by Jake Logan
“He bring my glasses back?”
“Oh, sí.” Raul took them from around his neck.
Slocum could see the boiling cloud of dust in the lenses. He hoped the invaders tried a frontal charge. That would mean he could concentrate his firepower on them. Martin would never suspect the battle he faced, but surprise was the best tool in war. Upsetting the enemy was worth a lot. All Slocum could do was hope it worked and that the farmer-herders all held tight and didn’t lose their nerve.
Concealed behind the wall, men and their wives sat on the ground with weapons and ammo. Blankets were spread and ollas held drinking water. All the men needed to do was sit up and shoot out of the ports made in the thick wall. Then the women could reload their rifles while the men shot with other rifles or pistols.
Slocum had set up many boards for target practice at a range where he figured Martin and his men would open fire. The boards had been riddled with bullets. Everything had been long removed and the area swept clean. Now the defenders waited.
The sun reached high noon and he could see the riders in his glasses. A rider near the lead, with a snowy handlebar mustache, was pushing his sweaty gray horse hard, carrying a Winchester in his right hand. From the looks of the high-priced hat and the man’s suit, Slocum figured that was Henry Martin.
Slocum wanted this bunch placed near the explosives set in the ground. He might have to ride out and stop them there. Raul and a man called Juan were telling everyone on the firing line to hold their fire until they gave the command. Otherwise there was silence, save for the hoofbeats drumming the ground in the distance.
A small boy ran out of a casa with his mother in hot pursuit. She swung him up and kissed him. But to no avail. He kept crying and shouting, “Daddy. Daddy, I want my daddy.”
On his horse, Slocum rode to the gate. On the rise where he wanted them, the incoming riders began to fan out in a line, load their Winchesters, and look hard-eyed at the ranch.
“Henry Martin?” Slocum called out to the man holding up the rifle.
The rancher stretched his back and nodded. “You must be Slocum.”
Slocum nodded. “I’m not packing a body back to Texas. You’ll have an unmarked grave if you die up here today.”
His words brought chuckles and scoffing words from the outfit.
“We’ll take care of our own,” Martin said. “Ain’t no one running my outfit off the open range. You or no other damn greasers.”
“This ain’t Texas, Martin.” The roan stomped the ground at a fly under him.
“I ain’t figured how one damn busybody sent my crew packing. But you ain’t sending this outfit packing—”
“Martin—” The riders drowned out Slocum’s reply in angry shouts.
Slocum turned the roan and started back in the gate.
“Let’s get ’em!” Martin screamed.
Behind Slocum, their rebel yells shattered the air. Inside the gateway, Slocum slipped off the roan and hit him on the butt. With the Winchester in his hands, he headed for the wall.
When he was two steps from the barrier, the explosives went off. A giant cloud of dust went up. He dove for cover beside Belle. Screams of horses and hurt men filled the air. Bullets from the ranch began to pour into the shadowy figures. Curses and cries of pain soon joined the ear-shattering shots pouring into them like an attack of hornets.
The sound of the men’s voices from the ranch began to grow as the enemy wilted under their fierce gunfire. Soon, the wind swept the black powder smoke and dust away.
At last, the field was clear. Horses lay wounded and dead ones covered the ground. Human bodies were sprawled amongst them—some obviously dead, others moaning in pain.
Slocum held his hand up to cease the sporadic firing that still occurred. He could see the dust of some of the riders fleeing to the east. Those lucky enough to miss getting hit or blown up were escaping.
His crew stood up and shouted. Satisfied, Slocum nodded in agreement and headed for the field of dead and dying. When he reached the carnage, he dispatched a crippled horse with a pistol shot to the forehead. Behind the chestnut animal lay two motionless riders facedown who’d lost their hats. It was a grim, bloody scene.
“Get the dead ones out,” he said, and the men obeyed.
“This one is still alive,” Juan said, carrying the man by his arms, another man holding his legs. “What should we do with him?”
