in a rather offhanded manner. He added, Besides we are much too crowded in Mexico in any case. He spoke English as if it were his other language. He often looked across the vast expanse of the Sonora desert and snarled with an evil grin that frightened the men around him.

The assistant laughed heartily at the message, It was reported, when he turned his back on Savage the ‘teniente, who had never been known to shy from bloody confrontations, crossed himself in supplication; he understood, or said he did, the English language as well as did Savage.

Savage rode into one town after another, took girls he wanted, let his men work their will with the rest of the women. He killed whoever protested or resisted. He also stole the meager treasures of the community for himself and his men. Mostly for himself.

The girls were discarded in the larger cities. Some of the women left in the villages, he rationalized, would be pregnant from the virility of his men. He felt no remorse in the use of the women to his cause.

Power!

It is a demanding master.

Savage is a spender, waster, and decadent, a newspaper editorial shouted.

He cares little what his men do with women. Or men. Resistance is met with severe and harsh penalties. A highly placed officer of Savage’s troop took a woman from an outdoor marketplace and dragged her away. As he twisted his fist in her long hair she screamed and grabbed at anything. The people who told the story explained how she had clutched a bowl and splashed the contents on the man. The southern Arizona newspaper was explicit in the results.

It happened to be a very spicy hot local chili and burned the man’s eyes and ran a fiery stream down his bare chest, the teller related to the American reporter. He screamed a hoarse and indistinct curse at her, the story continued. This Savage turned at the noise; he looked with what some might call amusement, then, when the officer pulled his pistol she screamed and scratched at his eyes drawing a stream of blood to his face. Instead of taking her to the manger to rape the woman, get his pleasure, leave her to weep at her fate, the man stuck the gun in her stomach just above her navel and shot her.

The report finished with graphic detail, "The blood and visceral matter splattered on everyone within ten feet. Instead of sorrow and regret at the event, the men in the tropa roared with delight and threw bottles of locally brewed pulque around to celebrate the woman’s death."

That wasn’t enough for the newspaper. They included Sr. Savage. It is reported that this Savage merely shook his head, but evidently not in disgust, only at the waste of another usable woman who was squandered.

Chapter 2

We ride to Casa Blanca, Savage muttered in English, spattered with Spanish he said to a segundo in front of a roaring night fire. We need new materials and equipment. If they do not have it we will ride across the border at Huachuca and take what we need. We take it from Casa Blanca too. He roared with laughter. But at least we take from Mexicans and not the pendejo gringos. Savage turned to serious cleaning of his two bright silver pistols, supple leather holsters, and belt.

Yes, it is time. We will ride, the man nodded and seemed delighted to be back on the trail. The segundo also probably harbored a desire to meet a proper gringa with whom to please his derecho.

Savage thought about it and winked slyly at the man who blushed.

"We must be cautious, amigo." Savage grinned as he understood the curious look the segundo had on his face. We will draw the wrath of their army and they will hunt us down and you know they are terrible in their revenge.

"Ah, Sr. Salvaje, you take all the fun out of it," the man said brightly, and in English, clearly to impress his leader.

We have enough time for fun when we return. I have a little village where they are known to have mined some very valuable gems. We can all share in the wealth. Savage lit a long cheroot off a stick from the fire; he puffed a blue cloud over his thoughts.

"You are right, as usual, Sr., it is just that I had hoped to make a little chili verde into a chili rojo," Savage’s companion said. He threw his head back with an uproariously loud laugh.

Chapter 3

Arizona wasn’t what William Freeman Egan and Granville William Dean hoped for after they arrived from Wyoming. Rain had been tumbling over the mountains for days. Even now continued to tumble. Rivers ran high; ranches became isolated. But Arizona remained a desert.

Wish that damn’ river hadn’t overflowed, Gran, Will muttered, crawled from his blanket, and looked at the mud spread over low lying area which had been flooded only yesterday.

Yeah, Gran groaned, Coulda slept in the house if the river’d stayed in the channel. He got up and brushed the dirt from his blonde hair. Look at ole Byou-ferd. Gran laughed at the hand’s rumpled bedding; there was a toe sticking from a worn through sock.

I slep’ on ever rock in Arizona, Buford complained as he rubbed at tender places on his legs and strained to reach a spot on his back.

Well, boys, let’s get at it. Will stuck his feet in his boots, buttoned his pants, stretched, and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

Might’s well, Gran said. It sounded as if he protested.

They all stood to began to dress.

’Ferd, Gran said softly, almost a whisper. Suddenly he stopped in the middle of pulling up his trousers.

What?

Will. Gran could hardly be heard, he was so quiet.

Yo?

Gran nose pointed; their six eyes turned east.

Forty horsemen came over the hillside, directly at the trio. Ferd ducked behind the small ranch wagon. The mounted men looked like tornadoes at rest. The violence was evident there, but the men looked as if they waited. They bided their time.

