Slocum and the Comanche Captive

by Jake Logan

  “Well, good. How are you?”

  “Fine, you find a place?”

  “Yes, an old ranch we can stay in till spring.”

  “Good. I’m worried about this winter.”

  “It’ll be fine. You’ll have a roof over your head.”

  She smiled. “I missed you.”

  He nodded. He’d missed her too. Parting with her would not be easy when the time came. That needled him. One day, he’d have to ride on—maybe not . . .

  At the meeting around the campfire that night, he warned them they would have to travel two days to reach water. The thirsty cattle would be hard to hold once they smelled water, but the herders had to keep them in control and swing the line in along the small stream or there would be bedlam. Everyone looked very somber when he finished.

  “This will be a trial for our trip north next spring,” he said. “There’s a new cattle market in Kansas. Should have less trouble with rustlers and gangs going up there that way.”

  Everyone nodded in approval.

  “Bet there’s Indians galore, I figure, going up. They ain’t all Comanche bad, but we’ll pass by them. Plus the frontiers always got men that would rather steal than work. I want every man armed from here on. I want you to shoot some ammo so you can hit a bull in the ass anyway.”

  The crew chuckled, and they teased each other around the circle.

  “This is serious. We’ll be in Comanche country all winter. Always two men stay together. Always have your guns loaded and ready. Shoot first and ask questions later. Everyone savvy?”

  He checked their solemn nods in the campfire’s orange light around the ring. Slocum looked them over hard. Some of those young faces wouldn’t be there when they reached Abilene. He hoped it was a minimum number that wouldn’t be there.

  Horses bucked in the predawn light as the hands prepared to ride out. With mesquite wood smoke in his nose, Slocum drank his coffee from a tin cup. He’d sent Shorty to scout the way an hour earlier. He’d told him he wanted no part of that abandoned Indian camp in case the inhabitants had had a disease. Shorty was to find a way clear of that place, and to leave some small white rags tied high in the mesquite brush at intervals so the rest of them could follow the route.

  Mary and her small bundle came by. They were to ride in the double cart hitched with two teams. The other carts were to follow.

  “Tomas can drive them. Have a nice day,” he said to her.

  “You too. It’s time to move on.”

  He handed Rosa his empty cup and nodded to Mary. “We’ll be there in less than a week.”

  “Good.” Her smile warmed him and brought back memories of the lust the night before. It had been a real homecoming celebration, and his eyelids had had the droops as the sun came up and the crew began to shape the herd with their whistling and the snap of bullwhips. Get them critters rolling—move on!

  The packed-up wagons began to leave an hour later. He told Tomas to stay to the east of the herd’s boiling dust. They’d pass the cattle by midday, and he’d join them then and show them the way.

  “It’s going to be two days of hell—but we should be in good shape after these first two.”

  Tomas smiled broadly. “Sí, patrón. I will guard them.” “Good.” He rose in the stirrups and Mary leaned over the side for his kiss.

  They were off.

  Slocum reined Roan away from the rig and short-loped him toward the rising brown cloud of bellowing dust. Day one on the trail had begun. Earlier, he’d seen Hertz mark it in the ledger: “July 19th, 1866. WE START THE HERD FOR MASON.”

  The moon would be near full that night. So moving the cattle even at a slow pace should be easy enough. But could the men hold up for two days in the saddle? It was a real test. He’d have coffee and food breaks set up. They’d need fresh horses. There were so many things to think about, he felt panicked inside his guts that he’d miss one.

  A cinch broke, dumped his rider, Toledo. The horse then ran off and the vaquero had to ride double with Jose. Slocum rode back and found the horse dragging reins. He tried twice to catch him by riding in, and in the end lost his patience when the horse bolted the second time. Loosening his lariat, he rode the pony down and roped him. Then he backtracked until he discovered the saddle—grateful Toledo had put it high in the mesquite for him to find it.

  He short-loped Roan back to the herd and took a spare girth from his saddlebags. Toldeo bounded off and he worked the right side, while Slocum worked the left. They soon had the saddle cinched down.