Slocum looked at the man whose fresh blood oozed from his dust-plastered face. “Set him by the wall for later.”
They nodded and moved him there.
“Not one of our men were hurt,” Raul said. “Will they come back?”
Slocum caught Raul by the sleeve, and they both looked down at the bleached pale face and snowy mustache of the man lying on his back between two dead horses. “Henry Martin won’t.”
On his knees beside the dead rancher, Slocum reached over and closed the blue eyes that were staring unseeing at the clear sky.
“But we always must be ready?” Raul squatted across from him. “There will be others?”
“There will be others,” Slocum said. “But after this day, they’ll use more caution about the folks at the ranch.”
Belle joined him later when the field was cleared. “What’s the count?”
“Seven are dead. Five are wounded. Raul is having a wagon hitched to send them in to the doctor at Campo.”
“How many got away?”
“Enough.”
“Enough?”
“Enough to tell everyone in the West that the folks at this ranch are tough customers.”
“What will we do?”
“Get us a packhorse outfit ready. Load up and head for Texas at first light. See if we can find Harrigan.” He waited for her reply.
She gave him a grave nod. “Yes. I want him either on trial or dead for killing Hank. I never saw Booth among those riders. Did you?”
He shook his head. “No. I haven’t figured that out either, unless the old man fired him over letting us run him and his cattle off.”
“That cook wasn’t with them either.”
“He’s probably out there making camp and waiting for them. He’s been with the old man for years, he said.”
“There’s a fiesta tonight.” She linked her arm in his.
“I better ride out and check out that camp. You got me thinking they might make another raid back here, thinking we’d not be looking for them. Get their revenge.”
“What should be done?”
“I’ll tell Raul to post guards till we’re sure that they’ve turned tail and really run.”
“Juanita has some food ready. Eat. You must eat something before you leave. Meet you there and I’ll have our horses ready.”
He started to say he would go by himself, then stopped. “Good. I’ll tell Raul about the guards.”
Slocum found the leader in his casa and told him to be ready in case they came back.
“Sí, we will post guards until you say it is safe. Will you be at the fiesta tonight?”
“No, I need to check on those left. We should be back tomorrow.”
“I wish I could pay you. You have done so much for us.”
Slocum shook his head. “I did this to honor Don Jeminez. He was my friend and I’ll miss him.”
“I savvy.” Raul clapped him on the arm. “Still, you carried the banner well for your amigo.”
“I hope they will continue to look after Juanita when we leave.”
“I will see they do that. But they will.”
Slocum shook his hand and hurried off, anxious to learn more about the remaining raiders. Where were they? And what were they planning to do?
He blinked at the sight of a rider leading a horse—Jeremiah Kane. Slocum strode out, waving Raul back as he went to meet the man.
Kane reined up his horse. “I told him you’d shot lots of old bull buffaloes. Guess he’s dead?”
“He’s dead.”
“I reckoned he’d’ve liked
to be buried in Texas.” Kane spat aside and looked back at Slocum nodding at his decision.
“What about his army?”
With a snort, Kane shook his head. “That bunch of chicken-livered worthless cowards all ran off. They got to the wagon, loaded their things, and left. Said these Messikins had cannons and a Gatling gun.”
Slocum laughed. “I can help you load him. His body’s up by the church on the ground with the others.”
“Ain’t no need. I can find him. ’Preciate yeah letting me have him. It’s what I owe him. A grave in Texas.” Kane booted his horse on.
“Where’s Booth?”
“Old man never mentioned him when he came out. Figured he fired him.” Kane looked back, and then he shared a nod with Slocum before he went on. “Been just like him.”
“What does he want?” Raul asked Slocum when he rode back in.
“The old man’s body. Let him go. I think the war is over, but keep some guards out anyway. Oh, yes, I’ll be here for the fiesta tonight. I better go tell Belle.”
“Good,” Raul said after him. “See you then.”