The two from Wyoming had never seen banditos before; the two were impressed by the obvious skill of the riders.

The Mexicans looked as if they went their way and ignored the trio. The horses walked, however, within killing range; as they passed, the mounted outrider only glanced at Will and Gran and Ferd. One word, it appeared, from the leader, could mean the three would be dead people; two words, maybe they’d be buried.

Don’t say nothin’, Will whispered.

They watched the Mexican band until they rode out of sight. One man at the back turned, leaned on the cantle of the carefully stepping horse, and pointed a finger at the boys.

Pum!, he said as if he’d shot them. He winked as if to say he’d been merely jesting with the three.

Holy Gazukas.

That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen, Will said; he seemed to shiver as the men disappeared around the edge of the hillside. College was nothin’ like this, he added.

Keep quiet. Wonder where they’re goin’? Gran still whispered.

They ain’t takin’ no tour of the scenic sites, that’s fer damn sure. Ferd nodded his head to punctuate his remarks. Coulda tak’n us easy.

Will raised his eyebrows. Yep, they sure could.

Don’t want to see those folks again. I was plumb scared.

Well, scared don’t describe it very good, Gran said.

Yeah, Will agreed.

Chapter 4

Arizona was mostly dry and always hot, the boys learned. Wyoming had been cold and hot. Damned cold and brutally hot.

Will Egan’s father had a piece of property his folks left him; and, Gran Dean’s father had wanted Gran to work on a ranch he could develop.

The two boys had graduated from the University of Wyoming, Class of 1898. They had no plans and were at loose ends until William Egan decided he’d send the boys south. Bill Dean offered to pay his boy’s way. With hand shakes all around, the deal was struck and the two young men mounted, rode off, driving six head of cattle and four horses.

In a small town in Colorado they picked up the extra hand.

The two boys, Will and Gran, learned the hand’s name was Buford. They called him Byou ferd. No! It’s Buford, one word.

That’s what I said, Byou ferd.

You got it mixed up. Now, try Byou.

They did.

Say ford.

They did.

Now, all at once, Buford.

They said, Byou ferd.

Will and Gran eventually merely called him Ferd or Dammit.

Come on Dammit, let’s get that post set.

Where’d you put that hammer Dammit?

Chapter 5

Over the days after the run-in with the Mexican band, the three men re-shingled parts of the ranch house roof. They also repaired the corral where the rain and flash flood had washed most of the posts and stringers down stream. The remaining fence rails were jammed full of debris the rushing water left behind.

Will’s twenty second birthday went without celebration more than a big steak cooked over an open flame in the yard. But they did that almost everyday anyhow, so Will discounted it except when the others sang Happy Birthday to him in tones he could only describe as tuneless.

Gran’s birthday a month later passed with only more hammering on the roof; a big steak cooked over an open flame in the yard; the others sang Happy Birthday in no less tuneless fashion.

Let’s get to Huachuca and eat a big steak at that COMER place, and then Ferd suggested his birthday was about to arrive the next month.

And a hot bath at the barber’s, Ferd added.

And lilac, Will coughed up the suggestion.

Haircut? Gran asked with squinty eyes.

Damn’ right, haircut. I’m beginnin’ to look awful shaggy, Will said with a wide grin; it belied the embarrassment he felt a moment before. He tugged on his hair hanging over his collar; it was about to reach down his back. They gonna need to use sheep shears on me.

Dammit, haircut ain’t gonna improve you none. I dreamt of steaks and eggs, Gran teased, also with a big smile as if to needle Will.

Aigs! Now that’s the ticket. An’ bacon. And cooked right, Buford closed his eyes; he seemed dreamy.

Tired of my cookin’ already? Will wondered.

Nah, Ferd said, but not with conviction Will thought.

You remember, now, I tol’ you. If you don’t like the way I do it, you can do it you’self, Will said as he walked off in a huff.

Nothin’ wrong with what you do. Ferd smiled; he called after Will, Boss, it’s jess that I laks a little change once ina while.

Thought you might, Will said. He smiled as he threw a dish towel; he was clearly not angry.

Chapter 6

Let’s ride, Gran said early the next morning before dawn. He went to the corral, saddled two horses, hooked up two more to the ranch wagon. They loaded the hacked down trees for the saw-mill in town to cut to planks.

They left before light and arrived early enough the sun still beat on Huachuca’s pounded hard yellow dirt main street. Most everyone in town stayed inside; it was not likely much cooler, but some cooler was better than the scorching heat which rose from the hoof and iron rim wheel pounded smooth street.

Sweat dripped from the riders; the horses sucked from the city trough.

Will and Gran called on the Marshal while Ferd went to the Aserradero who cut the wood they brought.

When compared to their fathers, Marshals in Wyoming, Will and Gran found this lawman lacked something; they couldn’t determine what it was even though they talked about him often enough.

