The Trail to Perdition

Seager was bigger than Tom. Got to be 6' 4 or so, Tom thought. His hands have seen a lot more hard work than most. They're scared and rough. Those crooked fingers show they've been broke. No sir, this ain't no normal business man.

"You be John Seager?" Tom asked as he walked to the table.

"I am."

"Sorry to interrupt your breakfast. Sheriff Jenkins said you'd be looking for men to ride guard. Like to talk to you about it if I can. I'm Tom Boone."

"Sit down and have coffee with me Mr. Boone and we'll talk." He motioned and the waitress brought the coffee pot and a cup for Tom. After she left Seager said, "You'd be the youngster that Justin Wren took in a while back."

"Yes sir. Justin took me in and helped me heal up right after my Pa was killed."

"Understand after you got saddle ready you went after the gang that killed you Pa and shot you. That true?"

Tom nodded. "Never could cut their trail though; looked for a year and half. Last I heard they headed down to Santa Ana. Got some good advice about not followin them and decided I'd come back." He took a sip of coffee and scratched his ear. "Texas Jack won't go away. He'll be back in these parts one day and we'll settle what's between us."

Seager looked at the man sitting across from him. He's young, Seager thought. But he's got bottom to him. And from what folks tell me he's better than average with that .44 and his Winchester.

"In partners with an English lord you know. We got holdings and mines all over the southwest. The ones I need you for are over to Steven's Mountain and up near Benson." Tom nodded to show he knew the areas.

"Rode over to Steven's Mountain with my Pa when we first came out here," Tom said. "Never been but I've heard of Benson. Pretty well know where it is."

"I send payroll and supplies to Steven's on the first of the month. It's near 40 miles; usually takes five days there and back. It's faster comin back with an empty wagon." Seager looked at Tom and saw him nod again. "On the 15th I do the same for Benson. It's about 50 miles, through rougher country. That trip takes seven days, depending on the trail and the weather. You interested?"

"So far, but I ain't heard about wages yet," Tom answered with a grin. "Got to be worth a lot for a man to be on the trail that much."

Seager laughed. "Got your head on straight anyway," he said. "You're right; I pay better than the stage line or freight companies. Pay is $50 a trip; that's $100 a month for about two weeks work. I'll also provide a room at Mrs. Duncan's boarding house while you're in Tucson. You provide your own horse and gear. I'll supply weapons or if you want to use what you got I'll pay for your ammunition. I need two men; you're one of them if you want the job."

Tom took another sip of his coffee. "That's a lot of money for two weeks a month Mr. Seager."

"Yes it is but each payroll is between three and four thousand dollars," Seager replied. "I reckon the expense is worth the outlay to make sure that payroll gets to the mines."

"Well sir, you just hired yourself a guard Mr. Seager. When do I start?"

Seager smiled and extended his hand to shake with Tom. "This is the 20th. First trip will be to Steven's Mountain at the first of the month. Get your gear together and come to my office, it's over the bank, on the morning of the first."

Justin and Theresa entered the café as Tom stood to leave. "Wondered where you run off to," Justin said.

"Thought I was gonna be sittin on that porch all day," Tom replied and watched as Theresa and Justin's faces turned red. "Had to talk to Mr. Seager there about work. I start on the first of the month as a payroll guard."

The three friends ate a late breakfast and started back to the livery to get their horses. Tom was a little concerned about sleeping arrangements and said so but Theresa put his mind at ease.

"I will move into my husband's room and you can stay in the same room you've been using," she told Tom. "Don't worry Niño, we won't make you sleep in the barn," Theresa added with a smile.

As they got to the livery, Tom explained his new job, the traveling, and the destinations.

"Better find a good horse between now and the 1st," Tom said. "Mine's still a little stove in from all that hard riding for better than a year. He needs to rest for two or three months with good feed and nothing to do but chase after the mares."

"Tell you what. I like that horse of yours," Justin said. "I got a spare horse here at the livery. Brought him in to be shod just before you got back and he's been here ever since. I planned to take him home with me today. Let's trade horses. You get an animal that's fresh and can handle the trails you'll be riding and I get a good looking animal to breed to a couple of my mares."

Tom looked at his friend for about 10 seconds. "If that's what you want Justin, we've got a deal."

"Don't you want to see my horse first?"

