by Jake Logan
On his belly, Slocum used his field glasses on the two wagons. The large MC painted on the side of the green wagon boxes told him enough. Both wagons were powered by double teams of large Missouri mules, the tobacco-spitting teamsters sharing their spring seats with young swampers. The barrel of a rifle stuck out of each wagon box close to the brake lever. Like the other hard cases that worked for the big outfit, these men were not the type to lie down and play dead.
“They don’t have any guards.” Jeminez looked hard across the grassland at the distant canvas tops.
“No, but those freighters aren’t any pushovers.”
“What should we do?”
“They’re across the line in New Mexico, so we don’t have to worry about the Texas authorities.”
Jeminez nodded. “New Mexico can’t even keep them off our land.”
“My own idea of law here. I say we wake them tonight and send them packing.”
“Sí, mi amigo.”
They dropped back to their horses, hidden in the draw, and rode away. Belle was cooking some beans in camp when they rode up.
“Find them?”
“Yes, they’ll camp at some springs tonight, Jeminez says.”
“How many men?”
“Four, but two are swampers. They’re not much to concern us. The drivers are knowledgeable, I figure.”
The moon had been up for several hours when they located the four bedrolls around the campfire’s coals. Squatted by the wagons, Slocum sent Belle to hold her gun on a swamper sleeping nearby. Jeminez was to take the driver on the left, Slocum the one snoring on the right.
Slocum soon squatted beside the noisy one and stuck his pistol muzzle in his face. “Get up slowlike or die.”
With a strangled snore and a “Huh?” he bolted up wide-eyed at the bore of the Colt in his vision.
“Who in the fuck’re you?”
“That’s not important. Pull your boots on and get up.”
“I ain’t—”
“You want to walk back to the ranch barefoot, fine.”
He scrambled to pull them on.
The two teamsters and their helpers were soon bound with their hands behind their backs and seated on the ground and under Belle’s guard. Slocum found some jerky and brought it out to set beside them; then he filled a couple of canteens with water. Jeminez went and cut the hobbled mules loose.
Finding a few cans of coal oil, Slocum spread the flammable liquid over the contents of both wagons, then loaded the harness in the wagons.
“You, pick up those canteens and jerky and all four of you start walking for Texas. When these wagons blow up, you won’t want to be near them.”
“I don’t know who you are, mister, but when the old man learns you done this, your life ain’t worth a plugged nickel,” a teamster said.
“Maybe his ain’t either. Get walking. Get the horses,” he said to Belle.
Jeminez had put the rifles and the ammo he found in the wagons in two sacks. He nodded in approval as the four marched off in the starlight. “No supplies this month.”
They tied a sack on each saddle when Belle brought the horses up. Jeminez and Slocum carried an extra rifle.
“Ready to ride?” Slocum asked.
Jeminez and Belle nodded.
“Drive the mules ahead of you.” Slocum drew two half sticks of fused blasting powder from his saddlebags and lit them. He waved Belle and Jeminez away, tossed one stick in each wagon, then galloped out to where they’d turned back to watch.
His first explosion sent flames up, lighting the canvas cover orange, then beginning to consume it. The second one blew up in a red ball of fire that rained down pieces in the glowing light. He nodded to the others and they rode off in the dark—misssion accomplished.
Two days later they were back at the ranchero. Juanita met them, coming out of the doorway with a strained look on her face. “They pistol-whipped the Ortega boy and stampeded his sheep.”
“When?” Jeminez asked stepping off his mule.
“Yesterday. He rode in this morning. They really beat him up.”
“What about the sheep?” Jeminez shared a disapproving look with Slocum.
“Raul and some of the others went right out to see about them.”
“Good. Is the boy at his home?” Slocum asked.
“He is at his parents’ jacal. He’s not married.”
Slocum dismounted and handed the reins to Belle. “We better go see how he is doing and who did this to him.”
“We can put the horses up,” Juanita said, and took the two extra rifles from them. “What about the supply wagons?”
“Poof,” Jeminez said, and made an explosion with his fingers.
“Good,” she said, and the men started out.
The boy’s mother, Etta Ortega, a small gray-haired woman, showed them inside her casa. The young man, in his late teens, with his head bound up in bandages, was on a pallet, and a girl in her early teens was on her knees letting him sip something from a glass.
“This is his girlfriend, Julia,” Jeminez said.
Squatting on his heels, Slocum looked hard at the youth. “Who were the men who beat you up?”
The boy shook his head. “They were cowboys. I did not know them.”
“Ramon was not here when Booth came by and threatened them. He was out with his sheep,” Jeminez said. “He’s never seen him.”
Slocum nodded. “Did the leader have a fancy red kerchief?”
“Sí, señor.”
“What did he say?”
“They were there to teach me a lesson. Don’t graze my sheep where his cattle must graze.” The boy closed his black eye and shook his head. “Where am I to go?”
“How many were there?”
“Three.”
“Does that mean he lost some?” Jeminez asked.
“Too early to know for sure,” Slocum said, in deep thought about how to handle this.
“What about the sheep?”