  A big grateful smile flashed on the drover’s face. He charged off to join the crew. Slocum remounted Roan and continued his surveillance of the riders. The cattle were holding good in the file. No doubt the yoking process had broken some of the wild will in many of them. They still were little more than deer being driven to a place they’d never seen.

  At the midday break when they let the steers spread out and graze, Juan brought in the remuda for the riders to take fresh horses. Matilda had coffee and beef wrapped in tortillas for them as they took turns filing in and back. Several took their spell napping too.

  “So far so good, amigo,” Paco said, squatted on his heels beside Slocum.

  “Going good. Matilda says the wagons are moving northward and should easily make camp where I said for them to before sundown. There are many things to do on such a large drive. I’ve made some smaller drives during the war to get beef to the troops with a lot more help than we have.”

  Paco nodded as if in deep thought. “Good thing you know some of these things. I’m sure learning lots.”

  “More burritos?” Matilda asked.

  Both men thanked her and smiled. “You are doing good,” Slocum said to her.

  “Mary, she is the one who helps me so much. She organizes everything and carries that baby like he’s part of her. She is a great madre.”

  Slocum nodded. Another time, another place—it might have worked for the two of them. He still wasn’t certain his ploy in Arkansas to substitute his friend’s corpse for his own had worked. He was uncertain enough not to make any permanent ties with anyone. Only time would tell.

  He rubbed his whisker-bristled mouth and sucked on an eyetooth. Time would either be in his favor or against him. Texas and the West were a vast land, but since he had been a Confederate, there was always some bitterness left over that would make him a target regardless of what happened in Van Buren, Arkansas.

  “You know I may not be on that drive to Kansas with you.”

  Paco wheeled around on his left leg to peer at him with a look of shock. “Why, amigo?”

  “There ain’t everything settled over my shoulder.”

  “But—but—”

  “That boy I brought back with me, Hertz, will grow into being your bookkeeper. He’s smart and learns fast. He can do the numbers and find the credit if I’m not here. You go back and build a ranch. No white man will challenge you for it for years. Buy the land from the state of Texas. They will sell it cheap. But you know how to use it.”

  Paco shrugged and turned his calloused palms up. “But that sounds so com-plie-cated to me.”

  “Speak to Hertz. We will train him to think Estrella Ranchero.”

  “Oh, if you would only stay. You—me, we make a good team, no?”

  “I’ll get you set up at Mason. Then I need to go learn about Heck’s strongbox in Fort Worth.”

  “I almost forgot that key.”

  Slocum nodded. “Better get a siesta. In a little while we’ll be up all night.”

  By the following dawn, Slocum’s eyes felt like two hot sand holes. The cattle’s hoarse bawling increased—they were thirsty and a long way from quenching it.

  Shorty came back and joined the crew. “Plenty of water west of that camp. It’s been pilfered since you were there. The pelts and anything valuable’s been taken.”

  No surprise. Slocum nodded as they rode on the east side of the herd. The file, four to five steers wide in a long ribbon, was obscured by the
boiling red brown dust. The earth thundered from four thousand hooves, horns clacked, and the cattle’s bawls carried over the land in a constant symphony that rang in his ears.

  Only one horse went lame, and another was secured. Paco rode swing rider for an hour until Montag got his fresh mount. Slocum wondered when Juan led him off if the limping bay pony would have to be turned loose. The two female drovers did their part, riding hard, keeping the breakouts from escaping, and driving them back into the herd. The entire crew worked like a team on the second day, despite no sleep the night before, and in mid-afternoon, Slocum heard the change in the cattle’s bawl.

  Water—they’d smelled it. This would be the test. The voices of the herd had changed. How they’d smelled water in that dust bowl surrounding them he’d never know, but now they had the scent of it. The real challenge was coming. Momentum began to gather. The swing riders needed to move apart as he’d told them.

  The closer they funneled the herd, the faster they went. A wider throat at the head of the drive should slow them down and allow the two swing riders to make the turn east, then back west, so the cattle lined the stream and didn’t pile into a sea of horns in the shallow waterway. He charged Big John for the point of the herd, knowing Paco was up there too.