"Nope. You say he's a good animal and I trust you and your judgment." Tom handed Justin the reins to his horse. "Where's my new horse?"

Justin held up his hand for Tom to wait and went into the livery barn. He came back leading a big Appaloosa stallion that was prancing with his head held high and his ears cocked forward. Justin handed Tom the lead rope.

"This here's Cochise," Justin said. "Look him over and see if he suits you."

Tom took the lead rope and held out his hand so the horse could get his scent. As Cochise settled down Tom stroked his muzzle and spoke in a low soothing voice to the horse. He stepped back and gave the animal a good look.

Cochise coat was a chocolate brown from the midpoint of his barrel to his head; right down to his nose. The rear of the horse was an almost dazzling white with chocolate colored spots. That horse has to be sixteen hands, Tom thought. He's got real strong legs and a deep chest. This is a horse you could ride for days and days and he'd still be strong and ready to go some more.

"Reckon I got the best of the bargain," Tom said. He started switching his saddle and gear to Cochise. "Why'd you name him Cochise?"

"I got the horse from a horse breeder from Nebraska. Said the animal was born the same year that the Apache Chief Cochise died on the reservation. The man said when he was in the Army; they'd chased Cochise and his band all over Arizona and New Mexico. Said he had a lot of respect for Cochise, so that's what he named the horse." Justin scratched his head. "Don't know if all that's true but sure makes a good story."

Tom finished changing his gear and mounted Cochise. He gave the horse several seconds to get use to how Tom sat his saddle and then rode him slowly around the open area in front of the livery.

Reining the horse back in front of Justin, Tom looked down. "He'll do," he said with conviction.

Tom Boone started his career as a payroll guard for Seager Mining. On his first trip he was the only guard. Seager didn't like sending just the wagon driver and one guard but he hadn't found another man of the caliber he wanted. That changed before Tom made his first mid month trip to Benson. Seager hired a former lawman from central Arizona.

John Templar was close to 50 years old and had been a town marshal in the central Arizona mining town of Wickenburg for over 10 years. Templar had been a lawman in Texas for many years before that. He sure didn't look like a lawman. John was only 5'5 and whip cord thin; his dark hair was streaked with gray and his face was leather like from the weather. But one look into his eyes you knew that he was a man to respect. His hands were large for his size and his right thumb had a callous from cocking the hammer on the big Colt .45 he carried.

During his time as town marshal, he'd scouted for the U. S. Army on some of their campaigns against Yavapai Indians. Returning from one such campaign John got into a vicious fight with a young Army Captain. It took four men to pull him off the captain; Templar decided it was time for him to move on.

"I faced down outlaws, rustlers, and lynch mobs," John told Tom on their first duty together. "I've tracked and fought Indians, Apache, Comanche, and Yavapai; I don't mind using my gun if necessary. But I had to leave Wickenburg or I might have shot that young horse's ass."

"You brought it up so I'll ask. What was the trouble with the captain?"

"We were on a scout looking for some Yavapai that had just raided a ranch outside of town," John replied. "This young fool, Captain Stacy was his name, insisted we go use a pass through the Buckhorn Mountains to shorten our trip back to Wickenburg. I told him the Yavapai knew that was the only way through them hills and they could ambush us if we rode through. I suggested he and the troops wait for a couple of hours and let me do a scout to make sure the pass was clear."

John spit out the chaw of tobacco in his cheek, cut a fresh piece from his tobacco plug and put it in his mouth. "Nasty habit boy, don't get started on it," he said with a smile. "Where was I? Oh yeah, Stacy said we could ride over any Indians in the pass. Then he told me he was in charge and that I'd follow his orders or he'd charge me with sedition and have me put in the stockade."

Looking at Tom, John said, "That pass was narrow, not more than 30 feet across or so with jagged rocks on the floor. It meant the troop would have to ride single file. Dangerous way for a unit to travel in hostile territory."

John stopped for so long that Tom turned to look at him. "What happened, John?" Tom asked in a gentle tone.

"We started into that pass with 42 men, countin me and the Captain. The Yavapai were waitin for us. 28 of us made it through." John shook himself. "We left 14 men dead or wounded on the floor of that canyon. Stacy wouldn't let me lead a force back for the wounded. When we got back to Wickenburg, I made my report to Major Dixon, the company commander. As I left the Major's office I met Captain Stacy comin in. That ass had the nerve to say, 'I told you we could make it through'.