Over lunch, he told Juanita and Belle about Kane coming for the body and his own impression that the war was over. They drank red wine to celebrate, and even Juanita acted more her old self.
“Siesta time,” Belle announced when they finished eating. “And you need one. You were up for nights concerned about the defense of this place.”
Slocum held up his hands to ward her off. “I am ready to take a nap.”
She laughed, and moved over to hug his head with both arms wrapped around him. “I’m glad this is finally over.”
“So am I.” More than she’d ever imagine.
In the shed, at last alone, she began to undress him as he toed off his boots. Her furious fingers undid the shirt buttons and then tore open his pants, shoved his galluses down.
He had unbuttoned her shirt and held her breasts in the palms of his hands. Hefting them lightly, he grinned down at her. “Sweet, sweet.”
“You’re going to think sweet.”
“I know I am.” Her hand closed around his scrotum and made him stand on his toes. Her actions silenced him and he kissed her. She soon began stroking his hardening dick.
“Oh, gawd, I need you,” she huffed.
“Yes,” he agreed as she shed her britches and lowered herself on the bed. Then she crawfished on her back to the head of the bed to get in place. Her firm breasts were heaving and swinging, and his stomach sank at the vision of her figure in motion. He gazed for a long moment at the breathtaking sight of her nakedness. His butt ached to stab her clear through as he put a knee on the bed and the ropes creaked.
Then he moved between her open legs to enter her tight gates. It took his breath away when the swollen head of his dick met her ring. With gentle pressure, his sensitive erection slipped past it and she sighed. Then she smiled, raising her butt off the bed for his deeper entry as he pumped in and out.
The world tilted and their fierce efforts required all the air they could huff in. His pounding grew faster and harder. The ropes under the mattress creaked in protest as he sought the contracting inside her. His erection tingled with electricity with each plunge. His brain swirled in a maelstorm—relief—relief. Then, from the depth of his scrotum came the cramping that made his spine jerk upright and slam the skintight head hard against her wall. He exploded. All his energy went out with the ejaculation that flooded her and they collapsed in a pile. Done in.
15
A rooster awoke him. The shrill crowing shattered the cool morning air. It was still dark outside, and he slipped on his pants and went to the doorway to study the high cloud formation on the horizon shielding the sunup. Gingerly, on his bare feet, he moved aside to find a place to pee in the pickly pear plant beside the barn. The stream splashed off the adobe wall until at last his bladder was empty. He turned, listening to the meadowlarks and doves. Somewhere a milk cow was bawling for her calf.
On tender feet he made his way back to the doorway, and soon sat on the edge of the bed. He brushed off the bottoms of his feet and put on his socks. Then he pulled on each boot before he turned to Belle’s still-sleeping form.
“We better head for Texas in the morning.”
In a sleep-tinged voice, she finally managed, “I guess so.”
“I’ll fix the shoes on our horses today. And get us some food to take along.”
“I’m going to get dressed,” she said, sweeping her hair back. Scooting on her butt to the edge of the bed in her snowy nakedness, she laughed. “I’m going to really miss this bed.”
“The hard ground won’t be the same.” He tucked in his shirt, put up his galluses, and then strapped on his holster. “Better get a bath today. We may be some time in the saddle before we get another.”
“You’re right. How far are we away from where Harrigan’s supposed to be?”
“A week to ten days by my calculations. But he may be off collecting bounties for all I know.”
She paused in pulling on her pants. “I never thought about that.”
“The country we’re going to cross is tough too. It’s the country the Comanche used to call home. There isn’t much law out there or water either.”
Nodding that she understood, she rose and pulled up her britches. “I can make it.”
“I know that. I just wanted to warn you.”
“At times I wonder why you’re helping me.”
He stepped over, put her face between his palms, and kissed her. When he removed his lips, he smiled at her. “That reason enough?”
“I guess so.” Then she wrinkled her nose. “Poor pay.”