“They shot several and stampeded them away,” said the boy, Ramon. “I must have passed out. My sheep were gone when I caught my burro to come back here. They were a good flock. I have worked many years on making them better. I fear they are all dead.”
“He has many stitches,” his mother said.
“I can see they really worked on him. Ramon, get well and we will even the score.”
He forced a smile and nodded. “Gracias, and pray for my sheep.”
“I will.” Slocum rose and nodded to the young girl. “Get him well.”
“Sí,” she said, and applied a wet cloth to wipe his face.
“Who will they hurt next?” his mother asked.
“I don’t know, but they will certainly keep trying until they move all of you off this ranchero.”
“Never,” she said, so cold it drove the day’s heat out of the jacal.
“We will do what we can not to let that happen.”
“God be with you,” she said as they left her.
On the way back to Jeminez’s place, they reflected on the raid.
“It is not the last one,” Slocum said. “He expects these people to bend to his demands, and if they don’t, he will enforce them.”
“I agree, but what can I do with a camp full of cowards?”
“Just do what we can.” Slocum shook his head. “We need to spook away some more of his hands.”
“I bet the women have some food ready,” Jeminez said as they went to wash up on the porch.
“How is the boy?” Belle asked from the doorway.
“They pistol-whipped him and he has several stitches and a bad black eye. He says that Booth was the leader and they ran off his sheep.”
“What can we do for him?”
Slocum put his arm on her shoulder. “His girlfriend is there and she has things under control.”
“All right. I think Juanita has some food ready.”
“Good, we can always eat.” Jeminez laughed and they went in to his house.
Late in the afternoon, Raul came by and gave them a report on the sheep herd. Ten were dead, a few more lost, but they had the rest and they were fine. The other two men were driving them back toward the ranch.
“How can we stop these Texans?” Raul asked, looking tired as he sat on the porch bench, elbows on his knees.
“Either pick at them like we have, or confront them.”
“We are not soldiers—”
“Maybe you will have to be to ever save this place.”
Raul nodded at Slocum’s words and looked over at him. “But what have you two done?”
“Ran off some of their hands, upset their camp, and stopped their supply wagons from reaching them.”
Blinking his eyes, Raul shook his head. “But they still struck and hurt that boy.”
“They want your range and won’t quit till they get it. Piece by piece, they will force you off this land.”
“I believe Slocum,” Jeminez said. “This is not just to graze on our land this year, but from now on.”
“The judge said our claim was valid.”
Slocum looked around. “I don’t see him or any deputies around here to help you. Didn’t the last one say you must fence it?”
“Yes. No way we could afford to do that.” Raul looked defeated.
“This one who owns the MC knows that too.”
“Who is he?”
“Some high roller trying to build an empire,” said Slocum.
“I don’t savvy that.”
“He means he wants to be king over our land,” Jeminez said, and Slocum agreed.
“Long ago,” Raul began, “my great-grandfather came here with ten carretas, five other families, and a dozen soldiers armed with lancers. They brought sheep, cattle, horses, and took hold of this land grant. They fought the Comanche and Apache to hold this—what must we do now?”
“Since the law won’t help, then the people must become the law,” Slocum said.
“But how?”
“Take the fight to them.”
“We are not pistoleros. Few of us have guns.”
“Then we need to change that and arm everyone. We have some extra weapons we’ve taken from the Texans and some ammo. We need a half-dozen more rifles and ammunition for them.”
“What if we fail and all get killed?”
Slocum looked him in the eye. “It won’t matter then.”
Raul collapsed on the bench. “I will call a meeting and we will tell them this time the truth.”
“You will be lucky if they don’t tell you no,” Jeminez said to Raul, then rose and stalked away.
Slocum stood up and stretched. “Good luck.”
“I will need it,” said Raul.
Slocum found his friend working on replacing a latigo on his saddle in the shade of a rustling cottonwood. He was obviously angry and upset as he jerked and slapped the leather around.
“Raul may convince them,” Slocum said.
“No, they are all cowardly coyotes.” Jeminez shook his head vehemently “They will say, oh, he will come and beat me like he did the boy.” With his fist, he jerked the new latigo hard to test his tie. Satisfied, he tossed the strap on the resting saddle. “I live with cowards in this place. I may move away. I am ashamed to say they are even my people. Maybe I am not even one of them.”
“I recall that winter we froze our asses off buffalo hunting and you complained that none of your own brothers would come out there and risk hunting.”
“And, mi amigo, I made the money to start ranching that winter. They still work like peons in Santa Fe at making and laying adobe bricks for another man. I have little use for them either.”
Slocum chewed on a hay stem. “These people here may surprise you.”
Jeminez shook his head. “In the morning, I am taking my .50-caliber Sharps and declaring open season on them. Anyone herding cattle on the grant land can expect to die.”
“Maybe we ought to offer Booth that information.”
“What, and have him swoop down and burn this village?” Jeminez asked. “I am going to show him.”
“I think the people here would be interested in at least defending it.”
“We will see tonight.”
Raul came on the run and both men looked up. “I have the money for six more rifles. Would you two go into Campo and buy them?”