It isn’t he’s crooked or bad, Will had said.But he sure seemed beat down like an old anvil. Now, Will looked up as the Marshal strode down the wood board walk to his office, Shh, here he comes.

Hi’dy, boys. The man’s smile was nearly hidden under mustache overhang, but Will thought the man was being quite friendly.

We’re wonderin’ if you’d heard rumors about Mexicans comin’ across the border and rustlin’ or...? Will didn’t finish the question.

You heard somethin’, boys? The Marshal’s gun hung low on his hip in a holster dark from oiling and worn smooth from long use. The nearly visible smile went away.

Nah. Just we run across some tracks. They di’n’t come from this direction. Will wiped his forehead. He threw the sweat at the air where it dried before it hit the ground.

We ha’n’t heard nothing up this far. They’s been some noise in Mexico, but nothin’ here. The Marshal spit out a chaw into the street, finger worked a spare piece stuck somewhere, and spit it too. They ain’t been nothing to cause no concern ‘round here. Come on inside, it ain’t much cooler, but damn’ if it’s as hot.

Thanks, but we got our hand Buford, Will pronounced it correctly, down to the saw-mill. We gonna check up on him.

You see something, you lemme hear from you. The Army’d like to find out ‘bout it too.

Well, we’ll let you know if we see somethin’, Gran said.

Tha’s fine. I can let the Army in on it and they can chase ‘em back.

The Marshal, Will noted, hardly ever moved his lips when he talked. Mostly, Will decided, because of that tobacco stained mustache.

At the Post Office they got their monthly expense money from their fathers. It was deposited in the little one room bank. One room, one safe, single wall construction, the local depository didn’t appear to be very substantial; but it was likely the best the town could afford for the time being. Will always felt his money wasn’t very secure, but Gran had tried to reassure him.

Today was no different. When they left the bank Gran touched Will’s arm and inquired, Got enough?

Yeah. Will counted the money, looking serious as he thumbed through the greenbacks. I’ll pay Ferd and we’ll have some cash for supplies. You gonna see Alice?

Yep.

Where’s Ferd?

Got himself a lilac haircut I bet. Smell him down wind for days. Will laughed while he slapped his thigh. We ain’t catchin’ no deer off guard if we take him huntin’ with us, Will said. He laughed some more.

Gran disappeared.

Will sat in the saw-mill office; he nodded off in a nap while the saw zinged in the background. He’d recall Gran’s visit at a more pensive moment later. Gran could be thoughtful about the girl when he sat before a bright fire light late on a cool evening musing aloud about her.

Hours went by as they waited for their lumber. Bathed, shaved, hair cut, loaded, the dark now just began to slip over the rim of the east. Gran showed up with a big smile and Ferd came from the barber.

Will shook his head.You two, was all he said as he led them to eat.

Over an inch thick week aged steak, huge baked potatoes swimming upstream in butter, three fried and basted eggs, bacon cut fresh from the slab and fried crispy, soft pink dripping juice ham, and wrinkled skin yams, for better than two hours, they talked about what to do if the Mexicans came again. The three of them solved nothing. They decided to head back to the Boxed E; they’d keep their leather close and pistols loaded.

Good food, ma’am, Will said; he tossed down four dollars and a dime to pay for everyone including the tip. The menu had advised the half inch thick slab of ham and yams were, 75 sents and the inch thick steak and half pound potato were the same. Eggs and bacon were only 50 sent; a dozen eggs and three dozen slices of thick bacon were served. A loaf, almost a foot long, of warm from the oven bread was served with a quart bucket of freshly churned butter.

Thank you, sir, the woman said as the boys walked out – burping and picking teeth – of the cafe COMER and down the street.

Ferd belched again. Gran sucked his teeth. Will chewed on a toothpick.

They rode back to the Boxed E. They sang and barked at the moon for the three hours it took to get home.

Nice night.

Yep. We got no worries now.

Nope, not one.

Gran with his light hair and Will, darker, made a contrasting pair of good looking, healthy, six foot two young men.

Ferd?

That was another thing.

The Mexican, huge sombrero low on his forehead, silver pistols hanging low, his mustache drooped over his lip and down his chin at the sides, appeared fearsome standing in the entry to the cabin-bunk-house-ranch quarters. Five riders stood their horses nervously danced in the yard while there were two riders dismounted; they held Ferd. The rest watched every direction.

Hello, my young friends, the man who looked in charge said politely in perfect English with only the slightest accent.

Yeah? Whatchawant? Will demanded. He stood in the dark cabin with the intruder outlined in the doorway. Will felt near naked. He wore only long johns.

We will travel this canyon often. The man smiled.

Will and Gran both noted it was not a friendly smile. We will not harm you. We do not want to alarm you since you will be in no danger.

Will was, again,