They both laughed and hurried off to the house for Juanita’s breakfast.
The day passed fast. A few shoes were reset and the ponies were ready. Slocum bought some good jerky from one lady that Juanita recommended. A fifty-pound sack of frijoles from another. Ground corn and brown sugar mix from a third person. And Juanita found some raisins and dried apples to pack in their panniers.
“I will miss Belle,” Juanita said to Slocum when they were alone for a moment. “I wish she would stay. I fear for her chasing down murderers. That is work for a man. I know she is a very strong-willed woman. Very determined, but I worry for her going on.”
“You could not talk her out of it.”
“No, I have tried.”
Slocum nodded and strapped the pannier shut. “I leave you with a heavy heart about your loss. If there was any way I could have saved him—”
She rushed over and hugged Slocum. “He knew his business. He saved the ranch. He did not die in vain.”
“Still—”
“She pressed a finger to his mouth to silence his protest, stood on her toes, and kissed him. “God be with you. Come by and see me when you pass this way again. My door will always be open.”
“I will, Juanita. I will.”
They left before the rooster crowed the next morning. Juanita had packed in their saddlebags food for that day. On a lead, the packhorse carried their cooking gear, food supplies, and bedding. They rode southeastward into another shield of clouds that obscured the sunrise that morning.
At mid-afternoon, pushing hard, they ran into some light showers. They moved on, and an occasional touch of moisture swept over them on the gusts of wind.
Late in the day, a Texas flag on a mast attracted their attention. It was flying over a few adobe hovels, and Slocum and Belle rode cautiously toward them.
“These places are tough,” he said, looking over their back trail and, satisfied, turning back. “Usually they are frequented by men on the dodge. Probably was an Indian trading post at one time.”
She nodded. “What are your plans?”
“Water the horses and move on. I wouldn’t sleep within ten miles of here.”
“You’ve been here before?”
He shook his head as they rode stirrup to stirrup. “No, but I’ve been in the same sort of outpost. They’re up and down
west Texas and New Mexico.”
“I’ll keep my pistol ready.”
“Don’t hesitate to use it.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
“There’s a water tank. Water the horses and I’ll go inside and check on things.”
“I can handle that easy.” She gave him a big smile.
He nodded, satisfied that she could do just that. The place niggled at him. Alone, he’d not have thought twice about stopping, ordering some rattlesnake-head whiskey, and going on. At the empty hitch rack he dismounted, gave Belle the reins, looked around, and saw only a young boy leading a protesting small goat. Slocum moved aside the moth-eaten buffalo robe that served as a door, and entered the cavelike interior lighted with smoky candles.
“Howdy, mister,” a rusty-voiced man said. He stood behind the bar wearing a top hat, white shirt, and black silk vest.
Not satisfied with the room’s emptiness, Slocum eyed the dust-coated tables, then walked to the bar. It had been a rather fancy setup at one time, but scars and notching had marred its appearance. “What do you call this place?”
“Free Water. I’m Gibbs, owner, bartender, trader, and mayor.”
Slocum nodded. “Guess you’ve got whiskey.”
“By the shot or by the bottle?”
“Double shot’ll be fine.”
Gibbs produced a glass and poured the brown liquor in it. “Four bits.”
Slocum slapped the money on the bar. “You the only one around?”
He pocketed the coins in his vest. “Yeah, me, my wives, and my children right now.”
Slocum raised the glass to him. “Here’s to your health and all your extended family.”
“By the way, are you hungry?”
“We’ve got food. My partner’s watering the horses. We’ll be moving on.”
The man nodded his head. “We can cook you a fine fat goat. Only cost fifty cents for the two of you.”
“Thanks, we’ll be moseying on.”
“Getting late in the day. You and your friend could spend the night here.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said, and downed the last of the whiskey. “Maybe next time.”
“Come again,” Gibbs said, and wiped his hands on a bar rag.