  “You hear them?” he shouted, riding full tilt beside his partner as they swept the galloping herd to the east.

  “The minute they smelled it like you said,” Paco shouted back.

  “We need to start swinging them north again.”

  “Sí.” Paco shouted in Spanish to Montag a few yards ahead. “Circle them to the west.”

  The swing rider, cracking his short bullwhip as he rode full tilt, reached up and waved his sombrero at his opposite rider. Then he pushed his bay horse hard at the leaders, and they began to turn. Like a well-oiled instrument, the long coil of cattle was turning, and would soon be drinking up and down the small stream with little struggle.

  Slocum reined up with a wave of relief going over him. After two days in the saddle, the drovers were working like a well-oiled machine. Why, they’d make it to Kansas or even Canada. He’d stop worrying about them.

  Sawing at his horse’s mouth, Paco slid in close. “We did it, amigo.”

  Slocum rose in the stirrups, rode over, and clapped him on the shoulder with a cloud of dust. “Damn right.”

  That evening, he dropped in his blankets before sundown, and was up at midnight sipping coffee for his turn at riding night herd. Half-asleep, he took from Juan the reins to a horse selected for that job. One who avoided stepping on sleeping cattle and stampeding the rest. The hot coffee tasted bitter, but he’d drunk two cups blaming the gyp water for the bad flavor.

  At the herd, he sent Toledo back to sleep.

  “We ain’t going but ten miles in the morning,” he said to the sleepy drover.

  “Far enough for me.” Toledo rode off in the starry night in a long jog slumping like a flour sack in the saddle.

  Three days later, at mid-morning, Shorty rode in and told him they’d be at Miller Creek by mid-afternoon. Slocum slumped in the saddle over the news. He’d known they would be close, and had talked about it that morning, but the scout riding in with the news made him feel relaxed. One more job about done.

  Shorty shoved his hat back and frowned. “But I seen some scattered horse shit.”

  “You see anything else?”

  “Nope. But the Texas Rangers say that’s a pretty sure sign of Injuns. A loose horse shits in a pile.”

  “Makes sense. In the morning I’m riding into Mason and getting us some rifles and some blasting power.”

  “Blasting powder?”

  “I learned how to use it in the war. It’ll be a good aid in case we need it.”

  “You thinking like I am. We ever can teach them Comanche we ain’t fooling, they’ll make a wide berth around us.”

  “A little boy gets burned, he respects fire.”

  “You sound like my maw.”

  Slocum chuckled. “We may have a real fandango tonight.”

  “Yes, I’ll ride up and check on the ranch headquarters,” Shorty said. “The women and carts will be getting there in a little while.”

  “Hold up. I’m going along. I ain’t sure about that well. May need to be cleaned out before we use it.”

  “Sure.”

  They set out short-loping to the north. Met Paco and told him their plans, and then rode on.

  In a short while, they passed the train with a wave, crossed a wide grassy stretch, and went over a rise; then Shorty pointed it out on the horizon. A flag waved about the jacales. It was the flag of the Confederacy. Both men shut down their horses.

  Slocum peered in the distance through his sun-squinted eyes. What in the hell is that about?

  19

  Slocum sat his horse and faced the guard wearing the gray forage cap and toting a brass-cased Henry rifle.

  “Kin I help yeah?” the cocky-looking boy, hardly out of his teens, said, aiming the rifle at him.

  “Go get the colonel,” Slocum said, recognizing the sentry from his stopover for a drink at Fort McKay.

  He shook his head. “Colonel don’t like his naps disturbed. He figured you’d be along this afternoon. Said for me to blow your ass off if you tried anything like taking this place.”

  “I guess the colonel figured you were dispensable.”

  “What de hell is dat?”

  “Means he figured you’d make good target practice for Shorty and me.”

  “By Gawd—” He shoved the muzzle of the rifle at Slocum.