John gave Tom an evil grin. "I hit that man so hard I think his pa got a headache. Got to say this for the boy, he weren't no coward. He got up and charged me. Took four men to pull me off him. Glad they did; I'd of probably beat him to death."

"Sounds like this Stacy got off easy," Tom offered.

"Yep he did. Was a time I would have just shot him and walked away. Knowed if I stayed around we'd run into each other so I decide to leave before I had to kill him." He turned to Tom and added, "And that's how come you get graced with my company youngster."

"Well I'm glad you're here John for whatever reason."

"So what's your story Tom? Why are you out here in this God forsaken country ridin guard?"

Tom told John his story, from the time he and his pa moved to the area until he hired on with Seager.

"Smart move, not following Texas Jack down that far into Mexico. I know the area and it's a hell hole."

There was no trouble on that trip to Benson, or on the next trip to Steven's Mountain. On the following trip to Benson, six men attempted to rob the payroll. The wagon carrying supplies and the payroll was going along a ridge line; the ground fell steeply away on each side of the trail. Three men climbed up onto the road from behind some rocks. The other three came out of their hiding place and stood behind the wagon.

The driver pulled the wagon to a stop. John motioned with his head toward the men at the rear of the wagon and Tom turned to face them.

"We aim to have that payroll," one of the men yelled. He and the others had their pistols drawn. "You guards throw down your guns and ride off."

John didn't answer the bandit; instead he drew his pistol and started shooting. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw John pull his Colt. Tom drew his Remington and traded shots with the three men at the rear. In less than five seconds, the six men were on the ground. John got off his horse and examined the three that had been facing him; Tom did the same at the rear of the wagon.

Tom had hit two of the men in the chest and the third in the head; all of them were dead. John rode back to join Tom.

"Those three are dead," he said to Tom. "Them?"

Tom was reloading his pistol. "Reckon they won't be robbing anymore payrolls," he answered.

They pulled the men off the trail and continued to Benson. "Should we contact someone about them?" Tom asked.

"Ain't no law out here," John replied. "Don't know who we'd contact."

For the next year Tom and John rode guard together. Two other attempts to rob the Seager payroll were made, resulting in more outlaws being left dead on the trail. One of the men in the second attack was wounded but escaped. The word got around that facing the two guards that protected the Seager payroll wasn't a good idea.

Tom went into the saloon after returning from a trip to Benson. I deserve a beer to wash down the trail dust, he thought. He saw the U. S. Marshal, Ted McCoy, with his back against the rear wall. Three cowboys faced the Marshal with pistols in their hands.

"Put down your guns boys," Marshal McCoy said. "No need for anyone to get killed."

"You ain't takin my brother in Marshal," the man on the left said.

"Clint, your brother stole a horse. He's got to answer for it."

"Not by you McCoy. I'll shoot you before I'll let you take him."

"Shoot him Clint," another man said.

"Shut up Vince," Clint ordered as he looked at his brother. "If you hadn't of stole that horse we wouldn't be here." Turning back to the Marshal he said, "Give us your word you'll let us ride out and we'll leave Marshal."

"Can't do that boys so we might as well get to it. I've got to arrest Vince either here or out on the trail." Marshal McCoy paused for a bit. "Put down your gun Clint and I'll forget all about this."

"Shoot him Clint," Vince yelled. "Don't let him take me in."

"I don't want to kill no Marshal," Clint said almost to himself.

"That's good thinkin Mister," Tom said walking up behind the three cowboys.

Clint, Vince, and the other cowboy turned and saw Tom with his .44 in his hand.

"Do what the Marshal said," Tom ordered. "Drop your guns and step back. Don't," he said to the third man that started to turn toward him. "You ain't that good."

Vince yelled in frustration and thumbed back the hammer on his pistol. He brought it up to point at the Marshal but never got it above his waist. Tom shot him in the back of the head. McCoy had drawn his Colt when Vince yelled and he shot the third man. Clint turned toward Tom and got a bullet in his chest.

McCoy kicked the men's pistols away and examined them. "Send your swamper for the undertaker Charley," he ordered the bartender.

Standing up, he faced Tom. "You'd be Tom Boone," McCoy said. "Ride guard for Seager." It was a statement not a question. "Obliged for your help."

Tom nodded and reloaded his pistol. "You're welcome Marshal."