“Sure,” Slocum said. “Get the extra two that Juanita has in the house and a box of ammo for each of them. Post as guards some men that can shoot.”
Raul handed Slocum the buckskin purse. “Yes. I will feel better when you return.”
“It will be after dark. Jeminez, go tell the women and we’ll ride.” Slocum hoisted his saddle off the rack and went for his horse.
In minutes they were saddled under the anxious eyes of the two women. He hugged and kissed Belle, told her to stay close to her guns. She gave him a grave nod to indicate she would, and they rode out.
The sun was red in the sky in the west when they reached Campo and dismounted at the mercantile. Their horses hitched at the rack, Slocum looked over the shadows in the ruby glare. Nothing looked out of place. They entered the store as a young man lit the lamps and raised them up.
“You have six .44/40 Winchesters?” Slocum asked.
“They’re sold,” the young man said, blowing out the match and climbing off the chair.
“You mean you have six rifles in the case and they’re sold?”
“Yes, sir, the MC Cattle Company bought them over a week ago.”
“He pay you cash?”
“No, sir. Mr. Booth put them on their account.”
“Good, you can order him some more. I have the cash.” Slocum pounded the money bag on the counter.
“I can order you more, but they’ll be three or four weeks getting here.”
“Good, then Booth can take those.”
“But these are sold—”
“Son, I don’t give a damn.” Slocum leaned across the counter to get closer to him. “Count my money.”
“But Mr. Booth said—”
“What did he say?”
“Ah, ah, don’t sell any rifles to any Mexicans.”
“I guess he is going to buy all the others.”
The boy swallowed hard. “He did. All the pistols and ammo too.”
Slocum held his arm out to keep Jeminez from exploding. “Do I look Mexican?”
“No—no—sir.”
“Count the money.” Slocum took the purse by the bottom and spilled the coins on the counter.
The boy herded them in a pile with his shaking hands. And he began to count out loud. “Ten, twenty, thirty-five—”
“Get the case of rifles,” he said to Jeminez.
Trembling and close to crying, the boy shook his head. “I can’t let you have them.”
“Too bad. How much you have there?”
Jeminez dragged the box out and lifted the lid to count them. “They’re all here.”
“Money there?” Slocum demanded of the boy.
“Booth may kill me.” The boy snuffed his nose and his lashes were wet with tears.
“Not if we have our way. Is there enough money on this counter for the rifles and some ammo?”
“Yes—six boxes—” He swallowed hard and bit his lower lip.
Slocum slapped down more money. “Make it six more.”
The boy stacked them on the counter from underneath. “Why—what will I tell Booth?”
“His shipment will be here in a month.”
“But—but—”
Slocum grasped him by the shirt and pulled him close. “Ask him what cemetery he wants them delivered at.”
“Oooh—”
“I’ll go get a packhorse from Abe,” Jeminez said, looking over at the ammunition and the wooden box of rifles on the floor. “We’ll need one.”
“Reckon he’ll sell one to a Mexican?” Slocum laughed after him as he ran out the door.
“He damn sure better,” Jeminez said over his shoulder.
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The boy collapsed in remorse with his butt against the counter. “Booth will kill me.”
“Not till he finds out.”
“He’s in town. He’ll know any minute, I suspect.”
“Where is he?”
“You looking for me, mister?”
Slocum turned and saw the red kerchief around the neck of the figure in the doorway. “We were just discussing you not a minute ago.”
“No—no, we weren’t—I mean, really, we weren’t—” The youth tried to slip sideways toward the door to the back storeroom.
“He’s ordering you some new guns. I’m taking these.” Slocum gave the box a kick.
“Them’s mine.”
“In Campo, cash talks. Yours are on order.”
Booth’s eyes narrowed. “I’m getting gawdamn tired of you whoever you are.”
“Maybe that’s mutual.”
“You’re the one ran off my hands naked?”
“You lose some hands?”
Booth didn’t answer, and moved his feet apart with a jingle of his spurs, filling the doorway. “What’s your name?”
“Slocum.”
Booth nodded as if he recognized him. “We met once in San Saba.”
At the mention of the town, Slocum recalled their previous brush. “You were working for Henry Tye?”
“Dumb Henry,” Booth said, and shook his head. “You were working for that gal Lucy McCoy. Yeah, you kinda ran us boys off and hung Henry out to dry.”
“You better think about this. You better pack up those cattle and go home.”
Booth shook his head. “I’m taking over that range. It ain’t under fence. It’s free range.”
“It won’t be free.”
The clerk, no longer able to stand it, rushed out the back entrance and the back door slammed. They were alone. Two men both armed. Both ready to draw.
“This ain’t dumb Henry. The MC is a powerful outfit. Why, they could buy off enough New Mexico legislators to change the law.”
“Except the federal judge recognized the grant.”
“What’s he going to do? Send that stupid greaser deputy out to scold us?” Booth began to laugh aloud.
His laughter was cut short and his knees buckled when Jeminez bashed him over the head with his pistol butt. Standing over him, he looked at Slocum. “I have got the packhorse.”
“He have any more men out there?”
“Two.”