  “You’ve got thirty seconds to shoot or die.” He used his spur to gouge Big John on the far side to get him ready to leap forward. Reins holding him in check, the big gelding began to step up and back making the guard blink at him in a confused fashion.

  “I’ll shoot yeah—I will—I swear—”

  “Heeyah!” Slocum screamed, and the gelding jumped forward striking the youth with its chest. The rifle went off in the sky. Slocum leaned over and busted the youth over the head with his pistol butt. His knees went down and he crumpled on the ground.

  Shorty, with his .44 in his hand, searched the low wall from end to end, then shook his head. “Nothing else.”

  “Oh, they’re here,” Slocum said, stepping down and taking the rifle and the guard’s handgun from the holster. He jammed the revolver in his waistband, and he swung back up on the horse with the Henry over his lap. What did Colonel Iram Williams have in mind?

  “I figured so. How’d you know he wouldn’t shoot?”

  “His eyes. He’d never shot anyone. There’s a look in every shooter’s eyes. I’ve seen it too many times—”

  “Who the hell’s out here shooting?” The colonel’s tall frame filled the doorway of the second jacal. Sleepy-eyed, he emerged, and the other two came from the next jacal.

  “Better tell them to ease their hands off them gun butts,” Slocum said. “You’re going to be the first dead man on the scene when the firing starts.”

  “They’ll kill you.”

  Slocum shook his head. “Not before you’re on the way to no-man’s land.”

  “This is my place now.” The colonel ran his left hand over his mouth.

  “You got a deed?”

  “Sure.” He started to turn to go inside.

  “Ease off that. We’ll both go look at it.” Slocum stepped down and with his eyes on the other two, nodded to Shorty. “Kill ’em if they try a thing.”

  “I can do that.”

  Inside the jacal, the colonel went to his coat and carefully removed a folded paper. “Here’s the deed. Signed, sealed, and delivered—”

  The deed was in his left hand and he tried to shove it at Slocum’s right hand. Instead, he got a gun barrel in his gut, and the washed-out look on his face in the shadowy light told Slocum enough. Williams’s plan to jump him had failed “One of us,” Slocum said through his clenched teeth, “is fixing to die.”

  He unfurled the paper and
turned it to the light. The paper read: “I Sam Brown of sound mind and body do grant the Bar C Ranch to Iram Williams. Signed with a big X.”

  “It ain’t legal. No metes and bounds.”

  “By damn, it will hold in court.”

  “Load your stuff up and take it out of here. And if you ever come out here and harass the Estrella bunch, I’ll hunt you down and shoot your ass off.” He made the point with his gun muzzle, jabbing it hard enough to draw a grunt out of the man.

  “You won’t—”

  “Don’t threaten me, Williams. I’d as soon kill you right here as later.” Slocum jerked the man’s pistol out of his holster, and then shoved him with his gun barrel toward the doorway.

  “I’ll be back with a sheriff’s order of eviction.”

  “I may tree him too. Now get. Oh, and take down that flag. I don’t want any bluebellies thinking I’m starting another war.”

  “I ain’t through fighting the sonsbitches.” Williams scowled at him.

  “That’s where we differ. But you come back, I’ll damn sure have a war with you.”

  “Get the flag,” the colonel said, coming outside and putting on his felt hat. The hatless sentry ran to obey him.

  “I want his rifle back.” Williams indicated the Henry that Slocum had set by the door when going in to see the “deed.”

  “He ought not to have pointed it at me.”

  “He had orders to kill you.”

  “My daddy always said don’t send a boy when you need a man. I’ll keep that gun. Now tell that boy to bring your things outside. One misstep and he dies with you.”

  “Randy, get my things,” Williams said to the youth.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can the others get their horses?” Williams asked.

  “No, Randy can get them. Everyone stay at ease right where you are.”

  The youth, out of breath, brought out the colonel’s bedroll and things. Then he set them down and ran off for their horses.

  “I’ll not take this without protest.”

  “Williams, you figured I’d pay you for the use of this rat trap or you’d squeeze something out of me for its use. You can protest all you want—that X on the paper is not the owner.”