"Let me buy you a drink," McCoy offered. Tom nodded and the Marshal motioned to Charley to bring two whiskeys to a table.

"You like ridin guard?"

"Not much to like or not like," Tom answered. "It's a job, doing something I'm good at."

"Plan to stay with Seager for a spell?"

"Don't see doing it for ever but its okay right now. Why the interest Marshal?"

The undertaker came into the saloon with his helper. Marshal McCoy pointed to the dead men at the back of the room. "Bury em Sam. If they don't have enough for your fee on em, send me the bill. I'll see that you get paid."

Shortly the dead men were carried from the saloon and began their last journey. A journey that would end at boot hill.

"I need a deputy. Area's too big for one man to cover. Offering you the job."

"Why me? I mean you don't know me."

"Well I know what Seager says and I know what John Templar says about you." McCoy smiled, "John and I worked together for a spell down it Texas. He says you're a good man to have at your side. And then there's Justin Wren. I've know Justin for close to 20 years and I trust his judgment. He says you'd make a right good deputy." McCoy paused, motioned for two more whiskeys. "The pay is $75 a month plus room and board. You can stay at Mrs. Duncan's if you like."

"I just never thought about being a lawman," Tom responded.

"You'll make more than with Seager I know, but I could use a good man Tom."

"If I take the job Marshal, money don't come into it." Tom thought for about a minute as he stared at the wall. "I'd need to give Mr. Seager some warning; give him time to find another guard."

"Month be long enough?" McCoy asked and Tom nodded. "Give him the notice, you've got the job. Pick up some nicer clothes and I'll meet you at my office in one month and swear you in."

Tom hadn't spent much of his wages from Seager. His room and board at Mrs. Duncan's was paid for and riding guard he ate food from the wagon or mine supplies. Tom bought some good whipcord pants and a few shirts with button on collars for town. He got some new boots and a new hat; there ones he'd been wearing weren't fit to wear when he had to deal with the public.

Tom was able to wear his new boots around town between his last two guard duties to get them broke in. He added one more piece of new equipment; a short barreled 10 gauge Greener shotgun commonly called a coach gun.

One month after that evening in the saloon, he presented himself to Marshal McCoy at the office and was sworn in as a Deputy U.S. Marshal.

"I'll go or you can but one of us has to stay in town," McCoy said to Tom.

McCoy was talking about going after a man that had tried to rob the Wells Fargo bank. The attempted robbery wasn't a success because one of the clerks pulled a gun on the bandit. The clerk was shot for his trouble and the thief jumped on his horse and rode away.

"Guess I'll go after him," Tom replied. "I'm still not used to dealing with the townspeople."

Tom had been a Deputy U.S. Marshal for three months and was still trying to learn to be diplomatic and tactful in dealing with people. He'd been somewhat of a rough cob when he rode payroll guard for Seager Mining. Tom hadn't had much to do with the people in town except for store clerks and the like. If they didn't bother him he let them alone.

Now as a Deputy, people sought him out to tell him of grievances: real or imaginary. Tom had to listen, offer suggestions, or take action with each complaint or request. People should handle their own problems, Tom thought to himself. Let Ted and me handle the crooks, rustlers, and horse thieves.

Ted McCoy smiled at his new Deputy. He knew Tom wasn't comfortable talking to one of the women from the church complaining that the cowboys from the cattle drive used salty language. Or a store owner complaining about people tying up their horses in front of his business so his customers didn't have a place to hitch their animals. Or the pastor of the church preaching that the Marshal's office should do something about the wages of sin that the saloon represented. But the boy is a damn good Deputy and he'll learn, Ted thought. He never steps back from trouble and he's a good man to have at your back.

Tom saddled Cochise, stowed some trail supplies in his saddlebags, and rode off in the same direction as the bank robber. The man was identified by another clerk as Rafe Timmins. Timmins worked as a cow hand or general helper when he wasn't too drunk to show up. From what Tom knew about him, Timmins had fought for the Confederacy during the Civil War. Guess he never go used to being a civilian, Tom thought. Lot of boys like that in Texas, New Mexico, and here in Arizona.

Timmons wasn't an experienced or accomplished thief and Tom cut his trail late afternoon of the first day out. Cochise was impatient and wanted to run but Tom held him close. He made a cold camp just before dusk, eating some beef jerky and drinking water from his canteen for supper.